Kingdom of Gaelica (closed for QuirkyQuill)

[QuirkyQuill]

Meya was no stranger to scrutiny, but this felt differently to her. Perhaps because she felt that the judgment of these people would ultimately impact Aidan, and despite her initial misgivings, she realized that she cared about him finding the success he sought. What fate these strangers ultimately decided on would speak volumes to their trust in the future king of Gaelica. Meya did not intend to look defiant, and she hoped her expression was tempered enough that she looked determined, but nothing more. As an adolescent, she had frequently been told by her mother that her angular features and naturally arched eyebrows made her look severe, even when she was not intending to.

When they came to a stop, she held her hands in front of her, one placed on top of the other. Her blue eyes met the king’s green ones, unflinching, and she studied him. The resemblance between him and his son was undeniable, as was the difference in their demeanor. Where Aidan had a twinge of softness behind his eyes, even from the onset, Cathal was nothing but calculating. She ignored the other voices that floated around them with what she assumed to be dismay that someone from the South Seas would walk so openly into the heart of their kingdom.

“Is this not the woman who was captured leading a raid against our supply lines just months ago?"

A supply line raid? Where had he received that information from? Had Ronin fed them the lie in an effort to downplay why they had crossed the border? Meya could see the logic in that, throwing them off the real reason they were here. The only flaw in that idea was that she had a hard time believing Ronin would have given them anything, even a false path. But, she reasoned with herself, she had no knowledge of what happened to them after they were separated. Meya was not keen on contradicting anybody at this moment, especially since the truth would serve neither her nor Aidan.

It was a strange feeling, though, to stand before a group of people and be spoken of as though she weren’t standing before them. Her preference had always been to remain in the background of a crowd. Never one for the attention, Meya had always been content in letting her cousin bask in the watchful eye of the realm. Finding herself in the center of the group was uncomfortable, and her jaw clenched to keep her face unreadable. The muscles in her body had tensed up, and she stood perfectly erect.

“What makes you so certain that her change of heart is genuine?”

Meya doubted herself. Regardless of how she felt at the moment, she was still a daughter of the South Seas, and one who was pledged into the service of her uncle. Right now, her place here was a ruse to him. A sacrifice for Ronin’s freedom, but one he would look to rectify. Could she say with absolute certainty that she would never return to The Keep? Meya couldn’t. Aidan’s steadfast trust that she would stand true to this kingdom was nearly suffocating. As the conversation continued between the two men, she felt her chest begin to grow tight. The back and forth between father and son, father publicly pointing out the flaws of the son while the son held firm. Truth be told, Meya was proud that he had not backed down from his father, given their conversations over the previous weeks, but she wished it had been for a more noble cause than her.

“But know this—Gaelica does not suffer traitors lightly. If you falter, if you betray the trust my son has placed in you, the consequences will be swift and absolute.”

She knew the threat was meant to serve as a warning, a way to frighten her. Given what Meya knew she had to endure back home should be labeled a traitor there, she wasn’t as worried about what Gaelica had to offer up. Not that she intended to find out. While she couldn’t ensure even to herself that she would never return to her realm, Meya was absolutely certain that she would do nothing to cause Aidan harm.

Remaining silent, Meya bowed her head ever so slightly to acknowledge the king’s threat. Her eyes continued to study the king, taking in his body language, and the way his hardened features lifted every so slightly when they looked to his son. For all of Aidan’s uncertainties about how his father viewed him, those brief expressions told Meya all she needed to know. It might be buried deeply beneath the mound of duty, but there was a genuine love there.

When they left the council room, Meya remained silent until they returned to the familiar corridor, her muscles still uptight. Before they reached the door to her room, she cast him a sideways glance, her eyebrow raising. “You do know that Ronin and I would never be sent for something as mundane as a supply line, right?”

The wry look on her face and her tone suggested that the very idea of it was insulting. Meya was offended.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan stopped just outside Meya’s door, his expression softening into something more knowing as he met her gaze. Her comment carried a trace of her characteristic sharpness, but beneath it, he sensed the weariness of someone who had been forced to endure more than anyone should. He nodded once, the barest of smiles tugging at his lips.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I’ve known for some time now. The supply line raid—it’s a convenient narrative for the council, one that makes you easier to define. But the truth of your mission was far more dangerous.”

His words hung in the air for a moment. He let them settle, studying her reaction. When no immediate denial came, Aidan continued, his tone steady but laced with concern.

“I understand it wasn’t simple. It wasn’t without risk. And I also understand why you’ve been so guarded about it. But I need you to know this—I’m not blind to the stakes of what we’re doing here. Or to the risks you’ve taken.” He paused, his eyes searching hers. “You don’t have to carry the weight of it alone.”

Her silence was answer enough for now. Aidan reached for the door handle, opening it for her with a quiet gesture of courtesy. “Rest,” he said, stepping back to let her pass. “We’ve both done enough thinking for one day. Tomorrow, we move forward.”

With that, he turned and headed to his own chambers.

---

Later that evening, as the moon rose high over the castle’s spires, Cathal found himself restless. His thoughts kept circling back to Meya. But his mind wasn’t solely on her. There was another piece of this puzzle, one that he had carefully shielded from most of the kingdom: Magnus, Meya’s father, and the unlikely ally who had been quietly aiding Gaelica for years.

Magnus lived in a modest stone cottage on the outskirts of the capital, far from the castle’s grand halls and the prying eyes of the court. Officially, he was a “retired scholar” who had sought refuge in Gaelica. Unofficially, he was a man of considerable influence and knowledge, one whose strategic insights had turned the tide in more than one skirmish against the South Seas. It was a dangerous arrangement, one that required absolute secrecy.

Cathal didn’t often visit the cottage unannounced, but tonight felt different. There were questions he couldn’t ignore, and Magnus was the only one who might have answers. He saddled his horse quietly, leaving the castle under cover of darkness.

---

The fire crackled softly in the hearth of the modest stone cottage, casting dancing shadows on the walls lined with books and maps. King Cathal sat in one of the two worn chairs by the fire, his regal bearing seeming almost out of place in the humble surroundings. Across from him, Magnus leaned back, his weathered face calm, though his sharp eyes betrayed the tension underlying his composed demeanor. Between them sat a small table holding a simple bottle of wine and two mismatched goblets.

Cathal swirled the wine in his goblet but did not drink, his piercing green eyes fixed on Magnus. “Two years,” he said, his voice low and measured. “Two years, and I still find myself questioning the wisdom of harboring you.”

Magnus smirked faintly, his tone dry as he replied. “I wasn’t aware you brought me here for your peace of mind, Cathal.”

The king’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I brought you here because your knowledge has been invaluable in keeping my people alive. But make no mistake, Magnus—your presence is a sword poised over my neck. If the South Seas learns that you’ve been aiding me, it won’t just be you they come for. It will be all of Gaelica.”

Magnus inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the truth of the statement. “And yet, you’ve kept me hidden, sheltered me even, when you could have turned me over for a brief respite in their aggression. Why? Surely there are others who could offer the same counsel I have.”

Cathal’s gaze darkened, his voice dropping a notch. “Because I’m not a man who trades lives for convenience. As much as it infuriates me to admit, you’ve proven your worth, Magnus. You’ve given me insights into their strategies that have turned the tide more than once. That’s why you’re here. But don’t mistake my pragmatism for trust.”

Magnus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to trust me, Cathal. I’m under no illusions about where we stand. But you should understand this—my brother will not stop. As long as I’m alive, he sees me as a threat. And that makes me your greatest asset and your greatest liability.”

Cathal finally sipped from his goblet, the bitterness of the wine matching his mood. “Your brother’s obsession with you is precisely why this arrangement feels more like a gamble than a strategy. And now there’s the matter of your daughter.”

Magnus’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—concern, perhaps, or regret. “What about Meya?”

Cathal leaned back in his chair, his tone growing sharper. “She’s here. In the castle. My son has brought her under the guise of an ally, a... reformed enemy. He believes she can be trusted.”

Magnus’s jaw tightened, and he exhaled through his nose, a quiet but telling sound. “Meya is... complicated,” he said after a moment. “But she’s no fool. If she’s come here, it’s because she sees an opportunity for something better than what she left behind.”

“Or,” Cathal countered, his voice hard, “she sees an opportunity to complete whatever mission she was sent on. My son’s faith in her is troublingly naive.”

Magnus sat back, crossing his arms. “Naive? Or hopeful? Don’t discount hope, Cathal. It’s a rare commodity in men like us.”

Cathal scoffed, setting his goblet down with a sharp clink. “Hope is a luxury I can’t afford, Magnus. Not when my kingdom teeters on the edge of ruin.”

“Perhaps,” Magnus said, his voice softer now, almost reflective. “But if you dismiss it entirely, you may find yourself blinding your son to the very qualities that could make him a great king.”

Cathal fell silent, his jaw tightening as he processed the words. After a moment, he shifted in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Does she know you’re alive?”

Magnus shook his head. “No. And it’s better that way. If Meya knew, it would put her in more danger than she already faces.”

“Agreed,” Cathal said, his tone resolute. “But if her presence here jeopardizes Gaelica, I won’t hesitate to act. Do you understand me?”

Magnus’s gaze hardened. “I understand. But let me give you a piece of advice, Cathal. Meya may not have chosen her path lightly, but she did choose it. Whatever doubts you have, remember that. The decisions she makes now will define her more than the ones that brought her here.”

Cathal stared at him for a long moment, then stood, adjusting the cloak draped over his shoulders. “You’ve always been a man of many words, Magnus. Let’s hope, for all our sakes, they aren’t empty.”

Magnus rose as well, his demeanor steady. “And you’ve always been a man of action, Cathal. Let’s hope you know when to pause before striking.”

Without another word, Cathal turned and strode to the door, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. As the door closed behind him, Magnus sat back down, staring into the fire. For all his composed exterior, his mind churned with worry—for Meya, for himself, and for the storm he knew was coming.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

“Tomorrow, we move forward.”

“Sleep well, Your Highness.” Meya dipped her head in a bow, her mannerisms reverting back to a formal demeanor now that they were back inside the confines of the castle. As the door closed behind her, she felt the weight of the solitude, her eyes moving through the now familiar space. By all accounts, these chambers were much more grand than the inn from the previous night, but it felt cold and empty with just her. The fire blazed, so the cold that settled between her bones was the result of finding herself free from Aidan’s assured presence.

She had just walked over to chaise, preparing to sit, when a brief knock cut the silence. For a moment, her spirit lifted, but deflated as Hildy walked into the room.

“Good evening, Hildy,” she greeted the older woman.

“M’lady,” the woman's tone came out brusk, but Meya thought she saw a look resembling triumph in the woman's face. With her usual air of efficiency, Hildy assessed the situation and, within the hour, had Meya fed, bathed, and dressed for bed.

The bustle died back down, but despite Meya's best attempts, all she managed to do was toss and turn.

This is ridiculous. The thought flung itself through her mind after the second hour that sleep eluded her. She'd shared one bed for one night with a man she barely knew, and suddenly had forgotten how to fall asleep in one by herself.

Shaking her head, Meya reasoned with herself that there had to be a more logical explanation for her sudden restlessness. Untangling her legs from the blankets, she huffed her way out of bed, snatching up a blanket and pulling it around her shoulders. She slid her feet into the slippers that resided by the bed, and paced around the dark room several times. The fire burned low, and now merely cast a faint orange glow from the dying embers.

Knowing she would likely regret it, she pushed open the door to the balcony and pulled the blanket tighter around her in an attempt to shield herself from the frigid air. Closing the doors behind her to maintain what remaining heat still lingered, she walked over to the bannister, her eyes staring out at the sleeping kingdom.

Though cold, the crisp air brought stability back to her thoughts, the drastic contrast almost shocking her from her earlier thoughts. A lot had happened over the last couple of days, and she wasn't entirely sure what she had wholly agreed to. She still couldn't outright betray her uncle. If anyone on the council was, in fact, a well placed spy, or had one nearby, the message was likely already on its way to The Keep. What Ronin would tell her uncle remained a mystery, although she had no reason to fear the truth from his lips. Meya had negotiated his release by agreeing to her continued capture.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she continued to ponder on the coming days, giving up on the idea of sleep for the moment. Tomorrow was an ambiguous cloud hanging
over her shoulders.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Prince Aidan strode through the castle's dimly lit corridors, his boots muffled against the thick carpets that lined the stone floors. The weight of the evening’s events clung to him like an invisible shroud. He had left the council chambers hours ago, yet his father’s sharp words and the council’s judgmental stares still echoed in his mind.

His thoughts inevitably drifted to Meya. When they parted earlier, she had seemed poised, her demeanor reverting to the formality she so often used as a shield. But Aidan knew better. The moments they’d shared on the road—the honesty, the vulnerability—had peeled back some of her defenses, and he doubted they had fully returned. He had noticed the faint tension in her shoulders, the almost imperceptible strain in her voice.

When he reached her chambers, he hesitated for a moment before knocking softly. There was no response, but the faint glow of embers beneath her door suggested she was awake. He knocked again, this time more firmly.

“Meya? It’s Aidan.”

Still no reply. Concerned, he eased the door open. The room was dim, illuminated only by the faint flicker of dying firelight. It was immaculate, as though untouched despite her hours within it. His eyes swept across the space until he spotted her through the glass doors of the balcony, wrapped in a blanket and staring out into the cold night.

Aidan approached slowly, stepping onto the balcony. The chill hit him immediately, but he ignored it. “You’ll freeze out here,” he said gently.

Meya turned her head slightly, acknowledging his presence, though she didn’t speak. Her silhouette, framed by the faint light of the crescent moon, looked fragile against the vast expanse of the sleeping kingdom.

Aidan leaned on the bannister beside her, his gaze following hers out toward the darkened horizon. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked after a moment.

“No,” she replied simply, her voice quiet but steady.

He glanced at her, noticing the faint circles beneath her eyes and the stiffness in her posture. “I can see that,” he murmured. “And I don’t think it’s the bed that’s the problem.”

She didn’t reply, but her silence spoke volumes. Aidan exhaled slowly, his breath fogging in the frigid air. “Meya, I meant what I said earlier. Whatever doubts my father or anyone else has, I trust you. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t.”

Her silence continued, but her hands tightened around the edges of the blanket. Aidan pressed on, his tone firm yet understanding. “I know tomorrow feels like a storm waiting to break. But we’ve faced storms before, haven’t we? And we’re still standing.”

He hesitated, then added softly, “You’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The wind whispered through the castle’s high towers, carrying with it the faint sounds of the sleeping city below. Aidan turned his gaze back to the horizon, giving her the space to respond—or not. He didn’t need her words to know she was grappling with far more than she let on.

After several moments, he straightened. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “But try to get some rest, Meya. Tomorrow, we move forward.”

He paused at the door, looking back at her. She was still at the bannister, her face unreadable in the moonlight. With a final nod, he slipped back inside, closing the door behind him.

---

The following morning, Aidan’s mind was a whirlwind of plans and uncertainties as he made his way to the great hall for his morning briefing. But before he could focus on the day’s tasks, his father’s steward intercepted him.

“His Majesty requests your presence in the eastern gardens,” the man said, bowing slightly.

“The gardens?” Aidan frowned. “Now?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Aidan nodded, though his confusion lingered. His father rarely visited the gardens, and when he did, it was usually for private discussions. Whatever this was, it wasn’t routine.

When Aidan arrived at the secluded section of the gardens, he found his father standing beneath a sprawling oak tree. Beside him was an older man, his bearing proud despite the simple clothes he wore. Aidan’s steps faltered, a faint sense of recognition prickling at the edges of his memory, though he couldn’t place the man’s face.

Cathal turned at the sound of his son’s approach, his expression as inscrutable as ever. “Aidan,” he greeted, his tone formal. “I’m glad you came quickly.”

“Father,” Aidan replied, his gaze flickering to the stranger. “What’s this about?”

“This,” Cathal said, gesturing to the man, “is Magnus.”

The name landed like a thunderclap in Aidan’s mind. His eyes widened as he looked at the man again, realization dawning. “Magnus,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “The Magnus?”

“The same,” Magnus said, his voice steady but low. “Though I prefer to keep my identity a secret these days.”

Aidan turned to his father, disbelief etched into his features. “He’s alive? All this time, you’ve known, and you didn’t—”

“Enough,” Cathal said sharply, his voice brooking no argument. “This is not a discussion for now. Magnus’s presence here is a matter of utmost secrecy, and it will remain that way.”

Aidan opened his mouth to protest, but something in his father’s expression silenced him. Instead, he turned back to Magnus, his mind racing. “Why now? Why reveal yourself to me?”

Magnus hesitated, his eyes scanning Aidan’s face. “Because you’re on the verge of inheriting a kingdom that’s still at war. And because, whether you know it or not, my daughter’s fate is now tied to yours.”

Aidan stiffened, his thoughts immediately flashing to Meya. “What does she have to do with this?”

“That,” Cathal interjected, “is a conversation for another time. For now, you will focus on the tasks before you. Magnus’s role here remains confidential, understood?”

Reluctantly, Aidan nodded, though his mind churned with questions. “Understood.”

Cathal placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Good. We will speak later. For now, go. There is much to do.”

Aidan cast one last look at Magnus before turning and walking back toward the castle, his thoughts in turmoil. If Magnus was alive—and here—then everything he thought he knew about the war and Meya’s place in it was far more complicated than he could have imagined.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Meya hadn’t expected company at such a late hour, but she was equally grateful that he was there and peevish that she should find such solace in someone else’s presence. Her thoughts had been a whirlwind, circling around her along with the night air, blowing her hair as it might the leaves of a willowy tree. The chill had turned her nose pink, but her face had grown numb to it by the time joined her.

“And I don’t think it’s the bed that’s the problem.”

Meya did not quite feel up to telling him that her empty bed was, in fact, the problem. Not the bed itself, but that it was empty. That confession spoke of need, and there was no way that she could even be honest with herself that one night under the blankets with him had brought her to a place of such contentment that its absence was impacting her. Silently, she scolded herself for thinking like a child.

When he left her on her own, she remained on the balcony for only a short while longer before retreating to protection of the walls. She practically sneered at the bed, and instead took a pillow over to the chaise by the fire. There was a small stack of logs still untouched, and she threw a couple of them back on, stoking it until they caught flame.

Curling up on her side, the blanket still wrapped around her, Meya stared hypnotically at the flames as they licked the sides of the logs, bringing a new surge of warmth to the area. Aidan’s words repeated themselves, making it difficult to find the peace she knew he’d sought to create.

“I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t.”

How could he have so much faith in her, when she couldn’t even trust herself that much? He had far more to lose by being wrong about her than she did. He was trying to build something great, and she was trying to do, what, exactly? Even now, Meya felt lost by her choices.

Eventually as the late hour drifted by, Meya did doze into a light sleep.

Hildy found her there, sleeping before a cold fireplace in the morning, and appeared annoyed that she would have left a perfectly good bed. She said nothing about it to Meya, but instead helped her into a dress and did her hair, leaving most of it down. After breakfast, she put on a cloak, needing to find somewhere outside to think, and finding the days growing a little colder each day. Winter would arrive soon, she had no doubt, and she almost dreaded imagining what that cold would feel like, if autumn was already this sharp.

Turning a corner, her body tensed as two guards walked by, but they each just nodded and kept on. Exhaling, she continued to follow the path she was certain would take her to the courtyard Aidan had shown her before. The next corner she turned, another guard was there standing, and when he saw her, immediately pulled his sword. The narrowed eyes met hers with that same steely hatred he’d given her when he stood outside her door. Meya stopped, her left eyebrow raising slightly.

“I am a guest here, not a prisoner. Your show of bravado is wholly unnecessary.” When she spoke, her voice carried that authoritative command to it that only the nobility could possess so effortlessly.

“You are scum and should be slit from one end to the next.” He spat his words in her direction, and the venom he directed in his gaze was felt clearly in his tone.

“That you will have to take up with the prince,” she responded, almost sounding nonchalant.

“One toe out of line, and I will not hesitate to end you.”

Meya’s gaze didn’t so much as waiver as she stared him down, her own eyes narrowed and her chin raised. “The dogs who bark the loudest tend to be compensating for having no real bite. You will forgive me if I find your threat lacking.”

Without another word or backward glance, she continued her way to the courtyard doorway, grateful that she’d remembered the directions when she finally stepped outside. Inhaling, she shook the interaction with the guard out of her head. It was to be expected that many inside these walls would wish her dead. Or worse. In truth, those who showed her outward disdain were less threatening to her than the dangers lurking in places she couldn’t see.

As she turned to the left, she saw the prince approaching from the gardens. She gave him a small, tentative smile in an effort to not be so rigid with him.

“Good morning, Your Highness.”

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan's boots crunched against the frosty path as he left the gardens, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. The encounter with Magnus was still fresh, the older man’s words echoing in his head. *"My daughter’s fate is now tied to yours."* He wanted answers, yet his father’s cryptic demeanor had left him with only questions. Magnus being alive—and his sudden involvement—was a revelation that threatened to unravel everything Aidan thought he knew about the kingdom’s past and its uncertain future.

As he rounded the corner toward the courtyard, he caught sight of Meya. Her cloak swayed with her steps, and the morning light highlighted the determined set of her features. Despite the clear tension in her posture, she offered him a tentative smile.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” she greeted.

Aidan returned the smile, though his mind remained weighed down. “Good morning, Lady Meya. I trust you found some rest?”

Her gaze flickered briefly, and Aidan could tell her night had likely been no better than his own. He nodded toward the courtyard. “Care to walk? I could use the air.”

Without waiting for an answer, he fell into step beside her. The crisp morning wind bit at his cheeks, though he welcomed the sensation—it helped focus his thoughts. The courtyard was quiet, save for the faint rustling of leaves and the distant murmur of guards. Aidan gestured toward a path leading to the rose garden, its vibrant colors stubbornly clinging to life despite the encroaching cold.

“I was in the gardens earlier,” he said, his voice casual, though his thoughts were far from it. “It’s one of the few places in the castle where I can think clearly.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Meya’s expression was carefully neutral, but her silence carried weight. Aidan knew she was no stranger to tension—her every move seemed to carry the awareness that eyes were always on her, watching, judging.

“I’m sure the castle feels suffocating at times,” he continued, steering the conversation away from his own troubled thoughts. “I grew up here, yet even I find myself craving the openness of the countryside. The walls can make you feel… hemmed in.”

As they walked, Aidan’s mind churned with thoughts of Magnus. The man’s sudden reappearance brought more complications than clarity, and Aidan could feel the burden of secrets pressing down on him. He wanted to tell Meya, to share the revelation that could change everything, but he couldn’t. Not yet. His father’s warning had been explicit.

Instead, he focused on the path ahead, forcing his thoughts into order. He needed to compartmentalize, to deal with what could be addressed in the present.

They reached the rose garden, its vibrant colors muted by the gray skies above. Aidan paused near a bench, brushing frost off its surface before gesturing for Meya to sit. He remained standing, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the garden.

“The council meets again this afternoon,” he said, his tone turning serious. “I’ve spent most of the night preparing arguments to counter their objections. My father’s support carries weight, but even his influence has limits. The council will be looking for any reason to doubt my decisions.”

He turned to face her, his expression softening. “But I’ll deal with them. You don’t need to concern yourself with their scrutiny. I brought you here because I believe in what you can offer, and I won’t let anyone undermine that.”

The words felt hollow in his mouth, not because they were untrue, but because of the heavy truth he couldn’t share. Magnus’s arrival changed everything, yet he was forced to carry the burden of it alone. He looked at Meya, the resolve in her eyes a stark contrast to the vulnerability he had glimpsed the night before. For a moment, he envied her ability to project strength despite the turmoil he knew she must feel.

“I know the days ahead won’t be easy,” he said after a pause. “But I promise you this: whatever happens, you’ll have an ally in me.”

The words came easier than he expected, perhaps because they were true. Despite the secrets he carried, Aidan knew that his belief in Meya remained steadfast. Whatever her past, whatever doubts she harbored, she had shown herself to be someone who could weather the storms ahead.

For now, that would have to be enough.

---

The rest of the day passed in a blur of meetings and preparations. Aidan moved through the castle with purpose, though his thoughts remained divided. He met with commanders, reviewed reports from the front lines, and sparred with council members over matters of strategy. All the while, the knowledge of Magnus’s presence lingered like a shadow at the edge of his mind.

When the council convened in the great hall that afternoon, Aidan was ready. He stood at the head of the table, his father seated to his right. The councilors eyed him with varying degrees of skepticism, their faces a tapestry of pride, doubt, and thinly veiled hostility.

“The situation at the southern border requires immediate attention,” Aidan began, his tone measured but firm. “The villages there have suffered repeated attacks from raiders, and their defenses are stretched thin. I propose reallocating troops from—”

“And leave the capital vulnerable?” interrupted Lord Maren, a sharp-eyed man whose voice carried the weight of years spent dominating such discussions. “A reckless move, Your Highness.”

Aidan didn’t flinch. “The capital’s defenses are more than adequate for the time being. Our forces in the south, however, are on the brink of collapse. If we fail to act, we risk losing not only the border villages but also the trust of the people.”

Maren opened his mouth to retort, but King Cathal raised a hand, silencing him. “The prince’s strategy has merit,” the king said, his voice calm but authoritative. “We cannot afford to neglect the south.”

The council’s murmurs quieted, though Aidan could still feel the undercurrent of resistance. He pressed on, outlining his plan with precision, countering objections with calculated arguments. By the time the meeting adjourned, he felt a small measure of triumph, though it was tempered by the knowledge of the greater challenges ahead.

As the councilors filed out, Aidan caught his father’s gaze. Cathal nodded slightly, a rare gesture of approval. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to remind Aidan of the stakes—and of the trust his father had placed in him.

That evening, as the castle settled into quiet, Aidan found himself wandering the halls once more. His steps carried him toward the gardens, where the weight of the day seemed to lift slightly. The air was crisp, the stars above unclouded by the worries of the kingdom below.

For now, at least, he could take solace in the stillness. But he knew the peace wouldn’t last. Winter was coming, and with it, the storm that would test everything he had built.

Aidan leaned back in his chair, the heavy oak creaking beneath him as he stared into the flickering flames of the hearth. The council meeting had ended hours ago, yet his mind refused to quiet. Strategy, politics, and unspoken truths weighed heavily on him. But another thought nagged at the edges of his focus—Meya.

She had shown strength, defiance, and no small measure of vulnerability since her arrival. He respected her intelligence and her fortitude, yet he also found himself drawn to her in a way that went beyond mere admiration. Their night at the inn had been unexpectedly... peaceful. Aidan craved that sense of calm again, a respite from the storm of responsibility he bore.

Decision made, he called for Hildy, the ever-efficient woman who oversaw much of the castle's domestic affairs. She entered with her usual briskness, her sharp eyes studying him as she gave a respectful bow.

“You summoned me, Your Highness?” she asked, her tone no-nonsense but not unkind.

“Yes, Hildy,” Aidan said, leaning forward. “I’d like you to extend an invitation to Lady Meya. Ask her to join me for dinner this evening.”

Hildy raised an eyebrow slightly, though she gave no further reaction. “Of course, Your Highness. Shall I have a gown prepared for her?”

Aidan shook his head. “No, let her decide. Whatever she feels comfortable in. And the same for her hair. I want her to feel at ease tonight, not burdened by formality.”

Hildy’s lips pressed into a thin line, though whether it was approval or disapproval, Aidan couldn’t tell. “Very well. I’ll inform her immediately.”

As she turned to leave, Aidan hesitated before calling after her. “And Hildy?”

She paused, looking over her shoulder. “Yes, my prince?”

“Thank you.”

A flicker of something—warmth, perhaps—passed over her features before she gave another curt nod and exited the room.

---

Later that evening, the dining room was set for a private dinner. The long, imposing table was replaced with a smaller, more intimate arrangement near the hearth. Candles flickered in polished holders, their light casting a soft glow over the room. Aidan waited by the fire, dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, the weight of his usual princely garb set aside for the night.

He glanced toward the door, anticipation mingling with a hint of nervousness. He hadn’t requested such a private meeting with anyone in years, and certainly never with someone like Meya. Tonight, he wasn’t the prince strategizing for war or maneuvering around council politics. He was just Aidan, seeking connection and maybe—just maybe—a reprieve from the cold loneliness that seemed to have settled in his soul.

The soft sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor, and Aidan turned, his heart unexpectedly quickening.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Meya fell into step beside him, her pace matching his. His presence put her more at easy, though the interaction with the guard still had her posture stiff. That moment had served as a reminder, though she hadn’t needed one, that regardless of the fact that she was here at the prince’s wishes, there were still those who would rather see her hanged. Or worse. The difficulty that she faced here lay in the fact that she couldn’t arm herself as she could at The Keep. Meya doubted that anybody would look too kindly on her carrying a weapon through the palace walls. She knew she was at a disadvantage should that particular guard, or anybody else for that matter, decide to take law and justice into their own hands, which meant she had to be hypervigilant not to put herself in a position that left her more vulnerable.

“I’m sure the castle feels suffocating at times.”

A rueful smile briefly appeared on her lips, and she turned her head to meet his gaze before returning to the path ahead.

“I think it has less to do with the walls themselves. I’m an interloper here, and everybody is aware of it. It makes it hard to feel settled when you are a stranger in a new place.” As they made their way into the rose garden, Meya’s eyes widened slightly at the different colored blooms. She didn’t sit immediately, but walked over to a nearby vine, the soft pink color still making a valiant effort to bring a bright hue into the changing season.

“They bloom so late here.” Very few flowers survived the fall in the South Seas, and gauging by what she had experienced so far, Gaelica’s weather was more severe than what they received so close to the water. Curiosity etched into her face, she reached up and gingerly touched the petal, finding it soft and velvety under her fingertips. Smiling to herself, she lowered her arm and turned back to the bench. The coldness of the stone steeped through her clothes, but her attention was on Aidan. Blue eyes scrutinized his posture, the pull on his lips that wasn’t quite a frown, but spoke of stress. As disquieted as she felt, she had to remember that he was enduring his own conflict. She listened quietly as he spoke, her head tilting slightly as she heard his words, but tried to read between what he was saying.

“But I promise you this: whatever happens, you’ll have an ally in me.”

The sharpness of her expression softened at those words, and a look of reassurance replaced the scrutiny from moments before. Standing up, she walked over to him, her eyes drifting around to ensure they were alone, before hesitantly reaching out and taking his hand.

“That is a promise you also have,” she spoke quietly, feeling the truth of it settle deep within her. Squeezing his hand, she released it quickly, the act feeling tenuous. She wasn’t accustomed to physical contact that wasn’t the result of questionable intent.

*

“Hildy, I am not sure I know what to make of your sudden lack of opinions,” Meya’s arms crossed over her chest as she stood in nothing but a chemise. Lifting an eyebrow, she tilted her to the side as if waiting for the older woman to break, but Hildy bit the inside of her cheek and remained silent.

“I do not know what you are referring to, m’lady. As soon as you have selected a gown, I will help you dress.”

Meya continued to stand there, a suspicious expression mingling with amusement. They had been at this for half an hour. She had been waiting for Hildy to swoop in like she normally would, but the maid had simply come into her room and asked her what she would like to wear. It was disconcerting.

Sighing, Meya walked over to the bureau and began flicking through the dresses that hung. In the few days that she and Aidan had been gone, the bureau had been filled with dresses, though Hildy had certainly not approved all of them. Feeling impish, Meya moved through them until she came to one that was a particularly hideous shade of chartreuse. Though she certainly was not an expert, she did know enough to know that there was nothing about the color that would flatter her. In fact, it would likely wash her out and clash with her blonde hair. So, naturally, she pulled it out and held it out to Hildy.

The older looked as though she were praying to whatever higher power she believed in, and Meya could see her physically bite her tongue as she reached out stiffly to take the gown.

“As for my hair, I think I would like it parted down the middle and wrapped in a bun on either side of my head.” If Meya couldn’t physically see Hildy’s chest rising and falling with barely veiled contempt, she might have had to check for a pulse.

“Very well,” Hildy said through gritted teeth. Rolling her lips inwardly to keep from smiling, Meya stepped behind the screen to change. To Hildy’s credit, she managed to get the dress halfway on Meya before she finally broke down.

“No. Absolutely not.” Throwing her hands up, Hildy shook her head. “Take it off. I do not know who thought this dress was a good idea, but it will go into the fire before the night is through. Step out.” Meya couldn’t help but laugh as she followed Hildy’s orders, the maid stomping off to the bureau.

When she returned, Meya was pleased to see that she’d chosen a less formal dress. A pale yellow, an uncommon fabric color, the dress was simply made, lacing up the front. The sleeves were short, allowing for more contrast between the white chemise sleeves and the lighter fabric against the heavier fabric of the dress.

“Much better. This suits your skin tone and hair much better.” Nodding with approval, Hildy finally looked more at peace. Still chuckling, Meya nodded in agreement as she looked at herself in the mirror.

“And it’s not too much. I approve.”

“Now, about your hair,” Hildy looked at her suspiciously, trying to determine if Meya had been serious earlier.

“I think we can just leave it down for the night, if that is alright with you.” Hildy considered Meya’s words for a moment, her eyes appraising the situation before she nodded.

“I’ll allow it.” With that, all was settled, and Meya made her way to dinner.

Her eyes found Aidan immediately, the sight of him beside the fire so simply dressed fitting him more than his dress from earlier in the day. Walking over to him, she curtsied, before lifting her eyes back to him.

“Your Highness.” The light from the fire illuminated her face, the warmth driving out the chill from the rest of the castle. “You look more at ease like this, if that’s not too bold to say.”

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan turned at the sound of Meya’s voice, her curtsy elegant yet understated. For a moment, the sight of her struck him silent. The pale yellow gown, simple yet flattering, complemented her complexion in a way that seemed almost effortless. Her hair, left loose, framed her face softly, its natural fall adding an understated charm. The firelight caught in her eyes, their depth pulling him in like a tide he didn’t care to resist.

“You do me a kindness,” Aidan said, his voice warm. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he let his gaze linger for a moment longer. “But I think you underestimate yourself. You look radiant tonight.”

Her slight flush didn’t escape his notice, though she quickly masked it. Aidan gestured toward the smaller table set by the hearth, where the warm glow of the flames cast dancing shadows across the room.

“Shall we?” he asked, stepping to her side to guide her toward the seats.

The dining arrangement was deliberately informal. A single candle stood at the center of the table, its flame flickering gently as they took their seats. The table was modestly set, with only a few dishes, each selected to encourage comfort rather than indulgence. The chairs were close enough that their conversation could be private, their voices low against the crackling of the fire.

“I thought a quieter setting might be more agreeable,” Aidan said as they settled in. He unfolded his napkin and placed it neatly in his lap, glancing at her. “After all, not every night must be spent in the company of councilors and guards.”

A servant entered briefly, setting the first course before them: a light soup, steaming in the chill of the evening. Aidan waited until the servant departed before picking up his spoon.

He took a small sip of the soup, savoring its warmth before continuing. “When I was younger, I’d slip out to the gardens at night. It was the one place where I didn’t feel the weight of my father’s expectations pressing down on me. Of course, the guards were always quick to drag me back inside.” He chuckled softly, a touch of humor lightening his expression. “They thought I was trying to escape. In truth, I was just looking for a little freedom.”

Aidan’s gaze flicked to her, searching her face. “I imagine you know something of that feeling, though for entirely different reasons.”

The second course arrived, roasted venison accompanied by seasonal vegetables, their aroma rich and inviting. Aidan reached for his glass of wine, the ruby liquid catching the light. He raised it slightly in a silent toast before taking a measured sip. The warmth of the wine, paired with the intimate atmosphere, eased the tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“I want to thank you,” he said after a moment, his tone steady and sincere. “For trusting me enough to be here. I know how much of a risk that must feel like.” He set his glass down carefully, his fingers lingering on its stem. “I meant what I said earlier. You have an ally in me. Whatever tomorrow brings, you’ll not face it alone.”

The words hung between them for a moment, carried by the quiet crackle of the fire. Aidan leaned back slightly, his posture relaxed but his eyes keenly observant. He wanted to know more about her—not just her circumstances or what brought her here, but who she was beneath the layers of duty and expectation.

“You said earlier that you’re a stranger here,” he began, his voice softer now. “I’d like to change that, if you’ll allow me. Tell me something about yourself, something that isn’t tied to politics or kingdoms. What is it you long for, Meya, when the world is quiet?”

He waited, giving her space to answer. As she spoke, Aidan found himself leaning closer, his focus entirely on her. The flickering firelight painted shadows across her features, but the earnestness in her eyes shone through.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Blushing was not an attribute Meya had known she possessed until his words managed to elicit one from her. At that moment, she was convinced that being invisible was much easier and made more sense. She didn’t know what to make of her reaction to Aidan and wanted to demand that he stop saying or doing things that left her confused. She’d never quite been the demanding type, though. And to do so would require her to admit aloud that he was making her feel unsteady, and that was certainly out of the question.

Thankfully, he moved them on before her thoughts could spiral too far down, and she was grateful to take her seat. She looked around, feeling more at ease here than she had most of the day. Dinner in his chambers had been the norm prior to their trip, but she was amazed at how intimate they’d made the dining room feel. It didn’t feel like they were in a large, cold space.

“After all, not every night must be spent in the company of councilors and guards.”

His words made her smile as her eyes roamed over him, his demeanor so decidedly different than when she’d seen him previously. “I meant what I said when I arrived. You look much more at ease. Less tense in a quieter atmosphere. Away from prying eyes.” Having seen him in front of the council and his father had been enlightening, and she had now seen very different sides to Aidan; the man he had to be in different situations. It was a game all nobility had to play, and some were better at it than others.

As the servant set her soup before her, she reached for her spoon, waiting to take a bite until they were alone. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she swallowed the first bite, her stomach offering a small rumble. While he spoke, she watched him as she ate, imagining a younger Aidan. It wasn’t hard to envision when he smiled what he might have been like as a child, and she could see the boy being pulled back in against his will.

“I imagine you know something of that feeling, though for entirely different reasons.”

An impish grin spread on her face, a very different expression than any other smile she’d given him during their conversations. “It wasn’t the garden for me. It was the kitchen.” She couldn’t help but laugh at the memories. “I would sneak into the kitchens and steal dessert. I really love honey cake, and the cook in The Keep at the time made the best ones. So, I would sneak in at night when the kitchen staff had gone to bed.”

Lifting the spoon, she paused, her gaze shifting to him. “I never got caught, though. Perhaps Your Highness needs a lesson in concealment.” Smiling, she offered him a wink before taking her bite.
As the time passed, Meya felt her muscles unclenching, her body reverting to the same level of comfort she’d had at the inn. Things were simpler when it was just the two of them, and she assumed it was because they had an understanding of one another. As she finished eating, she sat back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the fire as her finger ran around the rim of her glass absentmindedly.

“What is it you long for, Meya, when the world is quiet?”

His question sat with her, and her hand came to a standstill as she pondered the words. Finally, she met his eyes with hers, feeling as though she were stepping onto uncertain footing, and expecting it to crumble beneath her at the slightest misstep.

“I’m not sure the world has been quiet for me in a long time to think about such things,” she said, her tone gentle and having lost the mischief that was present earlier. “If I had to choose something?” Blue orbs moved around the room as though she were expecting an answer to fall from the ceiling or emerge from a doorway.

“Family?” The word came out a question when she finally spoke it, her gaze moving back to his. “I think about what our family felt like when my father was alive, and it was just the three of us. My mother was different when he was home. It was like she could breathe again, so she was less fastidious. Those nights where it was just the three of us around a fire, laughing, listening to him tell stories. It felt like nothing else outside our walls existed. After he died, we never had that again. My mother never recovered.” It was that reminder to Meya that she alone hadn’t been enough for her mother to keep pushing forward. Inhaling sharply, she looked at him and shrugged, pushing down the negative feelings that had begun to thread their way through her.

“So, if I had to choose something, it would be that feeling of family. But I don’t think that’s something that can just be given to someone. It has to be natural. In that regard, I’m not sure I gave you a very good answer.”

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan leaned back in his chair, his hands loosely clasped around his goblet as he studied Meya. Her words lingered in the air between them, delicate yet weighty, much like the firelight casting shadows across her face. She had spoken with a kind of raw honesty he rarely encountered. That rare vulnerability, coupled with her quiet strength, stirred something deep within him.

“Family,” Aidan repeated, his voice low, as though testing the word against his tongue. He tilted the goblet slightly, watching the wine swirl inside. “It’s not a small thing you long for. Nor is it one easily found.” His gaze lifted to hers, and the intensity of his expression softened. “But I think it’s an answer truer than most people could give.”

He let her words settle in his mind for a moment, considering the weight of her experiences against his own. Aidan had spent his life surrounded by family, yet it often felt more like an institution than something personal. His father, King Cathal, had always made it clear that duty outweighed affection. Even as a child, Aidan had felt the pressure to carry the name and legacy of their house, leaving little room for idle moments of warmth or connection.

“You remind me of my mother,” he admitted after a pause, his voice almost contemplative. He set the goblet down and leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the edge of the table. “Not in the way you speak or act, necessarily. But in how you treasure moments of closeness. She used to tell me stories about her home before she married my father. Her family was smaller than ours, more... connected. She spoke of simple evenings by the fire, much like the ones you described.”

Aidan allowed a brief smile to touch his lips as he continued, though the memory carried a bittersweet edge. “She wanted that for me, I think. But this castle doesn’t make room for such things. Here, family is defined by alliances and heirs, by the politics of proximity. The kind of warmth you speak of—it gets lost in all the formality.”

He hesitated, his fingers tracing the edge of the table absently. “That’s not to say it doesn’t exist. But you have to fight for it. And sometimes, you have to find it in unexpected places.”

Aidan’s eyes met hers again, and for a moment, the room seemed quieter, the world beyond its walls distant. “I don’t think family is a matter of blood, Meya. It’s a choice. A promise. Something you build with the people who see you for who you are, not just who you’re supposed to be.”

The fire crackled softly, filling the momentary silence. Aidan took a sip of wine, the rich flavor grounding him as he weighed his next words. He didn’t want to overwhelm her, nor did he wish to diminish the significance of what she’d shared. But he also felt a strange pull to let her see more of himself, to offer her a glimpse of the man behind the title.

“My father” he began, his tone shifting to one of quiet reflection, “is a man who values strength above all else. To him, emotions are a weakness, a distraction from the responsibilities of a ruler. He’s not wrong, in some ways. Ruling a kingdom demands resolve. But I sometimes wonder if he’s forgotten that strength doesn’t always mean shutting people out.”

Aidan’s jaw tightened briefly, the memory of his father’s stern lectures fresh even now. “He once told me that a king must be like the mountains—unyielding, unchanging, a symbol of stability. But I’ve always thought the rivers have their own strength. They carve through stone not by force, but by persistence. They bring life, while the mountains merely stand.”

He glanced at Meya, a faint smile returning to his lips. “Maybe that’s a bit poetic for someone who’s spent most of his life in council chambers and training yards. But it’s how I see the world. And it’s why I’m grateful for moments like this. They remind me of what’s worth fighting for.”

Aidan set his goblet down again, his fingers brushing against the stem as he did. “I don’t know what the future holds for either of us, Meya. There are too many uncertainties, too many forces at play beyond our control. But I do know this: whatever happens, I want to be the kind of man who carves through stone, not one who simply stands atop it.”

The firelight flickered, casting warm hues across his features as he fell silent. His words had come more freely than he’d intended, but he didn’t regret them. For all the barriers that the world might place between them, he felt a quiet sense of understanding growing in the space they shared. And for tonight, that was enough.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

“Nor is it one easily found.”

“I suppose that makes me difficult, does it not?” Lifting her goblet to her lips, she lifted her eyebrow in rhetorical inquiry, though the slight twinkle in her blue eyes signified she was only being partially serious. Difficult was a word she’d heard thrown in her direction frequently when she was a child. Her mother found her difficult because she wasn’t the ideal little lady. Not like her cousin. She had no interest in prancing about in fancy gowns, her hair elaborately piled on top of her head. Stockings frequently had to be thrown out because she would return from playing and had managed to get too many holes in them for repair. Ronin found her difficult because she hadn’t consistently figured out how to disconnect her heart from her mind. Truthfully, Meya had just accepted the fact that she was difficult.

“You remind me of my mother.”

His words caught her off guard, and she gave him a quizzical look as she slowly ate. Curiosity ebbed into a small smile, listening to him speak of his mother.

“I remember you once telling me you were so young when she passed there was much of her you did not remember. But the things you do remember, speak to memories of being connected and hearing stories that evoke a feeling of belonging and warmth. It could almost be said that how we make people feel around us will far outweigh the things we say to them. Details and conversations can fade with time, but those other sensibilities can linger.”

Sitting back in her chair, she laid her fork down as she finished eating, her sharp features focused solely on Aidan as he spoke. Tilting her head, she absentmindedly began wrapping a tendril of hair around her finger. When he did finish speaking, she allowed the silence to hang in the air for a moment before she spoke.

“Mountains do change, though, Your Highness.” She offered him a small smile as she lifted her left shoulder in a shrug. “They are constantly changing. The ridge of a mountain can crumble. It may not take the entire mountain down, and the mountain is still just as strong, but it is forever changed. Enough rain, and parts of the mountain can erode. From that erosion, new paths can form, creating new opportunities that weren’t there before. It’s just that their changes can happen over lifetimes so they are less noticeable, but sometimes the change is swift and comes without warning. A mountain feeds the land around it, including the rivers. It is all interconnected, and if one is broken, they are all broken.”

Standing, Meya walked over towards the fire, holding her hands out against the flames. She watched the orange flames jump around, her eyes becoming entranced at the little dance.

“I do not think your father is as lost as you might think him to be.” When she spoke this time, her voice had softened, barely above a whisper. “I do not profess to be perfect at reading people; however, my life over the last several years has entailed doing just that, so I believe I can speak with at least some knowledge. When you stood before them yesterday, he was proud of you. He might not have said it, but it was there in the way his gaze relaxed ever so softly. A small twitch on the right side of his mouth when you countered an argument.” Turning, she looked back at him, her back now to the wall of heat, her hands folding together in front of her. “I would encourage you not to give up on him, if you wish to shift the tone of your relationship. I think you just need to find a way to lead that change with him.”

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan remained seated, his hands resting lightly on the arms of his chair as he watched her move toward the fire. Her words lingered in his mind, a mix of challenge and comfort that was entirely her. Meya had a way of turning his perceptions just enough to make him re-evaluate them, peeling back layers he hadn’t realized he wore.

Her insights about his father struck a nerve, though not in the way he might have expected. She saw something he hadn’t dared to—hope. It was both daunting and strangely reassuring. Could it be true? Was there still space to bridge the chasm between himself and Cathal, the stoic king whose approval seemed perpetually out of reach?

The soft crackle of the fire filled the room, underscoring the quiet weight of the moment. Aidan rose, his movements deliberate but unhurried. As he approached, he felt the warmth of the hearth spread across his face, a stark contrast to the cool tension that often permeated the castle walls. For a fleeting moment, it was as though they were back at the inn, sharing something unspoken yet deeply understood.

“I don’t know if I agree with you about my father,” Aidan said, his voice low as he came to stand beside her. His eyes were fixed on the flames, their flickering light reflecting in his gaze. “But I think I envy your ability to see what others can’t—or won’t.”

He clasped his hands behind his back, straightening his posture in a way that felt more like the boy he’d been than the prince he had become. “Pride is a strange thing, isn’t it? It binds people together, but it also builds walls. My father... he built his entire life around those walls. Around being unshakable, immovable, like the mountain I mentioned.”

Aidan paused, his lips pressing into a thin line as he considered his next words. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe mountains change too. And maybe I’ve been too impatient to see it.”

The firelight danced across his face as he turned slightly, his gaze falling on Meya. There was something about her presence that invited him to be honest, to step outside the carefully constructed roles he played for the court, the council, and even his father. Here, beside her, he felt more like himself than he had in a long time.

“You have this uncanny ability to make me think differently,” he admitted, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s frustrating, in a way. I’ve spent my life learning how to read people, how to anticipate their moves before they make them. But with you... it’s different. You don’t follow the script.”
He chuckled softly, a sound that felt foreign even to him in its sincerity. “I suppose that’s why I keep finding excuses to be near you.”

Aidan stepped closer to the fire, letting its warmth seep into him as he gathered his thoughts. The memories of the inn were still vivid in his mind—those quiet moments where the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them and the fragile understanding they were building. He wanted to recapture that now, to find that same intimacy in the midst of the palace’s weighty expectations.

“Meya,” he began, his tone soft but steady. “Do you ever wonder if we’re more than the roles we’re given? More than the titles, the expectations, the duties? I do. I wonder what it would be like to just be Aidan. Not the prince, not the heir. Just... me.”

He turned to face her fully, his expression open in a way that felt almost vulnerable. “I think that’s part of what draws me to you. You make me feel like I could be that person—if only for a moment.”

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning yet spoken with ease. Aidan wasn’t sure what he expected her to say, or if he even expected a response at all. But for now, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the quiet space they shared, the unspoken understanding that bound them more tightly than words ever could.

He reached out, his hand hovering near the back of her chair as if to steady himself. “You told me once that people remember how we make them feel. That it lingers longer than anything we say. If that’s true, then I hope you remember this—this moment. Because I know I will.”

Aidan let his hand fall back to his side, the weight of his confession settling over him. The fire crackled softly, its warmth a constant reminder of the intimacy they had managed to create in a place that often felt cold and unyielding. For the first time in a long while, Aidan felt a sense of peace—not because his burdens had lessened, but because he was no longer carrying them alone.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Meya watched him carefully, worried she had overstepped. It was unlike her to be as forthcoming with her opinions, and as he joined her at the fire, she half expected him to tell her she was out of place. She turned her head and looked up to him, gnawing gently on the corner of her bottom lip. When he did speak, she nodded slowly, understanding etched onto her face. Because she did understand. After all, what did Meya really know of Aidan and Cathal? Nothing, really. Aidan had told her a lot, but that didn’t mean she knew them. Cathal’s twitches had been miniscule, almost imperceptible. It was entirely possible she was wrong.

“Maybe mountains change too. And maybe I’ve been too impatient to see it.”

“It is also possible that you have found yourself let down to such a degree, that you have reached a time where hoping for something better seems an impossible task.” Speaking softly, she turned to face him and reached out to lay her hand on the side of his arm. “That is also just as valid, if not more so, Your Highness.” Pulling her hand back, she turned back in the direction of the fire, her gaze looking up at the shadows leaping about the room.

“It is a hard choice, I think. To know when to push forward or to walk away and give up. I have heard so many people talk about how giving up on something always makes you weak, but I’m not entirely certain I agree wholeheartedly. I think there are times where we have to realize that we no longer have control over the outcome, and it is time to focus our energy elsewhere. Sometimes having to make that decision requires far more bravery than continuing to suffer inwardly while we try to, as you would say, move a mountain that will never yield for us.” A log popped as she slipped into silence, the pile shifting as one broke in half, sending little flurries of sparks upward into the grate.

“It’s frustrating, in a way.” “You don’t follow the script.”

Her head turned to him swiftly, her eyes smiling as she tried to decide if she should be affronted or not. As he continued to speak, her shoulders shook slightly as she laughed silently. “Would it make you feel more steady on your feet if I fawned after you instead, Your Highness? I imagine as the prince and future king, you are likely more accustomed to that behavior from the ladies of your court. I am ashamed to admit this, but I have a rather convincing faint up my sleeve. I refuse to bat my eyelashes, though. That is a line I refuse to cross.” Winking, she couldn’t hide the full smile that spread across her lips as she looked away from him.

“I suppose that’s why I keep finding excuses to be near you.”

Those words softened her demeanor, a tenderness wrapping around her that took her by surprise. She watched him as he stepped forward, her eyes traveling across his shoulders, watching to see if they tightened with stress or remained steady as they were. His form was silhouetted against the fireplace, the light outlining his body inside the tunic, reminding her of how sturdy he’d felt when they shared a bed. Reliable. Comfortable. As his question filled the silence, her heart broke for him a little, the sadness of it resonating in her blue eyes. When he looked at her, she felt her chest tighten as she watched him grapple with the turmoil he was trying to reconcile.

A response did not come immediately, but she continued to study him, her brow creased in thought. Eventually, she moved towards him, coming to stand in front of him. She had to tilt her head backwards to meet his gaze, and she reached up and cupped his face in her hands.

“Being a prince, an heir, a noble… those are things you do. They are not who you are.” There was an intensity in the way she was looking at him now, like she was trying to will him into believing her words.

“Who you are…” she started softly, her left hand moving to rest on his heart as her right hand returned to her side, “Who you really are inside…that determines the kind of leader you will be. The kind you already are. Not the other way around. You are that person all the time. You do not need me to be who you already are.”

She paused for a moment, her eyes dropping to where her hand rested on his heart, the steady rhythm tattooing against her fingers. Lifting her gaze back to him, she swallowed thickly, the sincerity filling her eyes.

“But, I do see you for who you are, Aidan.” It was the first time she had ever said his name aloud, and she found she liked the way it slid off her tongue.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan’s breath hitched as Meya spoke his name. Just one word, simple and soft, yet it sent an unfamiliar warmth coursing through him. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to respond. His name sounded different in her voice—less a title, less an obligation, and more... him. He was Aidan, not “Your Highness,” not “the prince.” Just Aidan.

The gravity of her words lingered, and he found himself captivated by the sincerity in her eyes. There was no pretence, no motive. She wasn’t speaking to the man he was expected to be but to the man he was—raw, unpolished, and uncertain. It was disarming, exhilarating, and terrifying all at once.

“Meya,” he began, his voice quieter than usual, as though anything louder might break the fragile moment between them. “You have a way of seeing straight through me. It’s... unsettling.” His lips quirked into a faint smile. “But also freeing.”

He took a half-step closer, his gaze fixed on hers. The firelight flickered across her face, highlighting the delicate arch of her cheekbones and the curve of her lips. She had an ease about her, a quiet strength that seemed to anchor him when everything else felt unsteady. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of court, where every glance and word carried the weight of expectation.

Her earlier playfulness lingered in his mind—the wink, the faint smile, her laugh as she teased him about courtly manners. He wanted more of that, more of her. She had let her guard down tonight, showing him a side that was softer, more unguarded, and utterly captivating.

“You know,” he said, his tone shifting, a glimmer of mischief creeping into his expression, “I think I’d like to see this faint of yours someday. Perhaps you could use it during the next council meeting. I suspect you’d win over Lord Darrow in an instant. The man does seem to favour theatrics.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and warm, but his levity couldn’t quite mask the deeper pull he felt toward her. There was something magnetic in the way she stood before him, head tilted back to meet his gaze, her presence both challenging and reassuring. He wanted to stay in this moment, to hold onto the connection they had forged against all odds.

When she placed her hand on his chest, Aidan became acutely aware of the space between them—or rather, how little of it there was. Her touch was light but grounding, her fingers resting over the steady beat of his heart. He wondered if she could feel how quickly it was racing. It wasn’t like him to feel so... unguarded. Yet with her, it felt natural.

“You’ve managed to do something remarkable,” he said, his voice softening again. “You make me feel seen—not as a prince, not as my father’s son, but as myself. I don’t think I’ve ever had that before.”

His eyes searched hers, looking for some sign that she felt the same pull he did. She was standing so close now, her presence filling the space around him, her scent—a mix of something floral and faintly earthy—lingering in the air. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

“Meya,” he said her name again, testing its weight on his tongue. It felt familiar now, comforting in a way he hadn’t expected. “You’ve called me by my name for the first time tonight. Do you have any idea what that means to me?”

He reached up slowly, hesitating for a moment before his hand found its way to her cheek. His touch was tentative, as though he feared she might pull away, but when she didn’t, he let his thumb brush lightly across her skin. “Hearing my name from your lips... it’s as if you’ve stripped away everything else. The court, the council, the crown—they don’t matter. Not here. Not now.”

Aidan’s hand lingered, his gaze dipping briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes. He didn’t want to rush, didn’t want to shatter the fragile intimacy of the moment. But the urge to close the remaining distance between them was undeniable. Her earlier playfulness and the sincerity in her words had woven something unshakable in his chest—a sense of belonging he hadn’t realized he craved.

“I feel like I should thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “for reminding me of who I am. Of who I want to be.”

He paused, his lips curling into a small, almost self-conscious smile. “But I think words would only get in the way of what I really want to say.”

Without breaking eye contact, he leaned in ever so slightly, the space between them narrowing further. He moved slowly, giving her every chance to step away, to stop him if this wasn’t what she wanted. But deep down, he hoped—prayed—that she wouldn’t. That she felt the same magnetic pull he did.

His heart hammered in his chest, loud enough that he was certain she could hear it. But for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Aidan didn’t care about appearances or expectations. All that mattered was her—the woman who had slipped past his defences with a smile and a name.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

“It’s... unsettling.”

Meya laughed at his words, the sound startling her as it broke free spontaneously. “My…apologies?” Her blue eyes were light, twinkling with the teasing. Some of her mirth faded as he moved closer to her as she suddenly became very aware of him. All of him.

“You know…”

There was something in his inflection when he began, and Meya turned her head slightly, giving him an overtly suspicious look. When he spoke again, she shook her head, an amused expression perching itself on her face as she chuckled. “Only if you promise to catch me. If I were to hit the stone floor, I would not be acting.”

It felt good to laugh. Meya hadn’t realized that she’d missed something as simple as laughter. For years, the sound had remained buried, locked away in some cage she hadn’t remembered closing. Perhaps it happened when it became imperative that she not draw attention to herself. She’d caged up so much of herself that she couldn’t even remember what other parts of her had been lost through the years. Sacrificing oneself for king and country could be done in many ways, and Meya knew that she had sacrificed herself. Not through loss of her physica life, but by becoming a shell of who she’d been.

Aidan had begun to slowly free little parts of her, not just picking the lock that held firm, but by cutting through the very bars themselves. It almost terrified her to wonder what he might find once all the bars were removed.

When he said her name again, it felt different. The gravelly tone of his voice rubbed against her, reminding her of the way a cat’s tongue felt against smooth skin. She suppressed a shiver, unclear as to what would have caused that reaction in the first place. When he brought his hand up, her eyes shifted to it, her body tensing for a brief moment as she watched him lift it towards her, but relaxing as soon she felt his warmth on her cheek. Had she not been wearing sleeves that covered her arms, he would have been able to see the tiny little bumps that rose at the first contact.

Her eyes returned to his, the blue shade darkening as the world stilled inside her. Without realizing she was doing it, her head tilted towards his hand, her skin seeking out more of him as his words poured over her like the hot water from a wash basin. He was lulling her back into that space where she felt lightheaded and unsteady, but she trusted herself with him in that space.

As he moved closer to her still, her chest contracted, and she found air difficult to come by. Meya didn’t move away from him, though. She felt, instead, like she was drowning, fighting to breathe steadily while her heartbeat picked up pace, and the only thing that would keep her from going under was Aidan. She knew what he wanted, and Meya wanted to give him what he wanted. As he leaned forward, her eyes drifted down to his mouth before moving back up, and she tried to rationalize what every sensation in her body meant, but found her thoughts blur as his nose brushed against hers.

She knew without a shadow of a doubt that Aidan wouldn’t just take what she was unwilling to give. Beyond that, Meya knew he wouldn’t push unless it was something she actively wanted. With his fingers still on her face, she knew at that moment she wanted to feel him. The tenderness with which he’d handled her the night he’d shielded her from memories, the gentleness in every word and touch, had led to this moment.

She nodded slowly as she found herself incapable of speaking. Closing her eyes, Meya wasn’t entirely certain who closed the last of the distance between them, but the moment her lips felt his, everything changed. Her movements were tentative, and she brought her hands to rest on his chest, and she felt as though she had just come up for air for the first time.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan’s world narrowed the moment her lips met his, the kiss igniting something deep within him that he hadn’t even known he was missing. The feel of her hands resting against his chest grounded him, and for the first time in years, he felt truly alive. It was as if every doubt, every fear, and every burden he carried had melted away, leaving only the raw, unfiltered emotion that now coursed through him.

Her lips were soft and warm, a perfect contrast to the coolness of the night air that lingered in the room. He moved gently at first, exploring the unfamiliar yet exhilarating connection, afraid to push too far and shatter the fragile moment. But as the kiss deepened, her tentative response gave way to something more sure, and he found himself unable to hold back.

His hands framed her face now, his thumbs brushing lightly along her cheeks as if to memorize the contours of her features. Aidan had kissed women before—on rare occasions, fleeting moments born of duty or expectation. But this was nothing like those. This was different. This was real.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers as he caught his breath. “Meya,” he whispered, her name falling from his lips like a prayer. His voice was heavy with emotion, laced with both awe and disbelief. “You’re... you’re incredible.”

Her eyes opened, meeting his gaze, and he saw in them a vulnerability that mirrored his own. It struck him like a blow, the realization that she wasn’t just someone he was drawn to—she was someone he could trust. Someone who saw the man beneath the title, who could hold his heart in her hands without crushing it.

Unable to resist, Aidan kissed her again. This time, the kiss was firmer, more insistent, as though he were staking a claim on the fragile connection they’d built. His fingers slid into her hair, tangling in the soft strands as he tilted her head slightly, deepening the kiss further. He felt her respond, the warmth of her hands pressing more firmly against his chest, and it sent a thrill through him that left him breathless.

When they broke apart again, Aidan’s chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. He searched her face, his thumb tracing a gentle line along her jaw. The firelight flickered across her features, casting shadows that made her look even more radiant.

“You make me feel things I thought I’d buried long ago,” he admitted, his voice low and rough. “I thought I’d locked that part of myself away forever, but with you... it’s like you’ve thrown open every door I didn’t even realize was closed.”

He pressed another kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment, his lips brushing against her skin. “You’re changing me, Meya,” he murmured against her, his tone filled with equal parts gratitude and wonder. “And I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same.”

Aidan felt a sudden, desperate need to be closer to her, as though proximity alone could ensure this moment would last forever. He slipped his arms around her, pulling her gently against him. She fit perfectly in his embrace, her warmth seeping into him and chasing away the ever-present chill that came with being a prince, a son, an heir. He held her as though she were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

As they stood there, the crackle of the fire the only sound filling the silence, Aidan’s thoughts turned inward. How had this happened? How had she slipped past the walls he’d spent years constructing? It had been unintentional, gradual, like a river wearing down stone over time. But now that it had happened, he couldn’t imagine going back.

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his fingers still resting lightly on her waist. “You’ve been my calm in the storm,” he said, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions raging inside him. “And I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

His gaze dropped to her lips again, the temptation proving too great. Without waiting for permission this time, he kissed her once more, slower and more deliberate, as though savoring every second. Each kiss felt like a promise, a silent vow that whatever this was, he wouldn’t let it slip away.

When he finally broke away, he couldn’t help the small, almost boyish smile that spread across his face. “If this is a dream,” he said, his tone playful but sincere, “I don’t ever want to wake up.”

Aidan leaned his forehead against hers again, closing his eyes as he allowed himself to simply be in the moment. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t thinking about his father, his duties, or the weight of his title. There was only her, and for now, that was more than enough.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Meya was quite certain that she was standing on the precipice of something new and earth shattering, though she didn’t know that it was. The moment his lips touched hers, it was as though the floor beneath her opened up and sent her free falling, with no end in sight. Rather than feeling afraid of what might be waiting at the bottom, she felt with absolute certainty that Aidan would not let her hit the ground. As her lips explored hers, she felt a warmth settle in her stomach, this myriad of feelings coursing through her body and thoughts through her head unfamiliar to her.

The taste of wine still lingered on his lips, and she found herself leaning into him as she sought more of him. When he pulled back from her, her eyes remained closed as they stood, foreheads pressed together. Her name on his tongue sounded different than all the other times he’d said it, and her fingers curled into his tunic at the sound as she tried to steady her breath. It was his last words, though, that pulled her from inside herself, and she opened her eyes to look at him. Her face held a multitude of expressions, her fear melting into confusion, her confusion swirling against want, want gliding beside openness, like a painter’s palette, the colors standing on their own before mixing together along the edges, creating something new where they met.

In the moment their lips were parted, her mind had begun to run away from her, thoughts pouring through her faster than she could process them. Doubt, fear, insecurity all tugged at her, but they were just as quickly extinguished when he kissed her again. The only thing she could think of was the way his hands in her hair made her shiver down her spine, and how he could manage to assert himself so gingerly that how those two things fit was beyond her. As aware of his stature as she’d always been, Meya was acutely aware of the way his muscles flexed beneath her hand every time he moved. Every time she felt his breath against her, she grew warmer inside, the sounds of their mouths exploring one another twisting her stomach in anticipation just as much as the feel of him.

Moving slowly, Meya reached up and timidly rested her fingers against the side of his neck, her hand pulling away from a brief moment before laying back against him. She wanted to touch him, yearning to rekindle that feeling from the inn when the world had seemed to shut itself out.

When he spoke again, she looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, her chest rising and falling with every effort to slow her heart down. Though she heard his words, Meya was having a difficult time accepting their meaning. It wasn’t that she thought him to be disingenuous, but she knew all of the ugly parts inside of her, and it was impossible to believe that someone like Aidan could truly see past those to something good. It was like he’d decided that she was worth saving, but Meya herself had not quite accepted that.

Whether she accepted it or not, it did not change the fact that his words were true for her. Swallowing thickly, Meya’s eyes trailed over his face, her brow creasing in thought as she followed the path of his scar before her eyes moved over his lips and back up again.

“I-” She paused, trying to find courage to say what she was grappling with. “I did not know that this was something a woman could want.”

It sounded ignorant, even to her own ears, but she genuinely had not thought that physical touch like this was something to be desired. She could recall seeing her mother and father kiss on another, but those memories were clouded by more recent years, watching the men she was traveling with take what they wanted with aggression. Perhaps it was Aidan’s gentleness that had drawn her in to him, the way he kissed her forehead just as intimate as when his lips had been on hers. Her chest tightened as every movement of his hands on her evoked some new sensation. His kisses pulled her back in every time, and he was the only thing flooding her senses.

His smile nearly undid her, and she found herself reflecting his expression, unable to resist the way it lifted her spirit right to him.

“I don’t ever want to wake up.”

Feeling unsure of herself, Meya reached up and laid her hand against his cheek, her index finger tracing the thin white line.

“Aidan,” she whispered his name, feeling the weight of it on her lips, “you created this dream.” Her eyes watched her fingers as they continued to explore his skin, her touch moving from his scar down his jaw. “The moment you decided to follow your instincts and give a wretched, blackened soul a second chance at life.”

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan felt his breath hitch as Meya spoke his name, her voice soft and filled with something unspoken that struck a chord deep within him. Her touch was gentle yet deliberate, her fingers tracing his scar with an intimacy that sent a shiver down his spine. He hadn't expected her to touch it—to acknowledge the imperfection he often wished to forget. Yet, as her fingers moved along the line of it, he felt none of the shame or bitterness that usually accompanied thoughts of the mark. Instead, he felt seen in a way that left him both vulnerable and elated.

Her words echoed in his mind. You created this dream. The weight of them sank in, weaving themselves into the moment with a significance he couldn’t ignore. For years, Aidan had lived in a world dictated by duty and expectation, where dreams were luxuries he couldn’t afford. And yet here she was, telling him that he’d somehow forged this fleeting, beautiful connection. It humbled him and emboldened him all at once.

He reached up, his hand covering hers where it rested on his cheek, holding it there as though anchoring himself to her. His thumb stroked over her knuckles, his touch slow and reverent. “Meya,” he began, his voice thick with emotion, “if I’ve created a dream, it’s only because you’ve made it possible.”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her palm before gently pulling her hand down, though he didn’t let go. Instead, he laced their fingers together, holding her hand against his chest where his heart raced beneath her touch. “You talk of blackened souls,” he said softly, his gaze locking with hers, “but I’ve seen no such thing in you. What I see is strength, resilience, and a heart that has been battered yet still dares to feel.”

His lips curved into a small smile, the corners trembling slightly under the weight of his emotions. “You might not believe it yet, but you’ve brought light into places I thought would always remain dark. You’ve reminded me what it feels like to hope.” He exhaled, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And what it feels like to want.”

Aidan’s free hand rose to cup her cheek again, his touch firm yet tender, his thumb brushing against her skin. He studied her expression, the way her blue eyes softened as they looked at him, the way her breath hitched just slightly at his touch. It was as though she were allowing him to see past every wall she had built, granting him access to the parts of her she kept hidden from the world.

Unable to resist, he leaned in once more, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was slower this time, deliberate and consuming. The way she melted into him made his chest tighten, and he deepened the kiss instinctively, tilting his head to savour her fully. Her taste, the warmth of her body pressed against his, the quiet sighs that escaped between them—it was intoxicating. He moved his hand to the back of her neck, his fingers threading through her hair as he held her to him, unwilling to let the moment slip away.

When they parted, his forehead rested against hers again, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. He opened his eyes, his gaze drinking her in as though committing every detail of her to memory. “You undo me, Meya,” he admitted quietly, his voice raw. “Every kiss, every touch, every word—I feel as though I’m being rebuilt into someone I never thought I could be.”

His hand returned to her cheek, his thumb brushing along the line of her jaw. “You said you didn’t know this was something a woman could want,” he murmured, his tone both gentle and insistent. “But it’s something I want, Meya. You. All of you. And not just in stolen moments like this.”

Aidan’s lips brushed hers again, a feather-light touch that lingered just long enough to leave her wanting more. He smiled against her lips, the gesture small but filled with warmth. “You’ve given me something I thought I’d lost long ago,” he continued. “Not just hope. Not just desire. But... purpose.”

His voice faltered slightly, the vulnerability in his words laying him bare. “For so long, I’ve lived with the weight of who I’m expected to be, what I’m expected to do. But with you…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly. “With you, I’m not just a prince. I’m not just my father's son. I’m a man—one who wants to protect you, to see you smile, to hear your laughter, to make you feel safe.”

Aidan tilted his head, brushing his nose against hers in a gesture that was almost playful. “And if that means creating dreams, then I’ll gladly spend my life crafting them—for you, and with you.”

He kissed her again, this time with a sense of finality, as though sealing everything he had said with that singular, heartfelt gesture. When he pulled away, his smile remained, though his eyes betrayed the depth of his emotions. “Tell me I’m not the only one feeling this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but brimming with hope.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

She liked the feel of him under her hands, her memory retracing every touch from the inn and the way his physical closeness enveloped her into a cocoon, coming to rest on the present sensation of his hand enclosing hers. Everything about this felt natural, from the way his fingers feathered over the back of her hand to the way the sound of his voice circled around her, driving everything else away. His presence had begun to consume her own, but rather than emulating a fire raging through a drought stricken forest, it had been a subtle change, steady and sure like the water whose path carved waterfalls from stone.

The tenderness with which he pressed his lips against the sensitive skin of her wrist flipped her stomach, her eyes closing briefly as she lost herself in that second. Opening her eyes, she trailed over their entwined fingers, and it took her a moment to discern his from hers. Looking up at him, she wore her vulnerability in the uncertainty in her gaze and the way she gently bit down on her bottom lip.

“What I see is strength, resilience, and a heart that has been battered yet still dares to feel.”

His words tugged at that candle inside her he’d previously lit, the tiny, crooked stub, whose flame had been limping along with a speck of a wick. With a few chosen words, he managed to wrap her candle in fresh wax, pulling the wick taller so her flicker grew a little stronger. Swallowing thickly, emotion began to bubble inside her as he continued to speak.

“You’ve reminded me what it feels like to hope.”

A burning sensation pricked her eyes, and she was caught off guard as her vision blurred. Blinking once, she felt two years slip down her cheeks, the wet trail foreign to her after so many years of holding them back. His hand reclaiming her cheek made her inhale sharply, the way he kept finding so many little ways to touch her making her dizzy.

The taste of him as he closed the distance between them again flooded her senses, and she gave into him quicker than she had the last time he’d kissed her. With every stroke of his tongue, she felt her body meld to his, needing him with an ache so strong it hurt. A small sound emitted from her, stifled between their kisses, when his hand tangled in her hair. He was touching her in places that had only ever known roughness, places that typically made her tense up and become like stone when anyone got near enough. Meya wanted to know how he would feel touching her, kissing her, on other parts of her body.

The way he could effectively move between words and action was a balm on her soul, and Meya felt this overwhelming sense of profound warmth inside her that it nearly felt too large to hold.

“Tell me I’m not the only one feeling this.”

Taking a slow, shaky breath, Meya slid her hands to his shoulders, her fingers gently kneading his muscles as she shook her head.

“You are not. I just don't know what this is that I'm feeling because I have never felt anything like this before.” Confessing her ignorance, her cheeks turned a light shade of pink that she could feel, and hoped the dim lighting would help cover it up. “I have never understood why anybody would want to… be touched. There was nothing about what I have seen or experienced that made it make sense. But you make everything feel different.” Reaching up, her fingers slid through his hair, her nails gently moving across his scalp as she relished the feeling of his soft hair moving against her skin.

“I think I am left even more confused about what I have seen, and why anyone would choose that when feeling like this is a possibility.” Meya doubted she was making sense as she tried to rewrite the world she knew with what she was learning. “You make me feel, Adrian. While I am not sure I understand what it is you're making me feel, you have begun to carve away this numbness that I have so painstakingly built around me.” Looking up at him pensively, her face softened as she offered him a small smile. Leaning in, she planted a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek, her hand resting on his other cheek, holding him close.

The sound of the door opening startled her, and she jumped back as though they had been caught committing a crime. Granted, they were in a scandalous position at the moment, but she schooled her face as she turned to see a stern looking servant enter the room to clear the table. Rolling her lips inwardly, she looked back down at the ground until she heard the man leave the room. Lifting her eyes back to Aidan, she smiled tentatively at him.

“It is getting late into the evening.”

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan watched her pull back with a jolt at the sound of the door opening, and for a brief moment, he felt bereft without the closeness of her touch. The servant’s arrival broke the spell, and Aidan instinctively straightened, though his hand lingered at his side, fingers curling as though they could still feel the warmth of hers. His expression was calm, a prince accustomed to masking his emotions, though his pulse still thundered in his ears.

When the servant left and the door closed behind him, Aidan’s gaze returned to Meya. The tentative smile she offered was enough to coax a matching one from him, though his was tinged with quiet amusement. His smile grew, a flicker of mischief brightening his eyes before it softened again, his words becoming more earnest. “You’re right—it’s late, and you should rest.” He took a small step closer, unwilling to let the evening end without leaving her with something more. Slowly, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, his fingers lingering near her temple.

“Meya,” he said her name like a promise, his voice gentle yet firm, “what you’ve said tonight, what you’ve shared with me… It means more than I can put into words. I’ll not pretend to understand all that you’ve endured, but I will promise you this: I will never let you feel that numbness again. Not while I’m here.” His thumb ghosted over her cheek, a feather-light caress before he dropped his hand, the reluctance evident in his movements.

He took a step back, though the space between them felt like a chasm. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts for now,” he said, his tone soft but resolute. “But know that my thoughts will be with you. Always.”

Aidan turned toward the door but paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Dream well, Meya,” he said, his smile warm. “And if the dreams don’t come… you know where to find me.”

With that, he left the room, his steps steady but unhurried, the memory of her touch and her words etched into his mind. As he walked down the dimly lit corridor, he couldn’t help but press his fingers to his lips, reliving the feel of her against him. The ache to return to her was already there, pulling at him with an intensity that made him question how he would endure the hours until morning.

His thoughts raced as he made his way to his chambers, the lingering heat of her presence wrapping around him like a cloak. She feels it too, he thought, the words both a comfort and a catalyst for the yearning that refused to subside. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to hope—not for the crown, not for duty, but for something far more precious: a future with her.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

As Meya went through the motions of getting ready for bed, her thoughts remained with the man in the room beside her. The fact that he was so close to her hadn't been forgotten in the time she'd been here, but tonight it was as though she could feel the breadth of him through the stone walls. Sitting in front of the mirror as Hildy brushed her hair, Meya’s thoughts were reliving the evening she had just had with Aidan.

“It is rather a curious thing, m’lady, how your hair managed to become so tangled during dinner.” Hildy gave her a pointed expression in the mirror as she worked the brush through her blonde locks.

“Oh?” Meya returned her own stare before lifting a shoulder in a rather elegant shrug. “It didn't feel all that tangled to me.”

“A little more tangled than one would expect from a quiet dinner.” The woman's eyes glinted slightly as she refused to break eye contact.

“I have been known to fidget with my hair when it is down.” Meta replied evenly, stretching her arms out in front of her. It was a true statement, if not entirely honest in its application. “My mother used to scold me for it.”

“Hm. Of course.” Hildy’s tone and the way her right eyebrow crooked upwards told Meya she didn't believe her for a moment, but the impish smirk tugging at the side of the woman's lips conveyed the impression that she didn't disapprove of whatever Meya had been up to.

Before long, she was alone with her thoughts again, and she curled up on the chaise in front of the fire. Almost to prove her point, Meya’s fingers ran through the bottom of her hair, which was draped over her shoulder.

“I will never let you feel that numbness again.”

His voice rang in her ear, the memory of his words encircling her like a protective shield against the forces that had corrupted her heart. The image of what originally brought her to Gaelica sent an icy chill down her spine, almost as if an invisible figure was running a large, malicious finger down her vertebrae.

I'm a traitor. The realization slammed into her like the ground after falling from a horse. While she knew she'd toed the line, the shift in her feelings towards Aidan would never be tolerated, and if even the slightest hint of those feelings leaked out to the South Seas, she wouldn't be the only one in danger. She was a danger to him if they were not careful.

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back on the back of the cushion and let out a long breath. Aidan. His name aloud on her lips had surprised even her, but the thrill of it far outweighed any sense of impropriety that she probably should have felt. The way he kept giving her all those little touches and kisses, almost as if he wasn't even aware he was doing it, filled her with so many new, exhilarating feelings. Even now, a couple hours later, the memory of it caused something to settle in her heart. It drove out the fear of what the future likely held.

Rolling her lips inwardly, she had vivid recollection of the taste of his tongue on hers, the pressure of his mouth against hers. Meya had never even dreamt of something so intimate as the way her body had folded into his without hesitation. The warmth that had spread between her legs had nearly caused her to forget how to draw breath.

Meya wasn't certain how long she laid there, trying to welcome sleep that never quite stepped foot through the door. She never bothered to try the bed, knowing that what she really wanted wasn't to be found in this room.

“And if the dreams don’t come… you know where to find me.”

Aidan's voice again drifted through the recesses of her mind, and she sat up, looking back into the fire. What was it about the night time in particular that drew her thoughts to him so excessively? Laying here, alone, and all she could imagine was the way it might feel to slide into bed beside him again.

Standing up, she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, and walked quietly to the door that separated their rooms. Lifting her fist, she knocked several times, loud enough to be heard, but hopefully not loud enough to wake him if he had found sleep.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan had not yet sought his bed, his mind far too restless for sleep. He sat in a high-backed chair near the window, a goblet of wine in hand, staring at the moonlit gardens below. The cool breeze slipping through the slightly open window did little to calm the heat thrumming through his veins, the memories of Meya’s touch, her voice, and her vulnerability etched vividly in his thoughts.

He swirled the wine absently, her words echoing in his mind. "You make everything feel different." A part of him still marvelled at the idea that he could have such an effect on her, that someone so guarded and wounded would trust him enough to say such things aloud. And yet, he felt the weight of her words, the unspoken fears tangled within them, and it filled him with equal parts longing and resolve.

The knock startled him. His brow furrowed, and he placed the goblet on a nearby table before standing. For a moment, he wondered if he had imagined it. But when the knock came again, he crossed the room quickly, his hand hovering over the door handle.

When he opened the door, Aidan froze. There she stood, wrapped in a blanket, her hair loose and catching the faint glow of the firelight from her room. Her expression was a mixture of hesitance and determination, her vulnerability as stark now as it had been earlier.

“Meya,” he said, his voice low with surprise. For a brief moment, he couldn’t speak further, the sight of her so unexpected that it stole his words. He quickly stepped back, holding the door wider. “Come in.”

As she moved past him into the room, Aidan closed the door softly behind her, his gaze following her every movement. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she seemed to be bracing herself. “I didn’t expect you,” he admitted, his tone gentle but laced with curiosity. He approached her slowly, careful not to crowd her. “Not that I mind. I just…” He exhaled, searching for the right words. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

His eyes softened as they met hers, his voice dropping to an almost reverent whisper. “But I’m glad you did.”

Aidan gestured toward the sitting area by the fire, his movements unhurried, giving her the space to decide where she wanted to be. “Is everything all right?” he asked, though he suspected the answer. There was something in the way she looked at him, an unspoken longing he understood all too well.

He hesitated a moment before adding, his voice carrying the barest hint of a plea, “Tell me what you need, Meya. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”​

 

[QuirkyQuill]

The world righted itself when the door opened, and he came back into view, the details of his face that had been so clearly imprinted into her mind were now before her in the flesh. Immediately she felt her thoughts slow and she inhaled deeply as she moved into his room. She'd never been this deep into his quarters before, but his scent lingered in the air. Turning, her gaze lifted to him, and she gave him an apologetic expression.

“I didn’t expect you.”

“I know it's late.” Her voice came out softly, almost afraid to break the stillness of the late hour. Of course, now that she was here, Meya felt at a loss. There had been no plan in place when she'd made the decision to knock on his door, just this overwhelming desire to be near him again. Her gaze remained on him as he walked closer to her, and when he stopped, she could feel that pull.

“Is everything all right?”

Nodding, she swallowed, her fingers moving to the ring and twisting it. “Yes, everything is fine, I just -”

Her voice trailed off as she studied him, recalling her thoughts in her room. Meya wanted more of that feeling he gave her. His gentleness, the way his hands had caressed her skin with the lightest of touches. There was also the fear of what the future held for her once Ronin had time to reconnect with her uncle. Life would grow more tumultuous at some point, she knew that was inevitable. If her time with Aidan was to come to an end, Meya wanted as much of him as she could get. She wanted to dive into that little flame he'd lit in her and see just how brightly it could burn, even if it meant dealing with the suffocating pain that would come when the South Seas found a way to stomp it out.

“Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

His words brought a small smile to her face, and she stepped closer to him, closing most of the distance between them. Reaching up, she laid her hand on his cheek, her eyes committing every detail to memory. “I don't need anything from you, Aidan. I just want more of you.”

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan’s breath caught as her words reached him. I just want more of you. The simplicity of her confession carried a weight that reverberated through him, silencing any lingering doubts about her presence here. He held her gaze, the vulnerability in her eyes stirring something deep within his chest.

“Meya,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of wonder and tenderness. He raised a hand, brushing his fingers against hers where they rested on his cheek. The warmth of her touch anchored him, yet her closeness ignited a fire he wasn’t sure he could contain.

Her need for him was clear—not for words, but for presence, for connection. For touch. He could see it in the way her body leaned toward his, in the way her breathing shifted as his hand slid gently over hers. He knew what she was asking of him, and he would not deny her.

Aidan stepped closer, his free hand trailing up to brush a strand of her hair from her face, his knuckles grazing her temple. “Are you certain?” he asked softly, his tone steady but laced with meaning. “Because if you want more, I… I want to give you everything. But you’ll have to tell me when to stop.”

He allowed his fingers to trace the curve of her jaw, his touch deliberate but slow, giving her time to decide, to pull away if she wished. When she didn’t, Aidan leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment before letting his lips trail down to her temple. He felt her shiver beneath his touch, and it emboldened him.

“I want to know you,” he whispered, his voice low, intimate. His lips brushed against the shell of her ear. “All of you. Your fears, your joys… what makes you burn, and what makes you tremble.”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting hers again, searching for any hint of hesitation. Instead, he saw only desire and trust—a trust he would never betray. “If that’s what you want, I’ll take my time,” he promised. “You’ll have to tell me where your lines are. I’ll listen.”

His hand slid down to her waist, the fabric of her gown soft beneath his fingers. The pressure was light, testing her boundaries, but his intentions were clear. “Let me show you,” he said softly, his thumb grazing her side. “Let me show you what it feels like to be cherished.”

Aidan took a step closer, closing the remaining space between them. He tilted his head, his gaze locked on hers, intense and unyielding. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing along the soft curve of her skin as if committing the texture to memory. The air between them grew heavy, charged with a quiet, unspoken anticipation.

“You don’t know what you do to me, Meya,” he murmured, his voice rough with restrained emotion. His thumb stilled, pressing lightly against her cheekbone as his other hand slid to the small of her back, drawing her closer. “Every time I look at you, I fight against wanting… more.”

Her breath hitched, and Aidan took it as his cue, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was not the tentative connection they’d shared earlier. This was deeper, more urgent—a declaration of everything he felt but couldn’t find the words to say. His lips molded to hers, his movements firm yet careful, giving her no doubt of his desire while still leaving her the freedom to set the pace.

He pulled her closer, their bodies brushing, the heat between them undeniable. His fingers slid into her hair, tangling gently as his grip tightened just enough to hold her there, to show her that she wasn’t just wanted but needed. His kisses became hungrier, his lips parting as his tongue sought hers, coaxing her to meet him fully in the moment. The taste of her made his pulse race, and he let out a low, involuntary sound that vibrated between them.

When he finally broke the kiss, it was only to rest his forehead against hers, his breathing uneven. His hands remained where they were—one tangled in her hair, the other anchoring her at the waist. “Do you feel it now?” he whispered, his voice husky, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. “How much I want you? How much I need you?”

His hand slid from her hair to cradle the back of her neck, his thumb tracing lazy circles over her skin. He tilted her face up to meet his eyes, the raw emotion in them impossible to hide. “You’re not just a passing desire to me, Meya. You’re… more. So much more.” He kissed her again, slower this time but no less intense, savoring every second as if to imprint it into his soul.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

The way he said her name tethered her to the spot, her blue eyes watching his fingers settle on hers. It amazed her how such a simple physical connection between them revealed an abundance of feelings she never knew she possessed. Meya knew it had to stem from that invisible bond that developed in the last weeks; an emotional connection that had been forged through sharing the deeper parts of their soul with one another that had brought her back to life. No, it was better than that. He’d reached her in a place she didn't even know she possessed, and she needed to know what else he was capable of making her feel.

Meya knew that the world around them was designed in such a way that she could lose this at any moment. This warmth and coziness that wrapped around her when he moved forward and touched her hair, the flutter that made its way through her stomach as the back of his hand brushed her temple, culminated into an indescribable need to feel every part of him.

“Are you certain?”

Meya nodded at his question, and swallowed, certain he could feel the way her pulse quickened as his touch drifted to her jaw.

“I am.” Voice barely above a whisper, Meya watched him, her face an ocean of feelings as her head leaned towards his hand. At the feel of his lips against her forehead, she closed her eyes, allowing every nerve ending in her skin to be her eyes as his lips moved to her temple. If she could bottle this feeling to have forever, Meya would have moved mountains to make it happen. The knowledge that every force outside his bedroom walls would, inevitably, work to keep them apart only furthered her resolve. Aidan felt too good to be true. The way his voice vibrated in her ear, a soft whisper that caused every hair on her arm to stand, brought only him into focus. Her thoughts that she would never be allowed to keep him were slowly pulled beyond her conscious thought, replaced by the internal commitment that tonight she would live in the moment. The weight of the world would still be there in the morning, reminding her that these stolen moments with him needed to be savored. Nothing truly good lasted in her life, and while that thought nearly stole her from this moment, the warmth of his breath against her sent a shiver through her bringing her back.

“All of you. Your fears, your joys… what makes you burn, and what makes you tremble.”

His words alone elicited a strong current of pleasure from her stomach to that inner spot between her legs, and she nearly whimpered from her body’s reaction. How he had garnered so much power over her body just from his voice alone captivated her, and Meya wasn’t sure she would ever figure that mystery out.

“You’ll have to tell me where your lines are. I’ll listen.”

Meya’s breathing grew shallow as his hands moved down, the chemise she wore doing nothing to guard her from the heat his hands left as they moved to her waist. Opening her eyes, she rested her hands on his chest, the curve of his muscles as evident to her touch as if he were wearing nothing at all.

“I may not know those lines until we are on them,” she said, managing to find her words. Swallowing again, she met his gaze with one of her own, her hands moving up to his shoulders. “I trust you not to hurt me, Aidan.”

Meya knew the mechanics of intercourse. There was no secret as to how that was supposed to work. What was uncharted for her was the desire to want it. This feeling of intimacy that left her so disoriented that she was certain that whatever she had witnessed and experienced in the past was not what this was supposed to be. The more he touched her, the more her body yearned for something she couldn’t quite determine.

His movements were so slow, the pressure of his hand against her back so tantalizing, that when he kissed her, she was certain her heart would burst from her chest. Her body melded to his effortlessly, her hands sliding from his shoulder to his neck. The day’s stubble under her fingers sent another thrill through her, a small sound of desire whining in the back of her throat. Her chest tightened as his tongue parted their lips, her pelvis pushing into his of its own accord. Every part of her body that touched him felt like a fire that had sparked to life. She was very aware of her breasts against his chest, and his hardness that pressed against her stomach. The sounds he made shot straight from her stomach down to her legs, and she felt herself grow damp, her blood pounding in her ears.

When they broke for air, Meya’s eyes remained closed, afraid if she opened them, she would find this all to be a dream. His question brought a renewed awareness of his own desire, rigid against her, and when she opened her eyes, she looked as though she were coming undone.

“I feel helpless with you,” she said, her own voice coming out scratchy. “You consume every part of me. Every waking moment.” His mouth reclaimed hers, and she felt nearly weightless in his arms, her head tilted back, their height difference making her feel delicate and feminine in a way that contradicted her sensibilities. One hand slid up to his hair, her fingers sliding along his scalp until she came to rest on the back of his head. She wrapped her fingers in his hair, her other hand curling against his neck, determined to cling to this closeness as long as she could.