Chapter Text
The first morning you woke up, it was to a chorus of screams and frantic footsteps echoing around you.
As you staggered to your feet and caught sight of your reflection in the mirror, you immediately froze at the person staring back at you. The childlike body staring back at you was not your own—small and delicate, dressed in luxurious silky pajamas and crowned with soft pink hair that cascaded down your back.
Who the fuck was that?!
Your panicked scream filled the room, but before you could even grasp what was happening, a flurry of maids rushed in. They spoke in hurried tones, urging you to calm down and stop making a scene. The confusion only deepened as their expressions barely shifted from their obvious disdain — like throwing a tantrum first thing in the morning was the usual, annoying wake-up call somehow.
One maid immediately drew the curtains, letting the daylight flood the room, while three others busied themselves holding up various outfits for you. It felt as though they were all simply waiting for you to settle down and move on with the start of the day.
You paused, forcing yourself to take a long, deep breath, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady the frantic pounding of your heart. Think, think, you urged yourself. There had to be a reason why everything felt so familiar, despite you never having been here before.
There was no mistaking it.
This was the webtoon you were reading the night before.
You had been curled up in bed, snuggled up in your fuzzy blanket with your phone plugged in, completely absorbed in the chapter updated earlier that hour. The couple had long confessed their feelings to one another chapters ago, leading to smutty mishaps as they toed the line between lust and love. You'd been cheering for karma to finally come around to the crown prince’s evil sister, the villainess who had tormented Caleb, the main male love interest.
The sister’s cruelty had been unrelenting simply because Caleb was adopted. The king had given up on producing male heirs after the first child threatened the life of his wife, which landed both the villainess and Caleb diametrically opposed political rivals. It was a slap in the face, that despite the sister being willing, capable, and strong, because of something she could not control, the throne was forever out of reach.
The villainess had made it her mission to ruin Caleb’s life. Assassination attempts, political schemes, public slander—nothing was off-limits in her pursuit of power. What made it worse was that the factions loyal to the royal bloodline only fueled her cruelty, siding with her in the shadows.
But here you were, now trapped in the villainess’ body, a child once more — an opportunity to change the course of history for the better.
Fuck.
Did this mean you were dead in real life?
What about your apartment, your friends, your roommates? Would they find your body in the morning? Or were you somehow transported in your entirety into this body?
There was too much to think about at the moment.
Most importantly, you had to focus on surviving this world now.
It was clear that you had to right the wrongs of the villainess. Sure, she had acted unjustly cruel to someone who did not deserve it; but the King had done nothing to appease her desires nor the tension in their relationship. She went from an only child who got everything she wanted to being pushed aside for a literal stranger. It was annoying how her father did not about her and Caleb's political rivalry, not even attempting to appease her with a high noble title for her to live our her days.
Regardless of that fact, in your new life you would do anything to protect Caleb from the undue hardship from the novel. You loved Caleb - you stayed up at night reading rough translations of the newest chapter, read up on theories on how'd they defeat the final boss, gushed about the fanart to your friends. You wanted to see his happiness come to fruition. And of course, you did not want to die at the prince's hands later down the line. Perhaps once the story settled down, you would move out to the countryside so there would be no question of his right to rule.
And maybe, just maybe, you'd find your own happiness in the process.
Without the weight of ambition or the burning desire for revenge, this life could be peaceful. You were surrounded by luxury, with no real expectations placed on you — just the simple requirement to live quietly and without disturbance. Maybe you’d even find a duke or a foreign prince to marry and live out your days?
"Sweetheart, we don't have time for this. Your brother will be arriving today." Your mother, the Queen, sighed and brought you back to the present, her expression tired as she entered the room and scolded you for your dramatics.
You bit your lip, feeling a little guilty, but nodded in compliance. There was no point in arguing, not when it was clear by everyone’s behavior that the previous inhabitant of this body was quite the brat. Instead, you followed the maids in silence as they prepared you for the day, adjusting your attire and brushing your hair with practiced hands.
The air was thick with anticipation as you learned that the king and queen had made arrangements for introducing Caleb to you for the first time ever today. They seemed to expect the villainess' usual rude behavior, so you were left out of his initial welcome to the Palace. It wasn't until lunchtime that you were finally summoned to the dining room.
Caleb — the handsome ML with striking purple eyes and dark brown hair.
At the head of the table sat the king, his face already worn with a tired expression as you entered, clearly anticipating some sort of angry tantrum once again. Your mother gave you a look, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. But it was Caleb’s gaze that really caught you. He was staring at you with that hopeful, innocent look that you remembered so well from the Webtoon.
Holy shit.
He was so cute.
You couldn’t help it—the instant your eyes locked with his, your heart seized like it had seen a newborn puppy. His wide eyes seemed to hold all the innocence of a child who hadn't yet been through political hell. Caleb still had an edge of something lingering there — hesitance and perhaps some suspicion since he had only just been plopped into a new environment.
You had this overwhelming urge to pinch his cheeks, to show him affection in the way you wished the villainess could have when she’d first seen him in the story. If memory served correctly, he was around twelve years old at this first meeting—and that was somehow older than your body at the moment.
It was almost unbelievable how utterly adorable he was.
“Sweetheart, this is Caleb.” Your mother introduced, her voice deliberately careful.
Both she and your father were watching you like a bomb with an unknown timer. Clearly, they expected an explosion of sorts — tantrums, dramatic wailing, maybe even threat of a miniature coup d’état.
Instead, you grinned from ear to ear, practically vibrating with excitement. “Hi!!!” You waved enthusiastically as you stepped forward. “You’re so adorable!!!”
The room was dead silent.
Your parents looked like they had somehow witnessed divine intervention. Surely, their little terror wasn’t accepting the new addition so easily? You were infamous for your razor-sharp tongue and brat-like personality —an unrepentant gremlin that struck fear in dozens of maids, even in this tiny body.
And yet, here you were, all sunshine and rainbows for the little prince.
Even Caleb seemed caught off guard. He blinked, then hesitantly replied, “Um. Pleasure to meet you Princess. My name is Caleb.”
“Nice to meet you, Caleb!” You chirped, taking the seat across from him as if you hadn't just sent shock-waves through the room.
Up close, he was even cuter. His round chubby cheeks and striking purple eyes - there was no doubt that he was the main character of a Webtoon! The apples of his cheeks flushed pink as he fidgeted slightly under your unwavering gaze, as if unsure whether you were about to hug him or bite him.
Before you could decide which impulse was stronger, the Queen cleared her throat, snapping you out of your admiration. Her expression was poised, but there was a distinct sharpness in her gaze.
“Remember your manners.” She said evenly.
You resisted the urge to grimace.
Right.
Manners.
You had, quite literally, just dropped into this world a few hours ago—propriety wasn’t exactly high on your priority list. The only saving grace was that the original owner of this body was a known asshole, so etiquette probably wasn’t her strong suit either.
Still, you supposed you should at least pretend to be civilized in the meantime.
Pushing yourself up from your chair, you smoothed out your tiny skirts and curtsied with an exaggerated flourish. "My apologies.” You said, voice as sweet as honey. "It is my honor to greet you, little Sun of the empire."
The Queen's lips pressed together; your parents looked like they were reconsidering their life choices, and Caleb just blinked at you, entirely unsure if he was being respected or mocked.
"Caleb here will be your older brother. Remember that.” The King declared, his tone leaving little room for argument.
It was almost telling how silent the room was. Sure, if you had kicked up a fuss then your mother would step in. But it seemed like the King could not care less about you or your personality, simply eating lunch with the family since it was on the schedule.
Not that you had any complaints about the King’s earlier words. If anything, you were winning here—your new brother was adorable and there were far worse fates than being related to someone this precious. Your future fate, that is death by Caleb’s hands, could be easily avoided as long as you maintained a positive relationship with him.
“I promise I’ll try my best for you.” You affirmed, meeting Caleb’s gaze with unwavering sincerity. Then, leaning in slightly, you added. “The palace is huge, and there are lots of people here. I can help guide you today!”
There was genuine warmth in your voice, a real desire to make things easier for him.
Caleb studied you carefully, his small hands gripping the silver utensils. It was almost surreal, he had been studying the night before which order to use the forks and spoons. And yet two nights ago, the now-prince was slurping soup from his hands.
This was all… too much at once.
His expression was unreadable at first—distrust? Uncertainty? Maybe he thought you were playing some elaborate trick. After all, even at the orphanage nearly an hour away, it was almost impressive how infamous your cruel temper was. Perhaps this was part of a long play?
Then, after a moment, his grip loosened, and he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
He’d play along for now.
Thankfully, the King and Queen seemed satisfied with your words, and after lunch, you found yourself strolling through the palace grounds with your new brother. Two maids trailed behind—one assigned to each of you—silently observing as you led the way through the grand corridors and sprawling gardens. It was almost comical how you volunteered to be his guide and yet you had no idea where you were going.
The palace was massive, even more so than you had imagined from the story. Towers stretched toward the sky, golden accents glinting in the afternoon sun, while marble paths wound through meticulously maintained flower beds. You recognized some of the major places - the garden where Caleb confessed his love for the first time, the bench where they took a nap outside, and the random steamy locations where they made love throughout the Webtoon.
It was still hitting you that you were in this world - it was a real place.
You cast a glance at Caleb, who walked beside you in quiet contemplation. He was trying his best to school his expression into something unreadable, but at the end of the day, he was still a kid. No matter how much he tried to mask it, the awe in his eyes was unmistakable as he took in the grandeur of the palace grounds. But again, that edge of something else was still ever present.
At some point, the two of you settled under a grand white gazebo, sipping tea as the afternoon drifted by. The maids had wandered off to fetch more cookies and macaroons, leaving you momentarily alone with the young prince.
“Do you like it so far?” You asked, your tone light and curious.
Caleb hesitated before answering. “It’s… different from the orphanage.”
“I hope so.” You replied with a small smile. “I hope one day I can help make this a home for you.”
Caleb blinked at you, his expression shifting into something unreadable—unguarded awe mixed with deep suspicion. If you were truly the menace he had been warned about, several times at that, then you were doing an unsettlingly good job of pretending otherwise. He was still wary, but now, for the first time, he seemed uncertain about what to believe.
That expression lingered a second too long, making you slightly nervous. Looking for a distraction, you reached for the plate of macaroons and lifted one toward him.
“Have you ever had these before?”
He responded. “No, I haven’t.”
“They’re really good if you like tart flavors! We can try a bunch, and next time, we’ll get some of your favorites.”
Caleb nodded, saying nothing, his careful deliberation still evident. Under different circumstances, you might have felt offended by his hesitation. But you could only imagine the rumors the young prince had heard, the expectations he had of you. It would take time and effort to prove yourself—two things you had in abundance.
Sensing the conversation had run its course, you glanced toward the gardens, searching for something new to talk about.
“Want to take a walk?” you suggested, nodding toward the vibrant hedges and flower beds.
Caleb frowned, clearly considering whether this was the perfect opportunity for your so-called ‘evil’ self to hatch a ploy. But when you offered him what you hoped was a reassuring smile, some of the suspicion in his eyes wavered. Maybe even a little guilt took its place.
“Sure, why not?”
Taking that as a win, you stood and gently took his hand, leading him down one of the many winding garden paths. Bright red roses were in full bloom, their petals practically glowing in the afternoon light.
“I don’t really have a favorite flower,” you mused, letting your fingers brush against a few delicate petals. “I love roses, but I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve seen them the most or because I really do like them. Maybe one day I’ll decide.”
You tried to carry the conversation for the both of you, filling the silence with casual observations and small comments. Caleb, for his part, stuck to his silent, wary act. You knew from the Webtoon that he was supposed to be charismatic and even a little teasing toward those he cared about. But right now, the young prince was suspicious and especially guarded. It was a little sad to see, but you had all the time in the world to help him grow into the person he was meant to be.
The two of you wandered deeper into the gardens, admiring the different flowers and maze-like hedges. The paths twisted and turned in an elegant, almost hypnotic design, until—
A small noise sounded from above.
Was it supposed to rain today?
You stopped, blinking as you looked around. The once-visible white gazebo had vanished from sight, surrounded only by tall hedges and bushes of flowers.
You were lost.
“Uhhhh.” You looked left and right, trees and decor looking exactly the same on both sides. How on earth you could get lost at home was ridiculous, but you surprisingly could not even hear other people.
In the palace, it was almost grating to hear the metallic clang of armor as knights patrolled the grounds. There was even a silent scurry of maids and other workers going about their day. But now, you could not even hear a single soul other than Caleb.
“Oh god. I think we’re lost.”
Caleb returned your statement with a slow, unimpressed blink. “Oh yeah? And how did that happen?” His voice was flat, his face the very picture of silent disappointment.
Shit, did he think you planned this?
“I—I’m so sorry. Let’s just backtrack! It should be okay, right?” You said, attempting optimism while worry gnawed at your heart.
You spun around, determined to retrace your steps as a light drizzle started. Caleb remained a step behind, quiet as ever. It was your first time in the gardens as well. And you had easily lost track of your pace and time when traversing the grounds for the past hour.
“I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.” You muttered over and over, squinting above the hedges in a desperate attempt to locate anything familiar—the palace, the gazebo, literally anything.
At one intersection, it seemed Caleb had enough and grabbed your hand. He gently led you through the winding paths without hesitation. You gathered it should come as no surprise that he memorized the entire way here while you were talking.
And another hour later, you found yourself back at the original white gazebo. The tea cups and plates had been cleared away, no doubt by the maids. You’d been gone too long. With the rain now coming down in sheets, the two of you quickly ran for shelter under the gazebo, your breath coming in short, frustrated bursts.
You glanced at Caleb, your heart still racing. “…I guess I’m not the best tour guide.”
He didn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable as the rain poured down around you. Then, with a slight tilt of his head he responded.“You could’ve done better.”
“I’m so sorry! This is a terrible start to your first day here. I promised myself I would do better and I’ve already messed this up.” You said, your words tumbling out in a rush.
The weight of the moment was heavier than you expected - were you destined to be this awful villainess?
Caleb sighed, but there was something soft in the sound—less like a frustrated exhale and more like a quiet concession. He looked at you with a small, almost imperceptible smile. “You’re different from what they say.”
You couldn’t help the small spark of hope that flared up. “Different?” you asked, your tone lighter as you tried to match his tentative smile.
He hesitated, his eyes flicking away from you before he spoke. “I don’t want to say.”
You weren’t offended. In fact, it made sense. You were a stranger to him and everything about this situation probably felt off.
“It’s okay. I know already. You’ve probably heard that I’m spoiled and mean and I’d make your life hell.” You admitted. “I probably deserve that. Recently I’ve… I’m trying to be better.”
Caleb was silent for a moment, his eyes studying you. His expression was still ever guarded, but you caught the faintest flicker of something. Maybe it was surprise, maybe curiosity—but for the first time, you didn’t feel like he was ready to push you miles away.
“I don’t think you’re mean.” He said, his tone neutral, though his lips twitched just a little as he added, “Yet.”
You laughed softly, the sound light and without tension. “Guess the jury’s still out on that, huh?” You reached for his hands, holding them gently in yours. “But I really do mean it. I want to prove to you that I can be different.”
The air between you both grew still, thick with the weight of the unspoken, until Caleb broke the silence, his voice quieter now. “Why?”
You looked at him, trying to understand the question, but it was clear he wasn’t asking out of curiosity alone. He was trying to gauge something deeper—perhaps whether you were being genuine or if you had some hidden agenda.
You met his gaze steadily, knowing this was a turning point. “Because you’re my older brother,” you said, your voice soft but certain. “And family looks out for each other. We’re supposed to be there for each other, even when it’s hard.”
There was a long pause as Caleb absorbed your words, his expression still cautious but less defensive. The distance between you seemed to shrink, just a little, as the barriers he'd put up around himself began to crack.
The silence that settled between you and Caleb was oddly comfortable, but there was no denying the growing discomfort of being soaked to the bone. The rain kept falling, heavier now, and you both knew it wouldn’t be long before you’d catch a cold if you stayed out in it much longer. Without exchanging a word, you both stood up, silently agreeing to head back into the Palace.
The halls were quieter now, but as soon as you stepped through the doors, the usual bustle of the Palace staff seemed to snap back into focus. Maids and attendants noticed you immediately, rushing over with towels in hand. Without question, they began drying you both off, the soft, fluffy fabric absorbing the cold moisture from your clothes.
But it wasn’t long before your mother’s unmistakable voice echoed through the lobby, her tone sharp and raised with concern. “Heaven on earth, why are you two soaking wet?”
You instantly stepped forward, eager to prevent Caleb from getting scolded. “It’s because of me!”
Holding your hands up to capture all her attention, you continued loudly, “It’s not Caleb’s fault at all! I’m supposed to be his guide, and we got lost in the gardens because of me. By the time we found our way back, it was already pouring rain.”
Your mother’s gaze flickered between you and Caleb, her expression unreadable for a moment. You could practically feel Caleb’s tension rising, though he said nothing, letting you take the blame.
“You’re... actually trying to be his guide?” she asked, her voice careful, almost skeptical.
You nodded emphatically. “Yes! Please don’t blame him at all! It’s all my fault!” Your words came out in a rush and you hoped the sincerity in your voice would be enough to convince her.
Your mother stared at you for a moment longer, before letting out a long sigh. “Fine. But next time, bring the maids with you?” There was no real anger in her tone, that surprise from earlier still there.
Caleb stood behind you, still a little stiff, but his expression had softened ever so slightly. Perhaps he wasn’t completely convinced yet, but something about the way you’d defended him seemed to have made a dent in his earlier wariness.
For the next few days, you made sure to stay close to Caleb, never wanting him to feel alone or out of place. You woke up early every morning, eager to join him for breakfast in the dining room, ensuring that the two of you shared at least some time together before your schedules took over. You’d coax him into trying new dishes, excited to show him that the world outside the orphanage could be full of enjoyable experiences.
Despite your role as princess, you fought to never stray too far from his side. Etiquette lessons, personal tutors, and the ever-present watchful eyes of the palace staff kept you occupied, but you always made time for Caleb. The tutors, noticing the change in your demeanor from local gremlin to actual human being, seemed eager to teach you now. They praised your newfound focus and softer personality, something that felt almost foreign to your former self.
Caleb’s schedule was just as packed with his own lessons—swordsmanship training, etiquette training, and all the things expected of a crown prince. But no matter how busy you were, you always made sure to carve out time to spend with him. You found yourself pulling him away from his studies for random walks through the gardens or inviting him to share meals, often catching him off guard with your insistence, though he never outright refused.
The first few days, hell the first few weeks, Caleb kept his subtle guard up. He would entertain your presence, but spoke with few words and said nothing truly personal about his life.
But that was okay — little by little, you would help him slowly lower his walls, even if only slightly. You noticed now he would smile faintly at your attempts to include him, and you could see the way his posture would relax just a little when he was with you.
It wasn’t much, but it was progress.
At least, on the surface.
On more than one occasion Caleb had disappeared from the maids, even his personal knights unable to find him on Palace grounds. But you knew, simply because of your knowledge of the Webtoon, where he was probably deliberately hiding off to.
You remembered how overwhelmed Caleb felt at times — the imposter syndrome that tore at his heart and made him feel unworthy of any love or even his title as Prince. How could anyone, especially at his age, reconcile with begging for food one day and then being pampered as royalty the next?
Walking through the gardens with purpose, you stopped only to listen and hear his small sniffles.
Lilacs — Caleb’s ever present light motif in the novel. They were his eyes when he was happy, darker shades when he was filled with rage, blossomed bright when he was in love.
You steeled your heart for the right things to say and approached.
“Caleb… It’s me.” You whispered in a low tone, not to scare him away.
There was a gasp, before a broken voice rang out. “Don’t come close!”
You stayed low to the ground, eyes level with where he was sitting on the grass. He had his knees up to his chest and his eyes were puffed red.
“Oh sweet, Caleb. I’m so sorry.”
The young prince rubbed at his eyes insistently, attempting to hide his tears. “This… it has nothing to do with you.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything.” You replied back, meeting angry eyes staring back at you.
“I just… I need to be alone!”
But you only felt your heart crack more, tears streaming down his face as he attempted to stand. You closed the gap quickly and wrapped your arms around his neck. You were both sitting on the ground now, but you pulled him close to you to comfort him.
“I can’t leave you like this Caleb. You’re not alone anymore.” You reassured him. “Don’t tell me anything. Your business is your business.” You whispered against his ear as you hugged him tight. Caleb’s hands hung dead at his sides.
“…”
“I’m here for you, always. Whether you like it or not.” You closed your eyes, voice amused towards the end as you tried your best to convey your support.
Caleb hadn’t hugged you back. Simply sniffling and attempting to take deep breaths as you cuddled in silence. And you meant every word you said - you were here for him as someone to lean on, especially in the moments that he could no longer take a single second more of being a prince.
“… Thank you.”
You stayed there with Caleb, hugging him until the pose was uncomfortable. You shifted him onto his back, his head resting in your lap as your fingers found their way to his hair, gently massaging his scalp in slow, soothing motions. His breathing had steadied, his features relaxed, and though his eyes remained closed, you stayed right there with him—silent, unwavering, and unwilling to leave him alone.
You must have been there for hours, long enough for a search party of knights to finally track you down. Caleb had drifted into a peaceful sleep, his head still resting in your lap, his breathing deep and steady. As one of the knights took a cautious step forward, you shot him a glare so sharp it made him hesitate mid-stride. The unspoken message was clear—wake him, and you’ll regret it.
“Princess, he might be cold.” He said in a low tone.
You sighed but acquiesced. “Fine, but do not wake him. He’s had a hard day.”
Carefully, you helped guide Caleb back to his chambers, ensuring he was settled beneath the heavy blankets before the knights took their leave. Even after they were gone, you stayed by his side, your fingers gently curled around the young prince’s as he slept. The quiet of the room wrapped around you like a cocoon, time slipping by unnoticed—until the soft creak of the door announced the Queen’s arrival.
“You care a lot about him.” She said without greeting, not a question but an observation.
“He’s gone through so much.” You replied. “I have to be here for him.”
The Queen smiled to herself behind you before speaking. “I think you’re good for each other.”
Even after the Queen departed, you remained by Caleb’s side. He looked so fragile like this, his usual sharp features softened by exhaustion. Nothing like the clever, dependable boy who had always followed you like a shadow. A lump formed in your throat as you watched him. You wanted to cradle him, to shield him from whatever had worn him down so badly.
This wasn’t the confident, charming crown prince from the Webtoon—the one who dazzled nobles with a sly grin and effortless wit.
No, this was Caleb at his most vulnerable.
At some point, the maids arrived with dinner, their voices gentle yet insistent as they urged you to eat. But you simply shook your head, unwilling to leave. The food sat untouched on the tray as you stayed there, fingers still loosely entwined with his, watching the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
Caleb eventually stirred, his lashes fluttering open as he blinked against the dim candlelight. Night had long since settled, casting deep shadows across the room. As soon as he showed signs of wakefulness, you quietly called for a maid to fetch his dinner, staying put even as she brought in the tray.
He ate in silence, the only sound in the room the soft clink of utensils against porcelain. You didn’t press him to speak, content to simply be there. But the moment the maid exited, Caleb turned his sharp gaze on you, his expression unimpressed.
“You have to eat too.” He said, voice low but firm.
“I will,” you replied quickly, a little too quickly. “But I wanted to make sure you were okay first.”
Caleb gave you a small smile then—the first real, genuine smile you’d ever seen from him. It was soft, warm, and completely disarming. “Thank you for looking after me.”
A smile worth protecting.
“Of course I will!” You stood in surprise, not even realizing you had done so. It was almost embarrassing how loud you were and sheepishly sat back down. “You’re my older brother, you’re stuck with me forever.”
“I know.” His voice was quiet, but the fondness in it was unmistakable.
Without thinking, you placed your hand over his in a comforting gesture. “I know we’ve only just met, and you’ve probably been through so much… Don’t feel any pressure. Just know that I love you, Caleb.”
The second the words left your mouth, Caleb froze. His lips parted slightly, his expression somewhere between stunned and confused.
“What?”
But you only smiled and started to stand. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Caleb. I’ll be back to check on you in the morning, okay?”
“Wait!”
You stopped in your tracks, glancing back at him. He looked just as surprised by his own outburst as you were.
“…Can you stay with me? Just for a little while?”
Your chest warmed at the hesitance in his voice. “Of course,” you said easily, smiling at him. “Let me call a maid—would it be okay if I eat dinner here with you?”
He nodded, and soon, you were both seated comfortably, sharing a quiet meal. You chatted idly about the upcoming dishes for the week—some pasta you’d never tried before, a few steak dishes that sounded incredible. Caleb didn’t talk much, but he listened, the weight of the day slowly melting from his shoulders.
“But I’m really looking forward to this little strawberry cake thing that they make!”
“You really love food, don’t you?” Caleb asked with a smile.
“Yes! I mean. Food is food — we need it to survive. But if mother only lets me eat three times a day then I better make the most of it!”
“ Only three?” There was a slight teasing to his voice.
“Okay, sure with some light snacking in between. But I just… I love the flavors and textures.”
In your previous life, indulging in a good meal—let alone an unnecessary dessert—was a rare luxury. Money was tight, and even something as simple as a carton of eggs could cost nearly half an hour’s worth of work.
But you couldn’t say that to Caleb.
Not in this life.
You had noticeably stretched into a long silence. “I can appreciate a good meal.”
“I can cook for you one day.”
“What?” You grinned at him. “You’re the Crown Prince! You don’t need to cook for little old me.”
Caleb leaned in slightly, his fingers twirling a strand of your hair between them with practiced ease. “You’re my Princess,” he said, his voice soft yet unwavering.
You nearly choked on air. For someone so young, he had an absolutely unfair way of saying things with such confidence. It wasn’t fair—how was he this charming already?
“You’re…” You hesitated, your brain scrambling for a proper response.
“Yes?” He tilted his head just slightly, his expression perfectly innocent—except for the telltale glint of mischief in his eyes.
He was enjoying this.
You shot him a playful glare before shaking your head with a sigh. It was still honesty hour in your heart, so you decided to speak candidly. “You’re the best thing to happen to me.”
For the first time, Caleb actually looked surprised. His fingers stilled in your hair, and his expression flickered between shock and something softer, something warmer.
“…Me too,” he murmured, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
A small silence settled between you, comfortable yet charged, and you had to resist the urge to ruffle his hair just to break the moment. Instead, you smirked. “Well, at least you have good taste.”
That earned you an eye roll and a chuckle, but his fingers never left your hair.
.
.
.
.
.
Five months into your growing bond with Caleb, your parents decided it was time for him to take his first step into high society.
A garden tea party, hosted by the wife of a high-ranking Duke, was the perfect event to introduce him to the noble class. The party was meant to be a gathering for the younger generation of the aristocracy, and, naturally, you and Caleb were invited.
As the carriage rumbled along the cobblestone streets toward the Duke’s estate, you couldn't help but notice the matching outfits you and Caleb had been dressed in. The intricate white fabric, adorned with gold embellishments, made you both look like little figures out of a royal painting. But beneath that elegant exterior, Caleb’s nerves were palpable. His knee bounced nervously every so often. Sitting across from him, you could feel his unease in the air and you couldn’t stand it anymore.
Without much thought, you moved to sit next to him, your hand gently resting on his knee. "I know it’s a lot.” You murmured softly, offering a reassuring smile. "But I’m here with you."
He looked at you, his eyes filled with a hint of gratitude. The briefest of smiles tugged at the corners of his lips, but it was still hesitant, the anxiety still present right below the surface.
"Thank you.” He muttered, his voice softer than usual.
When the carriage finally pulled up to the estate, the nervous energy still lingered in Caleb, but he hid it well behind the confident facade he had been trained to wear.
The tea party itself was a spectacle of fine clothes, flowing dresses, and polished manners and although neither of you were the hosts, Caleb was immediately the center of attention. Several heads turned and many dropped to a whisper as they looked at him, but you stayed at Caleb’s side as you walked through the garden party.
To his credit, the Prince quickly adapted, meeting the curious gazes of the young noblemen and women. The other children were, for the most part, peaceful and reserved, though there were plenty of curious glances directed at Caleb. It was the world’s worst kept secret that he was going to be the crown prince, an adopted one at that.
What started as an anxious young boy quickly transformed as the mask slipped into place. The nervous, fidgeting Caleb you knew from the carriage was replaced by a charming, charismatic young man. A bright smile graced his face as he worked the crowd with ease, offering compliments and engaging in polite conversation with his peers.
For a moment, you watched him with a sense of awe, marveling at how seamlessly he stepped into the role that was being thrust upon him. But you couldn’t help but notice the faint tension still hiding in his posture, just beneath the surface. He had the mask, but you knew him too well over these past few months to miss the subtle signs that he was still adjusting.
You smiled to yourself, glad that, despite everything, Caleb had come so far in such a short amount of time.
He really was the main character of his own Webtoon.
Many continued to excitedly approach him, offering their own name and family origin. You watched with a quiet smile and traversed to the dessert table. Some of the young girls your age cowered in fear at seeing you; you could only imagine your prior behavior at these gatherings, especially without your parents to curb you.
Some people approached you with quiet greetings, you were this nation’s only princess after all, and you attempted to be as cordial as best you could be.
“Can you believe it?”
“Who does he think he is? Months ago he was street trash and he thinks he’s all that?”
You overheard the whispers, sharp and filled with venom. The words hit you like a slap, and your grip on your teacup tightened. You didn’t look back at first, but your mind raced.
“He will never be my King.”
Without turning, you spoke low, but loud enough for them to hear.
“Repeat yourself for me.”
The voices behind you faltered. They hadn’t expected to be called out and it was clear from their startled expressions that they’d underestimated you. One of the boys stammered, his face flushing as he tried to salvage his words. Clearly they had seen you just a step away, but respected you so little to think you’d actually say something.
“Princess!” One of them attempted to explain himself, “Surely you understand, since you earned your noble blood.”
“I earned something I was born with?” You asked back with a sarcastic tone before leaning into their space. “He will be your King. The only way that fails to be true is if my patience runs thin at this very moment.”
Your tone, low and threatening, made the boys blanch. They exchanged nervous glances before scrambling to escape, fear overtaking their earlier bravado. You watched them disperse, the weight of your words hanging in the air long after they were gone.
Thankfully, this body was still that of a villainess!
Turning to your maid, who had been quietly standing nearby, you spoke with a calmness unexpected of you. “What were their names? Do you know which families they’re from?”
The maid nodded quickly, her voice respectful. “Yes, Princess. I can get a list for you when we return to the Palace.”
You gave a curt nod. “Good. That behavior isn’t normal. It’s taught. And whatever is being said at home, it’s concerning that they feel comfortable enough to say it here.”
Your gaze lingered on the space where the boys had been, already formulating your next steps. No one would dare speak ill of Caleb, especially in front of you, and if anyone had any doubts about him, you'd make sure those were erased.
As your attention shifted, your eyes locked with Caleb’s across the crowded room. Despite the bustling conversation and laughter around him, his gaze was fixed solely on you. The noise seemed to fade away for a brief moment, as if the whole world had narrowed down to just the two of you. You offered him a small, reassuring nod—just enough to let him know you were fine.
You sighed softly, then took your seat at a table with a group of noble girls around your age. Their chatter was lively, the sound of laughter and gossip filling the air, but one voice cut through it all.
“Can you believe how cute he looks?! Ahhhh!” One girl gushed.
Before you could even react, the table fell into an awkward silence, and all eyes shifted toward you, waiting for your response. You could practically feel the tension building, but you weren’t about to let them get the wrong idea.
“Are you talking about Prince Caleb?” you asked casually, your voice light and teasing. “I can’t believe it either! He’s adorable!”
The girls blinked, processing your words like they hadn’t expected that answer. Then, as if on some unspoken cue, they relaxed, smiles spreading across their faces.
“You… like His Royal Highness?” one of them ventured, her voice dripping with curiosity.
“Of course! He’s kind and so cute! I’m trying my best to support him.” You replied with a playful grin.
There was a pause, the room hanging with unspoken questions. Then, the girl who had started it all spoke again, but this time her tone was a little more cautious.
“That’s very admirable, Princess,” she said, her voice quieter now, as if treading carefully. “But I thought you said last time that only you deserved to be on the throne?”
You could feel the eyes of the table on you, and you took a breath, letting the question settle in your mind. You didn’t shy away from it. The person you once were had made a lot of mistakes—and you weren’t going to hide from them now.
“I know I said that,” you replied, voice steady. “But I was wrong. Prince Caleb is amazing, and honestly, I’m trying to be better.”
The air around you shifted. The girls exchanged looks, and you could hear their murmurs. One of them finally broke the silence.
“Wow, what a change!” she said, eyes wide.
“Why’d you change your mind so soon, Princess?” another asked, her voice full of interest.
You thought for a moment, gathering your words. “I’ve gotten to know Caleb better. He’s wise, knowledgeable, and honestly perfect as a future ruler. He understands the common people, and he’s learning about our world now.”
One girl, clearly impressed, leaned forward. “He… he made you change this much?”
“Maybe you two are really good for each other!” another whispered to her friend.
You smiled, not just at the girls, but because of Caleb. “I hope so.”
Thankfully, the conversation lightened after that. The girls resumed gushing about the handsome Prince, and even started chatting about other eligible noble sons in the room. You found out about a few new faces—some that hadn’t been mentioned much in the Webtoon. It seemed there were plenty of young men your age who might stir up the plot, each one more charming than the last.
Names that were familiar were thrown around - the head mage’s son Xavier, the neighboring Prince of the Southern Isles Rafayel, and one more person. One who was present today at this garden party that you were due to speak to.
You enjoyed socializing with the excitable group, but soon your maid discreetly reminded you of your duty as Princess. With a sigh, you knew it was time to make your rounds and greet the others even though you were not even hosting the tea party today.
Most of the other nobles, even those your age, were a bit dull. They boasted endlessly about their horses, or the various languages they were studying. It was all rather tiresome. But then, you came upon the Duke of the North’s son—Zayne Akso.
He sat alone, quietly enjoying his dessert, his demeanor calm and composed. Unlike the others, he didn’t seem eager to flaunt his accomplishments or strike up unnecessary conversation. He simply acknowledged your presence with a polite nod, not one to waste words unless necessary.
It was ironic, considering Zayne of all people had the most to boast about. Whispers of his extraordinary intellect and prodigious talent in the medical field followed him like a quiet storm, even though he was Caleb’s contemporary. Most nobles were content to read books and dabble in skills that, ultimately, had no real weight outside of social gatherings. But Zayne, who already had a guaranteed title and future at the next King’s side, was an ambitious hard-worker.
His talents were not for show—they were for purpose.
You could not help, but ask. “How do you know so much about the medical field?”
His gaze lifted from his dessert, calm yet steady. “Because of my territory’s location, we often defend the kingdom against monster attacks or border skirmishes. I’ve seen many injuries and put myself to use for my people.”
You looked at him in awe -- the boy genius did this while he was the same age as your body!
A sense of admiration blossomed within you as you leaned in slightly, unable to hide your awe. “That’s amazing, Zayne! You really care for your people.”
His expression softened ever so slightly, though he didn’t speak further on the matter. There was something quiet and humble about him—his modesty matched by the gravity of his experiences. It was a contrast you weren’t sure many of the others here could truly appreciate.
Before you could press further, a familiar hand brushed against the small of your back, followed by a voice you knew well. “Sorry, I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself. Prince Caleb, pleasure to meet you.”
Zayne nodded and extended his hand, shaking Caleb’s firmly. “Greetings, Little Sun of the Empire.”
Caleb’s smile was polite but tight, his expression betraying a slight discomfort for some reason. Nevertheless, he exchanged pleasantries, determined not to let it show.
“And what were you two talking about?” Caleb asked, his tone curious, but only you could hear the caution in it. Perhaps you were more attuned to Caleb than you thought.
“Zayne was telling me about his experience back in his territory. Did you know he’s a medical genius even though he’s our age?” You beamed, hoping to elevate Zayne’s accomplishments.
But Caleb had that weird expression on, one that you could not fully describe.
“Please, you do not need to humor me.” Zayne had a hint of a smile on.
“I’m not just humoring you, Zayne. I mean it. I won’t be surprised when we’re older and you’ve got papers published or even become a renowned surgeon!” You said earnestly, hoping to ease the tension.
When you glanced at Caleb, his expression was a bit harder to read—almost challenging of the young man in front of him, like he didn’t quite approve of the direction of the conversation. But you didn’t dwell on it.
Thankfully, the rest of the conversation proceeded with less friction, the three of you exchanging pleasantries about the tea party and your other interactions with the nobles. Zayne remained as quiet and composed as ever, but his respect for Caleb was evident in the subtle way he acknowledged him.
The carriage ride back to the Palace was quieter, the rhythmic clattering of the wheels on the road filling the space. You stared out of the window for a moment, lost in thought, until Caleb broke the silence.
“I saw what you did, back in the garden,” Caleb said, his voice low but clear.
“Huh?” You glanced over at him, confused.
“Those boys. You told them off— for me.”
A smile tugged at your lips as you remembered the confrontation. “Of course I did! They had no right saying that about you. When we get back, I’m going to punish their families.”
Caleb shook his head, his gaze soft but firm. “Thank you for caring about me, but you don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do, Caleb! I promised to be here for you, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re treated with respect,” you insisted, your voice unwavering.
He paused, looking at you with a mix of gratitude and concern. “We’ll get them when the time is right.”
As if to shift the mood, Caleb reached over and ruffled your hair lightly—a small, affectionate gesture. It was the first time he’d done it, and it left you feeling both comforted and surprised.
The last thing Caleb had expected was a positive relationship with you. He had heard so many different rumors from credible sources, all of them pointing to you as the biggest hurdle to his adoption. He had been told secondhand that you declared him as your ultimate rival; you would stop at nothing to secure your place in the royal family.
But then Caleb arrived, and to his surprise, all you had ever done was be kind to him.
At first, he was certain it was some sort of ploy. You were smarter than people gave you credit for, after all. There were times when it was hard to believe you were younger than him—sure you would smile and skip around like any young girl your age. But he watched out of the corner of his eye as you would play dumb, but still listen intently to the political discussions at the dinner table.
Caleb saw it all.
They way you would wear that serious expression, as if a hundred thoughts were running through your head. It was so easy for others to underestimate you — after all, for years you were apparently a brat who cared little for others' opinions. You would slip on that mask of a clueless child, but Caleb saw the recognition and silent smarts behind those eyes.
He hadn’t truly believed your change in heart —not until today, when he saw you face the other nobles with nothing but genuine support for him. It would have been the perfect opportunity for you to play your hand, to enforce their doubts and turn them against him before he even had a chance. It would surely secure your position as the favored one.
But you didn’t. You defended him. You stood by Caleb as prince, even when you thought he wasn’t watching.
And that changed everything.
You had promised to protect him, but really….
He should be the one protecting you.
A few of the other young nobles had approached Caleb, their concern for him obvious as they asked if he was alright or if he was being ‘terrorized’ in his new home. But it was the harsh whispers and the way they spoke about you that really caught his attention. They went on about how you shouldn’t even be a princess, as if it was some sort of scandalous joke.
The words stung him deeply. How could they talk about you like that? To them, you were just a villainess, a troublemaker, someone who didn't deserve the title you held. But Caleb knew better. You had done nothing but show kindness, and they didn’t see that.
They didn’t understand you the way he did.
Each word seemed to dig into his heart. The injustice of it all—how could they treat you like that? How could they call you such things when you hadn’t done anything to deserve it?
Caleb’s fist clenched at his side. He wanted nothing more than to stand up and shut them all down in an instant, to make them understand the truth about you.
If he had the power, he would silence them all in an instant.
But he wasn’t in a position to do so yet.
Not now.
Not with what little power he had.
But one day, Caleb promised himself, he would be strong enough to protect you from all of it. He would stand by you, shield you from the world that misunderstood you, and make sure no one could ever speak so low of you again.
“It’s not right what they said. If they said it today, then their parents are probably saying it at home. We need to stop them.” You were still talking, your voice full of passion and determination, your words about protecting him echoing in his ears.
It was fucking adorable.
No, it was more than that.
It was endearing.
You were so cute, with your wide eyes and the sincerity in your voice. Caleb couldn’t help but stare, his chest tightening with something he couldn’t quite place. He’d never imagined he’d feel this way about you. It was as if he’d never been seen until now—not truly. The way you looked at him, with admiration and hope, made him feel things he couldn’t control.
The way you looked at him was the first time anyone had looked at him that way.
It was almost unbelievable how quickly you’d wrapped him around your little finger.
He couldn’t help it. Caleb wanted to hug you, this tiny, fierce little thing, and tuck you safely away in his pocket. He wanted to kiss your forehead, tell you everything would be alright, and protect you from everyone’s judgmental eyes.
“You need to calm down, little one.” His voice was softer than he meant it to be. It felt good to say, though, and it made him think he needed a better nickname for you—something only he could call you, something that would always make you feel safe.
You looked at him in surprise. “Wha—?”
He smirked, the warmth in his gaze almost imperceptible but there, his voice teasing. “It’s okay, pipsqueak. We’ll figure it out together.”
For the first time, Caleb saw the faintest hint of relief flicker in your eyes. You were always so strong, so determined. But in that moment, he could see you didn’t have to carry everything on your shoulders alone.
You had Caleb now, and he was going to make sure you knew it.
.
.
.
.
.
As the years passed, your relationship with Caleb deepened in ways neither of you had expected.
Sure, you were close, and yeah, you had a good relationship—but it was more than that. There was an ease between you, a rhythm that just worked.
Like when you teased him about his absolutely atrocious sleeping posture, arms and legs sprawled out like a starfish, or how he held his sword too stiffly, like he was trying to impress a portrait painter instead of actually fighting. He’d roll his eyes at you, biting back a grin, always ready with some sarcastic retort.
“Keep talking, pipsqueak.” He’d say, his nickname for you rolling off his tongue easily, giving you a pointed look. “At least I don’t trip over my own feet during training.”
And of course, you’d gasp in mock offense, because excuse you , that was one time.
Or when Caleb caught you struggling to lift a training sword that was just a little too heavy, and instead of helping, the young prince leaned casually against the nearest wall, watching you with a smirk.
“Want me to get you a smaller one?” he teased, tilting his head. “Maybe a wooden stick? Or a butter knife?”
But through it all, there was laughter—a laughter that felt more genuine the more time you spent together.
Sometimes Caleb would invite you to his swordsmanship training, where you would watch him spar with the other knights with ease. Other times the perfect Prince would play hooky, the two of you sneaking around the kitchen as Caleb cooked up some of your favorite dishes. There were nights that the young prince would sneak into your room, a book in hand for you to read together. Or better yet, lazy days where you lounged and spoke about the future.
Your parents had watched your relationship with Caleb grow from a distance, at first skeptical, but soon seeing the positive changes in you they were grateful for the near one-eighty transformation. It was clear that Caleb had brought out a side of you they hadn’t known existed—more open, more considerate. They began to see how much you needed each other, how you made each other better.
Even the King, who had once kept you at arm's length, started to attend more family meals. It was subtle at first—small gestures of acknowledgment, shared conversations during dinner—but over time, those moments grew. The King’s walls came down just a little, and you could feel the shift in the way he saw both you and Caleb.
“Caleb!” You exclaimed as you struggled to keep up, “Slow down!”
But he only smiled as he looked back at you, still urging you to go faster. “Come on, pipsqueak. We have got to see this.”
Caleb all but dragged you through the winding streets, his grip firm yet careful, like he had done this a thousand times before—which, to be fair, he had. This year, just like every year before, the two of you had managed to sneak out of the palace for the annual festival celebrating the latest advancements in technology.
And, just like every year, Caleb was way too excited about it.
Of course you attended during the day, but simply as Prince and Princess behind a bevy of knights and rules of propriety. You visited the vendors the King listed and were only there to make political moves, rather than actually enjoy the festival. Tonight, you were both adorned in cloaks and doing your best to look casual.
“Come on, pipsqueak, keep up!” he called over his shoulder, his steps light with barely contained energy.
You huffed, jogging slightly to match his pace. “I am keeping up, you long-legged menace! Not all of us can clear half a street in one step.”
He snorted, but didn’t slow down. The streets were alive with glowing lanterns, bustling vendors, and the rhythmic hum of machinery being demonstrated at every corner. Inventors showed off new gadgets, clockwork creations, and even early prototypes of steam-powered contraptions. The air smelled of roasted chestnuts, spiced cider, and the faint metallic tang of burning coal.
“What made you so excited this year?” You asked back.
“I saw something interesting earlier. Father showed me some prototypes they have in the military—but this was for civilians.” Caleb’s explanation was frustratingly vague as he navigated you through the sea of festival-goers, his grip firm on your wrist so you wouldn’t get swallowed up by the crowd.
“Showed you what exactly?” You questioned.
But Caleb ignored your direct question, instead pulling you forward with long strides. You stumbled slightly, grumbling under your breath, before he abruptly stopped in front of the main stage. Without warning, he maneuvered you in front of him, effectively trapping you against his chest. His arm looped around your middle like a seatbelt, keeping you securely in place.
“Check it out yourself.”
Your teen body was still a bit too short to fully see over the heads of the mob, but thanks to Caleb’s positioning, you had a direct line of sight to the stage. At the center of it all, an overly enthusiastic announcer— a hype man, if you will —was working the crowd like his life depended on it.
“No longer will we be limited to the Earth! No longer will you have to stare longingly at the sky!” The announcer’s voice boomed with theatrical flair, making the audience practically vibrate with anticipation. “ Behold! A machine that can finally level the playing field between man and bird!”
The dramatic arm flourish that followed would’ve put an entire theater troupe to shame. The crowd let out a collective gasp, murmurs of awe and wonder rippling through them as they pointed toward the so-called machine.
At the center of it all: An aircraft.
More like an early prototype, maybe even the first of its kind for civilians in this world—a wooden, rickety contraption that looked one strong gust of wind away from becoming kindling. But still, it was an aircraft nonetheless.
Your mind reeled at the sight. As a transmigrator, this wasn’t some far-off, impossible feat. You knew exactly where this kind of technology was headed. One day, people wouldn’t just be testing these things in controlled environments; they’d be hurling themselves through the sky at 600 miles per hour while complaining about airline food.
You tore your gaze away to look at Caleb, who was already looking at you for your reaction. It seemed whatever he was looking for was not there, but you attempted to look surprised.
Keeping your voice low. “Have you seen something like this actually fly before?”
The Prince leaned forward, his chin rubbing against your shoulder as he got closer to your personal space. “Once. Father showed me a few months back.”
“Did you get to fly it yourself?”
Caleb sighed in reply. “Absolutely not. He didn’t even let me near the seat.”
You raised an eyebrow. “He’s probably just being careful. This technology is so new—”
“Pah, whatever,” Caleb huffed, the sheer offense in his voice almost comical. You could practically feel the shrug in his tone, like he was some grounded bird, bitter about being denied his rightful place in the sky.
“If it’s worth anything, I think you’d make an amazing pilot, Caleb.” You attempted to reassure him.
Caleb looked at you with a strange reaction, a smile that was not quite complete. You wondered briefly if you somehow said the wrong thing, but the announcer pulled you out of your thoughts and back to the showcase.
The festival buzzed around you, lanterns swaying overhead as laughter and excited chatter filled the air. The scent of candied nuts and roasted meat wafted through the streets, making your stomach growl despite your best efforts to ignore it.
Caleb’s grip around your waist tightened slightly as another surge of people pushed past. You could practically feel the excuse forming in his head—something about keeping you from getting lost in the crowd, when really, you knew he just didn’t want to let go.
Not that you minded.
After the showcase, the two of you wandered through the festival, checking out the vendors and admiring the odd trinkets on display. Every so often, Caleb’s hand found yours, his fingers curling around yours in a steady hold. Absentmindedly, you squeezed his hand as you weaved through the stalls, your attention caught by every new sight.
“Souvenirs! Get a keepsake from the festival!” A vendor’s voice cut through the noise, and your head snapped in their direction.
Caleb barely had time to react before you were tugging him toward the stall with the enthusiasm of someone about to rob it blind.
He arched a brow, his stance wary. “Pip.”
You gave him your best pout and wide-eyes, putting your closed fists below your chin. Of course, Caleb always gave in to you. With one last exhale of exaggerated suffering, he nodded. You beamed, bouncing on your heels before dragging him forward with victorious enthusiasm.
The vendor greeted you both with a warm smile. “Welcome, welcome! Trinkets or jewelry for the happy couple?”
You blinked, cheeks heating. Caleb, ever composed, didn’t even flinch. He simply shrugged. “Just looking around, but thanks.”
You busied yourself scanning the collection of necklaces, rings, and small carved figurines. These were the moments you cherished—simple, quiet moments where it was just you and Caleb, no looming storylines, no dramatic conflicts, no Webtoon fate breathing down your neck.
You knew it wouldn’t last forever. Eventually, the events of the story would begin, and Caleb would be swept up into the plot, into his destined role, into someone else’s arms.
But for now?
You wanted something to remember this moment by.
The display case was packed with all sorts of trinkets—some elegant and shimmering with gold and jewels, others clearly meant to be more fun and lighthearted. There were rings with tiny animal carvings, necklaces shaped like fruit, and even a few that looked like they were made from polished seashells. Your fingers hovered over the glass as you admired the options, your eyes darting between cute and ridiculous.
Caleb wandered back to your side, hands casually tucked into his pockets. “Oh, I might get that one,” he murmured.
Curious, you followed his gaze—only to snort at what you saw. “A strawberry charm? You?”
He rolled his eyes and flicked your forehead lightly. “No, for you , pipsqueak. Aren’t they your favorite?”
You rubbed your forehead with an exaggerated pout. “You do too much for me, Caleb.” You mumbled, feeling a bit guilty. “I wanted to get a charm to remember this moment, you know? Something special.”
“Nothing is too much.” He countered smoothly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Before you could argue, the vendor clapped his hands together, eyes twinkling. “Ah yes, the beautiful couple! I see you’re admiring this lovely strawberry necklace.”
“Yes, it’s really cute,” you admitted, tilting your head at it.
“Perfect for young couples!” the vendor continued enthusiastically. “In fact, this necklace is part of a matching set. Usually, girls get them with their close friends—but please, take a look.”
He reached into the case and pulled out a second necklace, an apple one, from behind the counter, placing it beside the strawberry one. Before you could even process what was happening, the two necklaces snapped together with a soft clink , drawn to each other like they had a mind of their own.
“Whoa.” Your eyes widened.
The vendor grinned. “This is the latest in our collection! We’ve incorporated new technology called magnets! These necklaces are designed to find each other and magnetize, just like two pieces of a puzzle!”
You gasped dramatically. “Ugh, they’re so cute!”
“Let’s get them,” Caleb said, already sounding like he’d made up his mind. “We’ll match.”
You bit your lip, clearly torn. “I want them so bad, but you do realize Mother and Father would never let us wear them, right?”
Caleb shrugged, completely unfazed. “So? Wear it at night. I’ll wear mine too.”
You stared at him, deliberating for a solid five seconds before sighing. You really wanted them. Before you could make up your mind, Caleb had already nodded to the vendor, sliding the payment over and taking the set into his own hands.
“Caleb!” You gasped, scandalized. “That was supposed to be a gift from me to you!”
But he only smiled, utterly pleased with himself, and leaned his head against yours, his voice low and warm. “Get me something else next time.”
You both stepped out of the tent, Caleb still clutching the little baggie with the matching necklaces inside. He put a hand on your shoulder and turned you around with an exaggerated flourish, pushing your hair aside like some cheesy romance scene. The next thing you knew, he was draping the necklace around your neck.
“Beautiful.” The young prince muttered softly and you could practically feel his words brush against your skin.
You looked up at him, feigning innocence. “It is, isn’t it?” You said, referring to the necklace, but it was hard to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at his tone. Caleb just smiled, like he had everything figured out.
“Alright, your turn.” He replied, tilting his head with a playful grin.
You turned him around, his height making it difficult to reach around his neck to fasten the chain. You struggled for a moment, trying to get it just right, your hands accidentally brushing against his collarbone. But after a few fumbling attempts, you finally managed to get it in place, staring at the necklace with a sense of accomplishment.
“Now we’re matching,” Caleb said, his voice surprisingly low as his fingers traced the chain around his neck. He was obviously savoring the moment, and honestly, you were too.
You grinned up at him. “Thank you, Caleb. I love you!”
His smile softened, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and he leaned down, nuzzling his head into yours with a warmth that made your heart flutter. “Love you too, pipsqueak.”
The walk back to the palace was filled with comfortable silence—just the two of you, strolling through the festival grounds like nothing out of the ordinary was going on. When you reached the usual hideout at the gardens, you shed your cloaks and tucked them beneath the gazebo, making sure they were out of sight in the chest.
“By the way…” Caleb suddenly started, breaking the quiet.
“Yeah?” You asked absently, your mind already half on the palace and the safety of your cozy, secretive routine.
“How did you know that the driver of an aircraft is called a ‘pilot’?”
Your brain immediately froze. You didn’t stop walking, but your feet might as well have turned to concrete. There was no panic, just complete and utter blankness. You could feel your heartbeat speed up in your chest, but you did your best to keep it cool. No way would any lie fool Caleb—especially with his full, unwavering attention now on you.
“Lucky guess?” You still attempted nonetheless.
Caleb gave you the most deadpan look imaginable. “Yeah, right.” He shook his head, clearly not buying it. “Really not gonna tell me?”
“Nope.”
“You say a lot of weird things sometimes…” Caleb mused, his face unreadable as other thoughts flew behind those purple eyes. There was no way he knew you were a transmigrator, right? “Still not gonna tell me why?”
You, however, were not about to crack. You pointed dramatically to the sky, trying your best to feign innocence. “Would you look at that—I think it’s going to rain. We should run back and never speak of this again.”
“So it is something… ” His gaze was changing, curious and now suddenly serious. “Something you won’t tell me.”
Your brain was screaming for a way out of this conversation, but instead, you just shrugged and decided to go with your gut.
Fuck it.
And without another word, you booked it —straight towards the palace, sprinting as fast as you could in an all-out panic.
Caleb called your name twice as he laughed, his voice laced with amusement and a hint of something more—he clearly enjoyed having pinpointed something and backing you into a corner you mentally. You could practically hear the wheels turning in his head, like he was about to crack open the truth. But, for the moment, he thankfully didn’t push it any further. Instead, he just shook his head with a knowing grin and let it slide.
The next morning, however, he didn’t mention it again. You figured that was it, that you’d dodged a bullet. But breakfast came with a whole new set of problems. The King, seated at the head of the grand dining table, was less than pleased with your little escapade the night before. He’d caught wind of your nocturnal activities somehow—how, you had no clue, but you both quickly adopted the strategy of looking down at your plates, trying to appear completely innocent.
You and Caleb exchanged a quick glance, both of you silently debating who would be the first to get caught in a lie. In the end, you both did what you were best at— lying through your teeth —promising the King, in unison, that this was the last time you’d sneak out like that.
The King, of course, didn’t believe it for a second. He just gave you both a pointed look, clearly not impressed with your theatrics. But, for that moment, he let it go—whether it was because he was too tired to chase down the matter or because he had bigger things to worry about, you couldn’t say.
And life continued on. Your relationship with Caleb flourished in the usual way—random sleepovers in your room where you stayed up late chatting about everything and nothing, long walks through the palace gardens where you both found a rare kind of peace in the quiet corners of the world, and, of course, sneaking out yet again to explore night markets or stumble into some other harmless mischief.
But all of that was about to change, significantly.
The true test of your relationship came on the day of Caleb’s official ceremony—the day he was named Crown Prince. It had been months since that awkward conversation, and during that time, Caleb had become more and more involved in the affairs of the kingdom. But today, everything was about to shift.
It was the grand event of the year. Everyone was gathered in the palace’s largest ballroom, the air heavy with anticipation. Servants moved swiftly, preparing for the arrival of the King, Queen, and the rest of the noble class of the entire country. Caleb stood at the center of the room, a picture of calm, though you could feel the weight of the moment settling on his shoulders.
This was it—the day he would be officially recognized as the Crown Prince, the heir to the throne, the one who would eventually carry the kingdom forward.
It was a significant milestone in the Webtoon—one that would solidify his position as the future King. As expected, there were the old nobles, those who were reluctant to accept an adopted child’s rise to power. Some had always viewed him as an outsider and questioned his claim to the throne, but you would not allow that to happen.
You stood by Caleb’s side, cheering him on as the ceremony progressed. In the original story, the Villainess hatched a plot to steal the crown, but was foiled when she accidentally injured herself.
Instead, you spent the day cornering the influential Loyalist nobles, applying gentle but firm pressure to get their support for Caleb. It wasn’t just about being a supportive sister—it was about making sure that Caleb had the backing he deserved, ensuring that he wouldn’t be undermined by petty politics.
As Caleb stepped up to claim his title, your gaze never wavered from him. You knew what it meant for him—what it meant for both of you. And no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would always be there, standing by his side, ready to fight for him and his future.
The crown gleamed brilliantly atop his head as Caleb danced the night away, the golden light of the chandeliers catching on its edges. Many noble daughters had eagerly lined up, vying for his attention and near begging him for a dance. Yet, when he turned to you and extended his hand for the first dance of the night, you felt a warmth rise to your cheeks.
At first glance, the moment felt out of place. In the original novel, this dance had been reserved for a Loyalist Duke’s daughter—a calculated move to win her father’s favor and secure a valuable political alliance. She had been utterly enamored with him and the dance had been an opportunity to sway them to his side.
But now, with you working on his side, even working behind the scenes to pull more nobles into Caleb’s fold, perhaps this was an even stronger message—a show of unwavering trust between you and the soon-to-be ruler, a signal to the nation’s most powerful players.
The night passed in a blur of music and laughter, the kind that made everything feel light, as if the weight of the world could be suspended in the air for just a little while. You danced with abandon, letting the rhythm of the music take over, drank freely, and indulged in the lavish feast spread out before you. For once, there were no worries, no expectations—just the thrill of a well-earned celebration. Tonight, it wasn’t about your role or the work you put in the past few years; it was about pure, simple enjoyment. And you allowed yourself to be wrapped in that feeling, even if just for a few hours.
“May I have this dance?” The voice cut through the haze of your thoughts, smooth and familiar.
You looked up to find Zayne standing before you, his handsome face framed by the glow of the chandeliers, the same calm and collected expression he always wore.
You couldn’t help but smile back, the tension in your chest momentarily easing. “Of course.”
His hand extended toward you, his fingers lightly brushing against yours, as if to ask permission before taking the next step. You placed your hand in his, and he guided you gracefully toward the dancefloor.
Zayne’s touch was gentle, refined even, as he held you at just the right distance. It was the kind of dance where no one needed to rush; the kind where you could simply follow the flow of everyone else. His hands remained respectfully placed, his fingers never straying from their assigned position, and it should have been perfect.
And yet—something felt off.
It wasn’t Zayne, the problem wasn’t him at all. He was a gentleman, a prince in every sense, smooth and controlled. But you couldn’t help but compare the way he moved with the way Caleb would.
Caleb.
When Caleb held you during dances, there was always this… weight to it. A closeness that was more than just the formalities of a waltz. Caleb was the type to laugh as he pulled you close, his arm easily draping around your waist. His hand would sometimes linger on the small of your back, pulling you just a little bit closer, as if to claim you without saying it out loud. And when it was just the two of you practicing in the empty halls, Caleb would lean his chin onto your shoulder or press his forehead against yours, all without a second thought, as if there was no space between the two of you.
What the hell was wrong with you?
Why were you wasting this moment, this perfect opportunity to enjoy the night, by thinking about Caleb of all people? You needed to stop doing this. Caleb was never meant to be yours. He was the Crown Prince. Your connection to him was nothing more than a fleeting brush with fate that you had changed with the skin of your teeth.
You were a background character in a sea of many—someone who wasn’t supposed to stay in his life. And yet, here you were, comparing every touch, every movement, to Caleb’s way of holding you. It was foolish.
You forced a smile, focusing back on Zayne, trying to drown out the voice in your head. It didn’t work. The feeling of Caleb’s touch lingered in your mind like a stubborn echo, refusing to let you focus on anything else.
“When you’re thinking hard, there’s a small little scrunch in the corner of your nose.” Zayne interrupted your thoughts.
You blinked at him, caught off guard, then let a playful smile tug at your lips. “What?”
“Just an observation.” He smirked slightly, his eyes bright with silent amusement. Zayne was always the type to speak in puzzles. “Isn’t it odd that Caleb was able to become Crown Prince without a marriage arrangement?”
In the original timeline, Caleb didn’t have an official marriage arrangement either—but that was because of the villainess. No Loyalist would ever dare offer up their daughter to someone with so much political risk, especially not when the villainess' wrath was such a powerful force in the background. But with the villainess gone it didn’t make sense that Caleb hadn’t been paired with a partner to strengthen his claim, secure alliances, or at least get the political show rolling.
You stared at Zayne for a moment, feeling like you were being handed just a singular puzzle piece to a much larger, far more complicated picture. “That is odd,” you agreed, your voice neutral, trying not to show the small crack of concern creeping into your chest.
You hadn’t really thought about it before, at least not seriously. But now that Zayne had brought it up, it was impossible to ignore the gap in Caleb’s royal trajectory. Why hadn't he been matched? The King surely knew better. And how had Caleb convinced the King to crown him without such a crucial piece of the puzzle?
Zayne tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to let you know he wasn’t done with this line of questioning. “Any theories?”
You hesitated, your gaze drifting to the floor as you fought back a wave of suspicion. There was something about Zayne’s casual curiosity that felt calculated, like he was baiting you to answer in a way that would reveal something you weren’t meant to know. But your mind wasn’t exactly working at full capacity, and you had a feeling he knew that.
For a brief moment, you wondered if Caleb had simply convinced the King with charm and perseverance, but then… no. There had to be more at play. And the more you thought about it, the more it felt personal. Like Zayne was asking you not just about Caleb’s strategy but about something that involved you , somehow.
You shrugged and continued to follow Zayne’s lead, spinning here and there with a grace fine tuned over the years. “Politics goes over my head, I’m afraid.” You diverted with a light chuckle, trying to sidestep the lingering feeling in the air.
Zayne’s eyes glinted with mischief as he smirked at you. “Do not take me for a fool.” His voice was teasing, but there was a sharpness to his gaze. “Just watching you think is enough.”
You couldn’t help but laugh a little, shaking your head. His words made it sound like he was studying you, cataloging every little expression. You chose to steer the conversation elsewhere before you could think too much about that. “And how did you get named a successor without an engagement?” You questioned back, raising an eyebrow in playful curiosity.
Zayne’s smile faltered slightly, and a flicker of confusion passed over his face. "Not without trying,” he said, his voice holding a hint of something you couldn’t quite place. His gaze didn’t waver, though, and it made you pause for a second, wondering what he was really trying to say with that.
“And who’s the lucky lady?” You pushed, leaning in just a bit, your curiosity piqued.
Zayne stopped dancing for a beat, and when you looked at him, both of you stood there, staring at each other. His eyes held a serious intensity that was hard to ignore, and suddenly, you felt a little small. Was there something about this whole engagement thing you should have known? You racked your brain, trying to dig through the plot of the original novel to recall any mention of a potential match for him. But no matter how hard you thought, you came up blank.
Before you could ask any more questions, a voice cut through the silence. “Sorry, it’s about time I cut in.”
You turned to your side, startled by Caleb’s sudden interruption. His palm was raised toward you, and there was something unreadable in his expression.
Zayne didn’t seem bothered by it at all. He simply blinked, the same smirk still playing on his lips. “The song hasn’t even ended yet.”
But Caleb didn’t respond. He just stared at Zayne, and for the briefest of moments, the tension in the air felt almost tangible—like the room was holding its breath. It was a quiet standoff, with neither man backing down.
Since when did this happen?
You blinked, confusion swirling in your mind as you glanced back and forth between the two of them. The last time you checked, Zayne and Caleb were practically allies, working side by side. Zayne had even been one of Caleb’s most trusted advisors after he was named successor to the Duke. He was strong, intelligent, and fiercely protective of his territory—but Caleb had also given him the space to pursue his passion for medicine. You'd never sensed any rivalry between them before.
But now, it was like they were sizing each other up. Caleb’s chin tilted slightly upward, his posture straightening as if he were asserting dominance without even saying a word.
“And here’s the reason.” Zayne said simply, his voice cutting through your confusion. You blinked at him, momentarily forgetting what you’d been talking about before Caleb made his dramatic entrance.
Before you could gather your thoughts, Caleb took you into his arms with practiced ease, his body warm and familiar against yours. He didn’t say anything, just letting the silence settle between the two of you as the next song began. And then another one followed, the music swirling around you both.
If you were anyone else, you’d think Caleb’s silence and the way he kept you close was the result of a jealous boyfriend.
But you knew Caleb. He wasn’t the type to get territorial over something like a dance. No, this was different. The way he held you—like he was shielding you from something, or perhaps someone—had an edge to it that made your stomach twist uncomfortably. You danced with Caleb, moving through
You were not blind nor were you stupid. This was weird behavior from the Crown Prince, almost possessive in the way he showcased you around the ballroom for all other young men your age to see. Sure, he was preening like a young peacock, but you expected that from someone who was just named as the Future King.
Whatever, it would do you no good to look into it. Nope. Do not overthink this.
Do not get your hopes up.
Once the dance was over, you put on your very best face despite the let down in mood. You reminded yourself again and again, but your heart wasn’t so easily convinced. After all, this was Caleb.
Your Caleb.
But also not your Caleb.
The main character of a story you had no place in. His future was already laid out for him, like some plotline you didn’t get to edit. Even after everything, after all the late-night talks, the laughter, the shared glances—nothing had changed. You were still a side character in his world, and he would never be your Caleb.
The night dragged on as you went through the motions, exchanging pleasantries with nobles, faking smiles as you continued to put on your best face. You’d stay just long enough to support Caleb, but as the evening wore down and the guests started leaving, your energy left with them. You made your escape to your room, eager for a moment of peace — to be off your feet with a good, smutty book.
Once you closed the door behind you, it felt like a weight lifted from your shoulders. You were free to just be. You quickly shed the layers of formality—the corset that had been digging into your ribs all evening, the dress that felt too stiff and too tight for comfort. In its place, you slipped into smooth, silky loungewear that made you feel like yourself again, no longer the polished princess, but just you.
You sighed as your maid carefully removed the last of your expensive jewels, and your fingers subconsciously toyed with the strawberry charm Caleb had bought for you. You hadn’t even realized it, but somehow, the necklace had become your little comfort, a reminder of a moment when he’d given you something without any strings attached. A rare, sweet gesture.
Your maid worked silently behind you, carefully undoing the intricate twists of your hairstyle, the pins one by one laying on the vanity you were sat in front of. You were half-zoning out, lost in the feel of the soft necklace against your skin, when a knock at the door broke the silence.
“Come in,” you said, not even looking up, thinking it was probably a guard or a servant. But when the door opened and you heard a familiar voice, your heart skipped a beat.
"It’s me, pip."
You didn’t even need to look to know who it was. Caleb. Of course, it would be him. Who else would crash your solitude so casually?
Caleb strolled in, grinning, looking every bit the carefree prince he was. Without a second thought, he collapsed face-first onto your bed, spreading his arms wide, completely unbothered by his appearance as he squished his face into the blankets. It was a moment of pure, unapologetic Caleb.
Your maid, who had been hoping for a little more time to wash your hair tonight, sighed deeply but didn’t complain. She quietly bowed, understanding that her royal duties weren’t going to be finished tonight. With a resigned look, she excused herself, giving you one last look before slipping out of the room.
Caleb rolled over onto his back, his eyes still locked on the ceiling, hands resting behind his head. “You looked beautiful tonight.”
You rolled your eyes, trying to pretend that his compliment didn’t make your heart do a little flip. You stood up to face him fully. “Thanks, but don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easily for earlier.”
He sighed, pretending to be caught. “Oh, come on, I was just trying to help. You were lost in thought. Was I really that bad?”
"Don't act all innocent. I saw that look between you and Zayne. What's going on with you two?"
Caleb’s playful grin faltered for just a second. You watched him, knowing he wasn’t going to tell you everything, but there was something there. Something you had to get to the bottom of. But right now, you didn’t feel like pushing him. Tonight, at least, you could let the festivities keep the lighthearted mood.
He chuckled and looked over at you, eyes twinkling with mischief. "You're too nosy, you know that?"
"Maybe, but you never tell me anything real." You shot back.
“I tell you everything.” He countered, eyes closed as he spread out. “Tonight was exhausting.”
He looked every bit the part—his hair mussed from hours of dancing and the weight of his military-esque uniform hanging loosely on his body. It was a little unbuttoned, the fabric shifting awkwardly like it had given up on trying to stay neat. You could tell he’d indulged more than usual, especially after all the nobles and even your father, the straight-faced King, insisted that Caleb let loose and enjoy himself.
“You did not just get your outside clothes on my bed.” You grumbled, nudging him lightly with your foot before going back to your vanity. You were trying to be annoyed, but honestly, it was hard when he was laying there looking so relaxed and carefree. “And you love it.”
“I don’t love the attention,” he muttered, sighing dramatically.
“Oh, please.” You teased as you continued your maid’s earlier work undoing your hair, one pin at a time. “You looooove being in charge.”
He cracked a playful eye to look at you. “Yeah, I do.”
As you continued to take out the pins from your hair, you noticed him sprawled out comfortably, his head resting on your pillows like it was the most natural thing in the world. You glanced at him over your shoulder. “Is there a particular reason you’ve commandeered my bed?”
Caleb rolled his eyes, and you could almost hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I slept here yesterday, pip. If you want, we can go to my room instead.”
“That’s different!” You raised an eyebrow, pointing at him as you returned to your task of pulling out the last few pins from your hair. “You don’t look tired at all. You’ve still got that cocky little smile on your face.”
He shrugged nonchalantly, stretching his arms above his head. “No, I’m not tired.” His face betrayed him, though, looking a little too content to be anything but pleased with himself.
“Well then,” you shot back with a playful grin, “go back down to the party! It’s for you after all.”
The party was winding down, the loud chatter and music slowly giving way to softer conversations and the occasional drunken laugh. Even if most of the guests had started to leave, you knew there were still plenty of nobles lingering, enjoying the free drinks and the few songs left to be played.
Caleb’s smile stretched even wider, that dopey, proud grin taking over his face. And who could blame him? Today had been his day. He’d officially been named Crown Prince, the King giving a long, glowing speech about Caleb’s accomplishments over the years before proudly naming him as his successor. It was no surprise, really—Caleb had always been groomed for this moment.
But tonight? Tonight, he was the most eligible bachelor in the entire nation. Everyone knew it, and he certainly wasn’t shy about letting that fact sink in.
You caught yourself smiling softly at him, even as you tried to busy yourself with your reflection. It was a strange feeling, watching Caleb bask in his success. It was a far cry from the boy who would hide away in the gardens and cry himself until no more tears would fall. You had always known this day would come, but now that it was here, it felt... surreal.
You were proud of him, of course. But still, there was a lingering part of you that wanted to forget that this future he was stepping into wasn’t one that included you in the way you might have hoped.
“Everything I need is right here,” Caleb said, his voice shifting as he stood up from the bed, sensing the sudden change in your mood. His usual confident demeanor softened, but only slightly. He stripped off his jacket, tossing it carelessly over the nearby table, before walking toward you.
Before you could even register what was happening, his fingers were threading gently through your hair, working out the pins you’d missed. His touch was steady, familiar, and the simple gesture made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t expect. You caught his eyes in the mirror a couple of times, and something in you couldn’t stop yourself from speaking.
“I love you, Caleb,” you whispered, a quiet confession that you hadn’t meant to say out loud. It just slipped out, the weight of everything in the air between you.
Caleb’s response was almost automatic, his voice light with affection. “Love you too, pipsqueak.”
You blinked back at him in the mirror, feeling the tension building in your chest. For a moment, you weren’t sure if he really got it. But before you could think too much about it, your hands finished undoing the braid in your hair, the last few strands coming loose as Caleb, still standing behind you, unbuttoned his shirt further.
“What the hell are you doing?” You asked, slightly confused as you watched him.
“It’s ridiculously hot in here, pip.” His voice was casual.
You rolled your eyes, but there was no hiding the way your heart rate picked up. “That’s why I always tell you to change into your pajamas before you come over here.”
“Too far. Too comfortable,” Caleb grinned, unphased as he fell back onto your bed. In a single motion he ripped his shirt off completely, throwing it aside on the ground without a care in the world.
You could barely stop yourself from staring.
His chest, bare and muscular, was right there in front of you. His abs were sculpted, his skin warm with the afterglow of the celebration, and for a moment, you didn’t even care about the fact that you should not be looking at him this way. You were supposed to be adopted siblings bound by fate, not whatever the hell this was. But then, he was Caleb.
And the last time you checked, brothers and sisters didn’t act like this.
Sometimes, in the summer, when he’d be training, he’d shed his top, and you would casually catch glances of him from your balcony. It was not on purpose (at least not at first), but you would be reading at certain points of the day and Caleb knew you would be watching. But here, in your room, with him sprawled out on your bed— it felt like some twisted test from the universe.
You couldn’t help yourself. Your gaze roamed over his chiseled abs, the defined lines that traced down to his waist with veins that protruded just enough to catch your gaze. Your eyes followed the path lower, and you noticed the faint glint of metal around his neck. Your breath hitched when you realized what it was.
The matching Apple necklace.
The one you’d given him.
Shit.
Fuck, were you ovulating or something? Just the thought that Caleb had worn your gift on the most important day of his life had gone straight downward. Oh shit. You were staring for too long.
You were snapped out of your thoughts by a quiet, almost amused cough from Caleb. His mischievous gaze caught yours, and you realized that he'd seen you ogling him— caught you red-handed.
“Don’t.” You started, but your voice was more flustered than you’d meant it to be.
Caleb simply shook his head, that cocky grin of his spreading wider. “No, no. Today’s my day. You said it yourself. Don’t pretend that didn’t happen.”
Your stomach twisted, the room suddenly feeling a thousand degrees hotter. His words, that smile, the way he was looking at you now—it was all too much. The line between the two of you was starting to blur, and you couldn’t decide if that was the best or worst thing to happen.
You tried to steer the conversation away from the obvious weight in the air. “You wore the Apple necklace on a day like this?”
“Of course I did. Needed all the support I could get today. And that definitely included your token of love for me.”
He was practically lounging like some regal cat, his arms behind his head, his chest stretched out, and his abs doing their best to make you reconsider every decision you’d ever made. The sight of his slutty Dorito waist was enough to make you question your self-control. What the hell was that even? Was it illegal for someone to look that good?
What the fuck.
Flashes of the original 18+ Webtoon came to mind. The Caleb in the novel had an insatiable libido fostered by a complete lack of any romance or affection for almost his entire life. Once he and the female love interest had confessed their love, it was almost embarrassing to think about how much he craved her. He would take her gently in his bed, against the hallway wall with his hand on her mouth to silence her, in the gardens where every passing knight could hear them.
Fuck.
No.
This was your Caleb.
You shook your head vigorously, trying to dislodge any impure thoughts. Nope. Not happening. You were not going to go down that road. Not with Caleb. Not tonight. Not ever.
“Caleb, why are you here?” You asked, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out a little too breathy for comfort.
“I wanna sleep here. C’mon.” He motioned for you to join him on your bed.
It wasn’t rare for you two to cuddle and fall asleep together, but not like this! He hadn’t even bothered to get his pajamas and instead opted to just strip down.
“No way.” You crossed your arms, glancing pointedly at the bed.
What?” Caleb pouted, batting those damn eyelashes of his. “Come on, pip. At least grant me this today!” He raised his eyebrows, his playful smile still very much intact, but there was something else in his eyes—something that made you feel like you were both teetering on the edge of something you couldn’t quite name.
“Do ya have to be naked?” You finally asked, unable to hide the hint of frustration in your voice. You didn’t want to admit it, but the sight of him sprawled out like that was really testing your limits.
“It’s hot.” He explained nonchalantly, as if that was a perfectly reasonable excuse. “And I’m not naked. I’ve got two layers of undergarments on, okay?”
You snorted, trying not to imagine what he was hiding underneath those undershorts. God, when he first undressed in the novel, it was almost insane how many thirsty comments jokingly sent thoughts and prayers to the female love interest. You knew what was being held back, a sword of unparalleled length that you wanted to cast out of your mind.
But Caleb was relentless, his pout deepening as if he were a puppy that hadn’t been fed in days. The sheer audacity of the man.
Fuck it.
“Ugh, fine.” You finally groaned, caving in to his charm and whatever strange hold he had over you. “Turn around, and let me change into my pajamas.”
You had only just changed new indoor lounge clothes — something comfy yet vaguely stylish. You hadn’t planned on going to sleep anytime soon, not with the rollercoaster of emotions you’d been through today. You wanted nothing more than to relax on your balcony, book in hand, a glass of wine swirling in your fingers as the sounds of music from downstairs carried up to you. Just a quiet night, in your own little bubble.
“Those aren’t your pajamas?” Caleb asked, his voice laced with amusement as he eyed your outfit.
“No, I wanted to relax a bit first. But I’ll change now.” You reached for your pajamas, but Caleb wasn’t having it.
“No, no. We don’t have to sleep if you’re not tired.” He shifted to a more comfortable position, clearly settling in for a little more than just casual chatting. “What was it you wanted to do?”
There was a snowball’s chance in hell you were going to tell him what you really wanted to do.
You didn’t have the guts. It was not rare for Caleb to find you with a book in hand, after all your habits as an avid reader from your previous life had carried over. The knights and maids could expect to find you lakeside, in the garden’s, or even on Caleb’s balcony reading up on some new romantic comedy.
No, today was different.
You had a smutty book.
You had been discreet about it—waiting until Caleb was away on one of his royal duties in a faraway district to sneak out and buy it. It was a small victory to get away from your ever-watchful knight, and the moment you stepped into town and found that little shop tucked away in an alley, you felt like you were getting away with something truly naughty.
Some of the other noble daughters your age raved about this particular series featuring a smoldering young man who was somehow both sweet and stoic. Apparently the smutty scenes were addictive and, having gone years without reading a Webtoon, you were eager to get your hands on this literary work.
Your knight had obviously ratted you out when Caleb came back, and you’d spent an hour being chastised for it. But that was nothing compared to the book’s contents. The very specific, very detailed contents.
You reserved it for tonight in particular since you figured it would be the one night that everyone would be busy. Caleb should have been downstairs still enjoying his crowning night and everyone else should have been down there joining him.
So what do you say to Caleb now?
“I just wanted to relax… Sip some wine on my own,” you managed to say, forcing a calm expression as you took a deep breath.
Caleb narrowed his eyes, suspicion creeping in. “Just sitting out there, nothing else?”
You tried to keep your gaze neutral, but your eyes betrayed you, glancing briefly toward your wardrobe. Caleb, ever the observant one, followed your line of sight. Without missing a beat, he was up and off the bed, moving toward the wardrobe like a predator zeroing in on its prey.
“No, no!” You rushed forward to stop him, but he was quicker. In an instant, he hoisted you onto his shoulders with a cocky grin. You yelped in surprise, pounding your fists against his back.
“Geez, what has you so worked up?” Caleb asked with that same mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know this only makes me more curious.”
“A book? That’s it?” He paused mid-dig, eyes glinting with new, devious amusement.
“Yes, that’s it!” You insisted, squirming in his grasp, trying in vain to snatch the book back from his outstretched hand.
Caleb kept the book just out of reach, his smirk widening with every failed attempt you made to grab it. He tilted his head, studying you, his eyes practically glowing with amusement. “Why are you…” His voice trailed off as he pieced it together. “My, my. Did you get a naughty book, pip?”
Your cheeks burned, and you tried to act unbothered, crossing your arms as he finally set you down on the bed. “And? You’re gonna make fun of me?”
“Not at all,” he drawled, his voice far too smug for your liking. He leaned back onto your pillow, sprawling comfortably like he was in charge of everything in the world—your heart included, apparently. “Come on. Sit next to me. I wanna know what’s so special about it.”
Reluctantly, you climbed in next to him, your body now fully aware of how close he was, how warm he was. You could practically feel the tension crackling between the two of you as you settled into the bed. Caleb’s eyes never left you, and it was hard not to notice how his body was just a little bit too close for comfort. It was as if he was daring you to make a move, to acknowledge that there was more going on here than just a casual read.
You grabbed the book, holding it like a dirty secret. “How far into the book are you?” he asked, leaning into your space with a grin that made you feel seen in ways you weren’t ready for.
“Not much. I just got it a few days ago.” You admitted, glancing at the book with a small sigh. It was stupid, but you couldn’t resist reading the first chapter. You weren’t a saint after all.
The moment you said that, Caleb’s eyes lit up like a switch had been flipped, mind connecting the dots to your actions last week. “So that’s why you ran away? To get a sexy book?”
You felt your insides tighten at the way he said that, his voice dripping with something undeniably provocative. He was leaning way too close now, his gaze hot and unyielding.
“You—!” you stammered, but he was already pushing further, his body practically in yours. His face was so close now that all you could focus on was the feel of him near you, and how every single touch, every glance, felt charged.
He pressed in even more, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Tell me I’m wrong.”
You couldn’t. Because, truthfully, he wasn’t wrong.
A heavy sigh escaped you, your chest heaving just slightly as you looked down at the book, trying to ignore the way your body was reacting to him. “You’re not wrong.”
Without another word, Caleb leaned back again, pulling you close to his side, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The bed creaked under his weight, and you could feel his body so clearly against yours. It was too much, and yet somehow it wasn’t enough.
“Go ahead,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he settled in comfortably. “Start reading it out loud. I wanna know what’s so special about this book.”
And just like that, with the heat between you two so thick you could practically taste it, you began to read—slowly, deliberately, and with a voice that was anything but innocent.
The next passage started with the ball already rolling. The female love interest was still dealing with the prince’s cold exterior, having only agreed to a physical relationship without the feelings just yet.
“She sat on the hay, each small pinprick amplified as she stared up at the Prince’s golden stare. They were quiet, breathing loud even though rain tumbled off the metal roof with each passing second. Her hands came up to his belt with a new meekness, a quiet shyness that even she was not sure about. The prince carded his hand through her hand and pulled her forward, her breath getting faster as she was face to face with his throbbing cock.”
You paused there, voice getting smaller as the scene became more and more sultry. It was still surreal that you were reading this aloud to Caleb of all people.
Caleb let out a low, rumbling chuckle, his eyes never leaving yours. "Sounds like my little princess is feeling a bit nervous, isn't she? I wonder why..." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Could it be because of this?" A hand went around your waist, his fingers brushing against the cotton of your nightdress.
You swallowed, trying your best to ignore him. "Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink as she took in the sight of his manhood, thick and hard, jutting out before her. She licked her lips unconsciously, a sudden wave of hunger gripping her. It was electrifying to remember the Prince unraveling from her tongue and she wanted to revel in that feeling again. Two hands squeezed at the base as she stuffed his hard cock down her throat."
You paused, feeling your body heat up more than it should with Caleb so close. Your back was pressed against his front, every inch of his chest and waist practically holding you in place. The warmth of him seeped through the thin fabric of your clothes and you couldn’t help but feel the steady rhythm of his breath against your skin. Surely, he could hear how fast your heart was beating. You were way too aware of the fact that you were both in the same bed, wrapped up in the same blanket.
“I’m getting tired.” You feigned, desperately trying to find an excuse to back out of this tension.
“Me too. Look away, pip.”
Before you could even protest, he threw the blanket over himself, the rustle of fabric suddenly louder in the silence. You froze as you felt the subtle shift in the air, and then there was the unmistakable sound of a zipper. A second later, his pants were on the floor, and you swore your entire body heated up in response.
Good god, if anyone walked in they would assume the worst — clothes strewn about as you both laid under your blanket. And while sleepovers in each other’s room was the norm, this felt somehow different.
Caleb settled behind you, his chest pressing against your back in a way that left little to the imagination. He circled his arm around your waist, the movement so natural, so Caleb. His body was like a furnace against yours, and you could feel the heat radiating from him even through the layers of the blanket. There was only a single layer between you both, his fucking underwear of all things.
“You looked so beautiful today.” He murmured again, his voice low and thick with that earlier exhaustion, but still impossibly intimate. His breath tickled your neck, and you shivered, half from the warmth and half from something else.
“Thank you.” You managed, your words barely more than a whisper.
“Did you pick out that dress? Felt like it was matching mine.” He added, his tone had lost that earlier playfulness. You could feel the muscles of his chest expanding with every breath he took and it was like your body was picking up on the subtle rhythm of his.
“Mother and I worked on it together.” You replied, your voice betraying the little bit of tension you were desperately trying to keep under control.
“Ah, you both always have good taste.” He said, his words now drifting, barely audible as exhaustion started pulling him under. But that didn’t make him any less aware of the way his body was pressed to yours, of the way your breathing was a little too shallow and rapid.
His eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, it felt like everything in the room slowed down. You gently placed your hand on top of his, feeling the solid warmth of his fingers against yours. You didn’t want to disturb him, but at the same time, a part of you was somehow disappointed that the heat of the moment was winding down.
“Congratulations today, my future King.” You whispered, not wanting to wake him, but somehow needing him to hear you.
Caleb curled you closer to him, “Your King. Your Caleb.”
And just like that, everything seemed to settle, the heat between you two turning into a quiet kind of peace, even if there was still something hanging in the air. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and soon enough, the steady rhythm of his breathing calmed you too.
You slept peacefully, but you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if this moment lasted just a little longer.
The next morning Caleb was still there cuddling you. At some point in the night, you must’ve turned to face each other, and now, with the morning light streaming through the curtains, you were painfully aware of how close you two were.
You tried not to make a sound, but you couldn’t help it: your eyes immediately shot down to where Caleb’s arm was draped around you. He was only wearing that thin layer, and you were all too aware of how his body was pressed against yours. And then— oh god —you felt it: the unmistakable hardness pressed against your waist.
Your face immediately flushed a deep shade of red, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you found yourself brushing your lips against his nose in a soft, almost too tender kiss. You lingered for a moment, allowing the warmth of the moment to sink in, but then, you knew you had to get up.
It was a small miracle, really. Caleb, the ever-alert, always-on-his-toes Prince, was still deep in slumber, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. He was completely out of it, his arm tightening slightly around your waist as if he didn’t want you to leave. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, even as you quietly slipped out from beneath the covers, careful not to wake him.
You were halfway through pulling on your day skirts when your maid entered without so much as a knock. You froze for a moment, but to your surprise, she didn’t even seem fazed by the chaos in the room. Caleb's clothes were still strewn around, his jacket hanging off the back of a chair, his shirt abandoned on the floor with his pants just a few paces away. The bed was a tangled mess of sheets, the reason for the disarray layering there seemingly naked.
You could practically hear your own pulse racing as you fumbled with your blouse.
But your maid? She didn’t blink an eye. Not a single raised eyebrow. No comment about the clearly mismatched situation going on in your room. She just gave a polite nod as she walked in, rolling in a cart with a tea kettle and two matching cups. It was almost like she’d anticipated the whole situation and came prepared with tea of all things.
Her smile was warm, almost too knowing as she greeted you for the morning. “Good morning, Princess. I figured it would be best to procure this special tea for you considering last night.”
“Sure, what for?” You asked, blinking in genuine confusion.
She gave a tiny shake of her head, mirroring your expression. Her eyes darted briefly around the room—looking for something you couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, she didn’t find it, and her expression softened into a polite, so much so, demeanor.
“Or maybe as a precautionary measure. It’ll still be worthwhile to drink, Princess.”
You were still too confused to question it further, but there was a sinking feeling in your gut that something was off. Still, you gave your longtime maid the benefit of the doubt. You took the cup she offered, smiling despite the nagging feeling that this was all somehow way beyond you.
“Thank you, I suppose.” You murmured, raising the delicate porcelain cup to your lips. It smelled warm, herbal, and faintly sweet, a comforting scent.
Everyone was smiling at you too much today. And it was starting to feel like you’d walked into the middle of a conspiracy that you’d somehow missed.
You descended from your room to the dining hall, trying your best to act like you weren’t a little confused by the way every single person you passed seemed to shine with a little extra enthusiasm. Knights tipped their hats to you with exaggerated politeness, and even some maids blushed at you as you passed. You caught one of them whispering to another, and then they both giggled like they were in on some hilarious inside joke that you were apparently not invited to.
You feigned not reacting to their expressions, keeping your face neutral—though the curious looks from them, followed by the soft giggles, had you feeling like you were in an episode of a very awkward, very confusing soap opera.
Yes Caleb had one of the best nights of his life yesterday, but had something else happened? Maybe a noble who had just a little too much to drink? Or a member of the staff who got caught doing the nasty again?
When you entered the dining room for breakfast, you only saw your mother, the Queen, sitting at the far end of the table. She was already picking at some kind of omelet with way too much finesse, her eyes flicking up as soon as you walked in. The moment her gaze locked on you, her face broke into a knowing smirk, one that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
“Had a good evening?”
“Exhausting. I’m glad the ceremony is over.” You replied, trying your best to keep your tone neutral while you scooped a bit of your own breakfast onto your plate.
She glanced down at her food, the corner of her mouth curving up into that same smirk—the one that nearly everyone had been throwing in your direction today. “I’m sure Caleb is as antsy as you are.”
You blinked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Really? I thought it’s always been understood that he was meant to be the next King.”
“That’s not what I…” Her eyes flicked back up to you, and for a moment, the smirk faded just a bit, like she was trying to measure how much to say next. With her next words, her voice dropped to a tone that was both sweet and dangerous. “Sweetheart, did you and Caleb spend the night together?”
“Yes, another sleepover as usual. But he was equally as exhausted. I helped him fall asleep to some light reading.”
“His coronation night and you… read to him?” She smiled to herself.
“Something wrong?” You asked back.
She shook her head, though it was more like she was suppressing a laugh. The smirk on her face slipped into a small, knowing chuckle as she took another bite of her omelet. You just stared at her, utterly confused and still trying to process what was happening. Her amusement only seemed to grow, and you had no idea what the punchline was, but you could practically feel her guilt-free enjoyment at your expense.
What the fuck was it that everyone knew but you?
You sat there, staring down at your breakfast, suddenly too aware of the smiling faces around you, as if they were all in on some secret you hadn’t even realized you were keeping. Had the Queen found you out?
Oh no.
Did she somehow figure out that you… loved Caleb more than you should?
You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying to make sense of the thousand thoughts racing through your head. The realization hit like a punch in the gut: What if she had figured it out? What if your mother, the Queen , had somehow seen through the mask of denial you’d carefully put up? That you— you —loved Caleb more than you should?
That was the thing about Caleb. He wasn’t just some prince anymore, some fantasy you’d imagined while lying in bed on those sleepless nights, swiping through fan art and funny edit compilations.
No. Caleb was real.
And he was more than you ever could’ve dreamed.
He was thoughtful, attentive, and incredibly intuitive, always knowing your favorite dishes and sensing what you needed even when you didn’t say a word. It felt like a connection that went beyond simple understanding—like he could almost read your mind. You two had a way of communicating that was deeper than anything you had ever experienced in your old life, more meaningful than any relationship you’d known.
You were in love with him.
But he was never meant for you. You had done everything you could to rewrite history, ensuring that Caleb would have a supportive sister by his side, someone who would be there for him as he ascended the throne. You had played your part in guiding him to that future, to his destiny.
But his love story—it was always meant to be with someone else.
The best you could do was let it happen, so you swallowed your heart and smiled as you enjoyed the days by his side.
So why was your mother being so strange?
In fact, it felt like almost everyone around you knew something about you and Caleb that you were not aware of. First Zayne back at the party, who spoke in puzzles more often than not, and now the Queen. Was something else expected of you last night?
But the days went by without clarification. If anything, whenever the King had time to join the family for a meal, you could almost feel the weight of his stare as it moved between you and Caleb. Not that Caleb was officially next-in-line, did they think you were going to exact some type of revenge?
What the fuck was going on…
And so more and more days went by without you the wiser. There was no use in asking anyone, since everyone decided that this particular topic was one to be annoyingly vague about.
And so you acted like nothing was out of the ordinary. As if the night after the coronation hadn’t happened. As if the memory didn’t exist -- Caleb’s warm breath against your neck and the skin of his carved abs against your back, rubbing his waist against yours as you read some smutty book aloud.
When Caleb finally woke up the next morning, he was just Caleb. No awkward glances, no sudden change in his demeanor. He still laughed at your bad jokes, still teased you about the tiny mistakes you made in your etiquette lesson, still spent hours with you doing everything and nothing at all. He was the same as always, completely unaffected.
So you did the same even as months flew by.
(That memory was for you only. Especially on the nights you could not take it anymore, letting a hand slip down your skirts as you thought of Caleb’s sweaty chest in your very bed.)
Today, Caleb had skipped out on his morning history lesson. Even with a mountain of new responsibilities, he was with you—lounging in the very same garden where you’d gotten lost together on his first day at the palace. The place was peaceful, tucked away from the hustle and bustle, and there was a kind of quiet beauty to it that made it feel like a secret spot just for you two.
You suggested lying on the grass, but Caleb quickly removed his outer jacket and spread it out neatly for you to sit on. With a grateful smile, you settled on top of it, feeling the warmth of the summer sun wash over you. Caleb stretched out beside you, his arm brushing against yours as he settled into the moment.
And of course, you were treated well to some of Caleb’s home cooked treats.
“I can hear you thinking,” he muttered, squinting up at the sky.
You cracked an eye open. “I’m not thinking. I’m meditating.”
He snorted. “You’re plotting.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
You rolled onto your side to face him, propping your head up with your hand. “Fine. Maybe I was considering how to fake my own death to get out of tomorrow’s tea party.”
Caleb turned his head, grinning. “That’s dark, even for you pip.”
“It’s self-preservation.” You said, sighing. “Lady Maribelle talks like she’s narrating a tragic play, and the last time she cornered me, she listed all twenty-seven names of her cats.”
He laughed, the sound low and easy. “Maybe she’s trying to set you up with one of them.”
“Honestly? Better than half the suitors I’ve met.”
Caleb’s smile faltered, just for a second, before he masked it with an exaggerated shudder. “If you marry a cat, I’m abdicating. I refuse to explain to the council why my sister’s consort is a tabby named Lord Whiskers.”
You bit into another macaroon, tangy but not a flavor you could identify. “Lord Whiskers does have a certain charm.”
“Pipsqueak, I swear.”
You laughed, flopping onto your back. “What about you? Any noble families trying to marry off their daughters to the crown prince lately?”
Caleb’s gaze shifted to the sky, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Not even one bit.”
You turned your head toward him. “Really? Why?”
He tilted his head, eyes meeting yours, something unreadable flickering beneath the usual mischief. “Maybe they know I’m holding out for someone specific.”
Your heart skipped, but you quickly masked it with a joke. “If you say Lady Maribelle, I’m leaving.”
He burst out laughing, shaking his head. “You caught me. It’s her. The cats were the selling point.”
You chuckled, closing your eyes again. The warmth of the sun, the gentle rustle of leaves, and Caleb’s presence beside you made the world feel quieter, lighter.
“We’re both going to get scolded for skipping our duties.” You mumbled. “Of course, you more than me, since I’m the baby.”
“The baby, huh?” Caleb shifted closer, so your shoulders brushed. “And let them scold. I’m not trading this for a day of meetings.”
You nodded along as you took another macaroon, the pile dwindled to less than a handful.
“How are you such a good cook?” You exclaimed dramatically, taking a bite of a strawberry macaroon — your favorite — this time. “Seriously, where do you find the time?”
Caleb smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “What, afraid you’ll lose your personal chef one day, pipsqueak?”
He popped a lemon one into his mouth, reaching for another, the napkin between you holding less than a handful of treats more. How long have you guys been out here, relaxing the day away?
“You need to show me how to make these!” You said, taking another bite, your voice light with excitement. It had been months since you’d jokingly asked for a lesson, but Caleb still hadn’t given you the tutorial he promised.
“What, you want a private lesson?” He grinned, his voice teasing, and you rolled your eyes at his playful tone.
“Ugh, your future wife is so lucky.” You joked, but the words hung in the air, and Caleb went strangely silent.
You blinked, wondering if you had said something wrong. Caleb was young, and there were plenty of young women who made their interest in him known. It was honestly still a surprise that, as a Prince, Caleb didn’t already have an arranged marriage lined up. You’d heard the rumors—other nobles pushing for a marriage and your father’s concerns about the political implications—but Caleb had argued against it all, no matter the pressure.
It was a large point of contention on all sides prior to his official ceremony, but apparently Caleb had fought against it tooth-and-nail and whatever he said at the time placated them.
“So much talk about my future wife. Thinking about my wedding already?” Caleb’s voice broke the silence, his attempt to sound lighthearted faltering slightly. The strange edge in his tone didn’t escape you.
“Of course. You’re the most eligible bachelor in the entire country, who wouldn’t want to be with you?”
“...Who indeed?” Caleb replied softly, the words lingering between you.
You spotted the last macaroon and grinned, immediately reaching for it. “Oop, last one! Dibs!”
In a flash, Caleb swiped it out of your reach, holding it just above your head. You sighed dramatically, your hand still reaching for the sweet treat. Your attempts to stretch further were futile, your body awkwardly shifting as you leaned over him, knees on either side of his waist as you strained for the macaroon.
Just as you were almost there, Caleb leaned forward, his face dangerously close to yours as he guided the macaroon toward your lips. “Say ‘thank you for cooking, Caleb,’” he teased with a mischievous glint in his eye.
With a smile, you obliged, your lips brushing his fingers as you took a bite. “Thank you for cooking for me, my Prince.”
Caleb’s breath hitched as you smiled up at him, but it was the soft, almost desperate way his forehead rested against your shoulder that made you pause. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you into an embrace, his grip tightening just a little too firmly. “God, you’re going to kill me.”
“Caleb, it’s just one macaroon!” You chuckled, still oblivious to the shift in his demeanor, the playful nature of the moment making it easy to overlook the emotions behind his actions.
Caleb held you there, his arms wrapped securely around your waist, the warmth of his body pressing against yours. You felt strangely at ease, straddling his waist as you nibbled on your macaron. The soft crunch of the pastry was comforting, but it was the gentle pull of his embrace that made you linger there.
The feel of his body against yours, the steady pressure of his chest rising and falling with each breath, made everything else feel distant. You were perched on his lap, casually nibbling on your macaron, but the closeness, the way his hands lightly rested on you, was anything but casual.
You felt him stiffen, as if only realizing now your close proximity. You deliberately leaned against his touch and you noticed him pull you just a little bit closer, as if drawn by an invisible thread. You unintentionally rolled your hips against his waist, savoring the small moan that escaped his lips. It was the smallest of shifts, a gentle tightening of his grip, but it sent a pulse of awareness through you both. You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing as you stared into his eyes, searching for answers to a question neither of you were quite ready to ask.
Every small moment of affection felt like a spark to an already smoldering fire. Every smile, every light touch, every innocent glance between you two was a constant reminder of that night with the smutty book.
You couldn’t forget how you had wanted Caleb to push just a little further, to finally bridge the gap between you. You had been so primed, hell even laying in the same bed together, that it felt like you were on the verge of something big, something you were almost sure would finally happen.
You'd imagined it a thousand times: Caleb, just like in your fantasies, slipping a hand under your skirts, his fingers brushing against the warmth of your skin, crossing that invisible line you’d been too scared to cross. Every time, you could almost feel the heat of his touch, the way he would finally shatter the tension that had been building between you for months, maybe even longer.
But every time, he stopped. Just when you thought it was finally going to happen, there was always something—something that ended the moment.
Speaking of, you turned your head slightly, spotting one of the knights approaching in the distance. His eyes flickered between you and Caleb’s close proximity, a subtle shift in his expression, but he said nothing, clearly well-trained to keep his thoughts to himself.
“Prince Caleb, your father has been looking for you.” The knight’s voice was calm, but it carried the weight of a message that couldn’t be ignored.
He sighed, dropping his head against your shoulder. “Of course he is.”
Without a word, Caleb slowly released you from his embrace, though his hand lingered for a moment at the small of your back, his touch a silent reminder of his warmth. As you both stood, the knight gave a respectful nod and departed, leaving the two of you in a quiet moment of your own.
The feeling of Caleb’s touch lingered, like a faint echo against your skin, and neither of you mentioned it. It was almost as if acknowledging it would make it real in a way that neither of you were ready for. The weight of his presence, the way his hand had held you just a little too long, hung in the air between you both, but it was never spoken of.
You walked side by side, the soft crunch of gravel beneath your feet the only sound accompanying you. The silence was comfortable, yet charged, as though the world had momentarily paused around the two of you. It wasn’t awkward, just… different. A familiar cloak that wrapped around you both, keeping everything in its place without giving way to the questions that loomed just beneath the surface.
The rest of the day passed without incident, the usual routine of royal life settling back in despite the mischievous Crown Prince. It wasn’t until the next morning, as you entered the dining room for breakfast, that things felt a little off. Caleb and your mother were already sitting at the table, sipping their tea, the quiet of the room disrupted only by the sound of their soft conversation.
“Did I miss the memo or are you two just early for breakfast?” You asked, arching a brow as you noticed the unusually early gathering.
“Your brother and I simply had something to talk about.” Your mother replied, her tone calm but carrying a hint of something unspoken.
“Alright…” You trailed off, waiting for more details, but both of them remained silent about their prior conversation, as if it were nothing of importance.
You couldn’t help but feel a little curious, but you chose not to press. You started your breakfast, trying to focus on the meal in front of you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that your mother was watching you more closely than usual. If anything, it was fairly obvious she was shooting looks between you and Caleb, as if she was only just coming to terms with something.
After a few moments, she set her tea down and turned her gaze toward you with a thoughtful expression.
“Sweetheart, do you love Caleb?”
The question took you by surprise, but you didn’t hesitate. “Of course I do! I’d do anything for my Caleb.” You smiled brightly, hoping your reassurance would settle whatever unease your mother was feeling.
To your surprise, she sighed, looking at you with a mixture of concern and something else you couldn’t quite place. Caleb, meanwhile, smiled to himself before quickly looking away, his expression turning more pensive.
“Is something wrong?” You asked.
“Not at all.” Your mother replied, though her tone seemed heavier than usual. “If anything, your Caleb here has some work to do.”
She stood up from the table, excusing herself as she did, but you noticed she hadn’t eaten much of her breakfast. The weight of her departure lingered in the air, leaving you with an unsettled feeling. You turned to Caleb with a questioning glance, but he moved to sit beside you.
Caleb reached over and placed a reassuring hand over yours, giving it a soft rub before pulling away. His actions were calm, but his gaze was distant, as though his mind was elsewhere. “I had the cooks promise to make you strawberry crepes this morning,” he said with a wink, trying to lighten the mood.
“You’re the best.” You replied with a smile, your heart warmed by the gesture, though the tension from your mother’s words lingered in the back of your mind.
What the fuck was that about?
So many years had passed since you were that spoiled brat who once screamed when anyone else got the spotlight. Over time, you had worked hard to prove your loyalty to Caleb, showing through your actions that you supported his claim to the throne. You thought by now your parents were reassured, that they saw you as someone who would never jeopardize Caleb’s future.
Maybe your recent behavior made them question that?
Lately, Caleb had been sneaking away from his lessons more often, running off to play hooky with you instead. You both found solace in those moments, laughing together and sharing little secrets away from the watchful eyes of the palace. But now, you began to wonder if your parents saw these moments as a form of sabotage. They might have taken his absences as a sign that you were encouraging him to avoid his responsibilities.
You knew how much his training meant to his future, so if that was what they thought, you couldn’t let it continue.
Maybe you needed to put your foot down. Maybe you needed to deny his requests for once and insist that he focus on his lessons. You couldn’t afford to have him fall behind, not when his future as the crown prince was on the line. You cared too much for him to let that happen.
For the foreseeable future, maybe it was better to avoid Caleb or deny his requests to go out?
It would hurt, after all you had really grown to love and care about him, but he had bigger things on the horizon than he knew about.
In fact, it was soon to be his eighteenth birthday. All your hard work was finally coming to a head - the official start to the Webtoon was prime to start right before your eyes.
It was the turning point in Caleb’s life and soon, Tara, the main love interest of the story, would make her appearance. The quiet, humble noble from the far countryside would come into his life and change everything.
In the novel, Tara’s entrance marked the official start of the novel. She would be a figure of grace and modesty and it was inevitable that Caleb would be drawn to her. The description of their first encounter played out in your mind: a chance meeting in the middle of the dance floor at his birthday ball. Caleb, with all the charm and kindness he was known for, would offer her a dance. And in that moment, as they moved together for all the nobles to see, a connection would spark between them, one that would lead to a whirlwind romance.
They would dance and fall in love at first sight. Afterward, Caleb would lead Tara to his secret, hidden space in the garden where they would talk into the night, their hearts laid bare. It would be the beginning of their love story, a romance that would soon outshine the friendship you had with him.
You knew it was coming.
You had always known it.
So why did the thought sting?
This was Caleb.
Your Caleb.
The mischievous Prince who would rather leap out of a window than endure another hour of a noble droning on about something he had mastered years ago. The one who knew how to make people laugh with his wit but also had a way of making you feel seen in a room full of people, his attention entirely on you.
He wasn’t just the regal, distant prince you had read about in books or heard about from the nobles. He was a person with layers, a person who had moments of vulnerability and flaws you had learned to appreciate. You had seen him wrestle with his own duties, frustrations he never let show on the surface, and his kindness to those he cared for—especially you.
But he was Caleb, the crown prince with a future laid out before him, and that future, unfortunately, didn’t involve you the way your heart longed for. And that reality felt like a quiet, aching truth that you would have to accept.
You had been carefully avoiding him for the weeks leading up to his birthday, keeping busy with your own duties. You had to keep telling yourself that this was for the best—that you couldn’t be the one to hold him back from his fate. But then he appeared, radiant in his attire, like a bright star at the center of a night sky, and all of your resolve had faltered.
The gown your mother arranged for you to wear was the exact color of his eyes—deep lilac, shimmering gold threads woven through it. It was a gown meant to honor him, but the irony didn’t escape you. You were wearing the colors of someone you loved more than you should, but who could never love you the same way.
The moment Caleb entered the ballroom, the room seemed to hush, his presence commanding attention. He moved down the stairs, like a king already in all but title. Your father flounced with pride, having trained the young man from a ragged orphan to a man who could command armies. The nobles flocked to Caleb, eager to congratulate him on another year closer to his rule. Caleb, always the gracious prince, nodded, smiled, and exchanged pleasantries with each one. But despite his composed exterior, you could see it in his eyes—he was searching.
Looking for someone.
Your heart beat faster and you instinctively attempted to make yourself scarce, an alarm going off in your mind telling you to blend into the crowd. You couldn’t let him get too close. This was the moment you had been avoiding, the one where you would watch him become the male love interest he was meant to be. Tara would soon appear and you would have to step aside. It was the right thing to do.
But Caleb wasn’t letting you slip away so easily.
As the minutes passed, his gaze continued to flicker toward you, seemingly unable to settle on anyone else. His attention would return to you every few minutes, his eyes searching the crowd as you made your way about the room. And despite your best efforts to shrink into the background, to remain unseen, you felt the pull of his gaze like a magnet.
Finally, the moment came when you couldn’t pretend anymore. Caleb was only a few paces away and there was no mistaking the question in his gaze. He knew, without a doubt, that you had been trying to keep your distance these past few weeks.
Every time Caleb asked you a question over breakfast, you simply nodded and shifted the topic, burying yourself in your food or pretending to be lost in your thoughts. When he’d invite you out—suggesting a trip to your favorite shop or offering to cook one of your favorite meals—you would smile, a pathetic, almost apologetic expression, and decline.
His heart hurt with each passing day, though he never voiced it. How could you go from lounging on his balcony reading stories together to not even being able to make eye-contact with him? There was too much going on for him to corner you, too many expectations and responsibilities piling on top of him in the lead-up to his birthday.
But tonight was different.
It was his nineteenth birthday and the moment he had been waiting for all night had finally arrived—he wasn’t going to let you slip through his fingers again. The music swirled around you both, the guests chatting and laughing, but Caleb’s attention was locked on you. He could feel the distance between you both, thick as a wall, but tonight, he had no intention of letting it stand.
The wall you’d put up was crumbling, piece by piece, under the weight of his concern.
You stood perfectly still, heart racing as Caleb began making his way through the crowd. People, recognizing the intent in his stride, cleared a path for him. He moved with purpose, determined, and you couldn’t escape the inevitable.
Of course, in that exact moment, Caleb collided with someone, their shoulders bumping in an awkward, world-stopping way that seemed to make everything else fade into the background. You felt your stomach twist as the woman — Tara herself — stood there, wide-eyed, her cheeks quickly flushing a deep red as her gaze locked with Caleb’s.
For what felt like an eternity, time seemed to stretch, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang deep in your chest. You quickly turned your gaze away, desperate to shake off the uncomfortable sensation, but this was a moment fate had dictated long ago. Tara’s blush deepened as she stared up at Caleb, and for a split second, you saw him hesitate, as though unsure of how to respond.
You couldn’t handle this.
Your eyes searched the crowd for someone to distract yourself with, but everyone was almost excitedly looking at the Prince and his new acquaintance. Apologizing as you went, you navigated through the throng of people and only stopped at the hand on your arm.
“Stop overthinking.”
You stared back at Zayne, who held you just enough to stop you but not too much pressure. You tilted your head in question as he pointed with his chin back in the direction that you were trying to escape from.
Caleb.
Caleb was walking straight toward you, smiling at nobles but very clearly going toward you. His eyes, usually so open and warm, were now tinged with something darker—frustration, maybe. His expression softened, but it was clear he wasn’t happy with you.
“Thank you, Zayne.” Caleb said, eyes never leaving yours.
The young Duke advised. “Perhaps you should take this somewhere more private.”
Caleb nodded in agreement, taking your hand this time and leading you to an empty balcony. Zayne closed the doors behind you both and you saw him stand there, almost standing guard. Caleb guided you by the chin to look at him.
His voice was low, sharp, like a snake coiling before striking. “Why have you been avoiding me?”
You swallowed hard, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, and feigned innocence. “What do you mean, dear brother?” You replied with as much sweetness and guileless charm as you could muster.
But you were a terrible liar.
Caleb’s gaze narrowed, a flicker of something—something you had seen frequently these past few months but could never really place—flashing in his eyes. It was a look you had seen on him recently but could never quite pinpoint. Before you could analyze it, he quickly masked it, hiding it behind a more familiar, teasing smirk.
“Think I don’t know when you’re hiding, pipsqueak?” he shot back, his voice tinged with weariness. “Come on, are you really going to ignore me on my birthday?” His words were gentle but cutting.
“Your Highness, don’t you have plenty of noble ladies who would like to share a moment with you tonight?” You couldn't resist, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
Caleb’s eyes narrowed instantly at your use of his title. That only ever came out when you were angry at him. He hated the distance it created between you two—he was Caleb to you, not some nameless title.
“This is a personal request of mine.” He said firmly.
You shifted uncomfortably, trying another angle. “You know I can’t dance.”
He swatted away your excuse with ease. “Then you have me to guide you.”
You couldn’t help the small teasing smile that tugged at your lips. “Wow. How humble of you.”
“Come on already, pip.” Caleb’s voice was all the regal propriety of a Crown Prince, but you knew if it were just the two of you, he’d probably be rolling his eyes at how guarded he had to be. His fingers rested against your wrist as he gently held it.
“Caleb…” You said his name with a softer tone, hoping he might take you more seriously now. You motioned with your head toward the ballroom. “Don’t you want to dance with that really pretty noble you met earlier?”
“No.” Caleb’s response was immediate and decisive, leaving little room for doubt. “And you’re not terrible at dancing.”
“I’m terrible at everything, Caleb. Everyone knows that by now.” You joked.
But his expression instantly darkened. “Who told you that? Who’s saying those things about you?”
“No one, Caleb. I just know it.” You murmured, feeling a sudden weight of you as you spoke. “The only thing I’m good at is supporting you.”
Caleb’s frown deepened, but he quickly schooled his expression. The moment was fleeting, and he seemed to push aside whatever frustration had flickered in his eyes.
“And I appreciate all you do for me...” He said it softly, almost as though he was reassuring himself. “So support me the way I want you to. Don’t ignore me. And don’t listen to anyone else talk badly about you. You’re my pipsqueak.”
His words hung in the air between you and you felt the weight of them settle deep in your chest. The tension, the unspoken emotions, everything seemed to converge in that moment as you stood. You could only muster up one quick nod, before Caleb held your hand in his to guide you into a dance.
“Your first dance of the night out here?”
“I have everything I need right here.”
You swayed together, your hand in his, knowing that the distance you’d been trying to maintain was quickly becoming impossible to hold.
.
.
.
.
.
.
“Mother, did you know that Caleb met a beautiful noble girl from the countryside on his birthday?” You started after there was a lull at the dinner table.
It was just to test the waters. After all, you were trying to gauge just how far off-track this world was from the Webtoon’s original storyline. Sure, Caleb hadn’t danced with a beautiful stranger and fallen in love at the ball on his birthday, but the little details still mattered. And despite what your mind tried to tell you, the question lingered in your heart.
You knew it sounded a little ridiculous, a little cliché—the whole “keep the Webtoon on track” thing. How many times had you seen the pattern repeat itself in isekai stories? The Isekai’ed female lead desperately trying to prevent fate from playing out the way it was supposed to, only for it to do so anyway? Yet, here you were, watching history unfold with an eerie sense of déjà vu. It was like you were trapped in a loop of fate, and no matter how much you tried to change things, the world seemed determined to steer you back to the same ending.
The mine you’d bought and implemented safety regulations for? It still collapsed. The family you’d saved from a disastrous investment? They still went bankrupt a few years later. And even with all your careful maneuvering, your support for Caleb’s ascension to the throne had only made the Loyalist Nobles more determined to back your claim. The pieces of the puzzle were shifting, but the picture still seemed the same.
There was no guarantee that, even though things were different at the present, that it would not ultimately end up with the same destination. So, as ridiculous as it sounded at the moment, you couldn’t help but ask, it could change even in the near future.
It would be undeniably cruel to get your hopes up now, only for Caleb’s heart to drift by the pull of the universe toward Tara. The last thing you wanted was to get your hopes up only to have the universe work its mysterious magic and pull Caleb’s heart toward someone else. You had to keep the original on your radar, that way you would be prepared for the end.
“Oh, which noble family is she from?” The Queen asked back, humoring you with a look of guarded suspicion.
The King had an equally unsure eyebrow raised. His attention, however, didn’t stray from the day’s reports, though the slight shift in his posture suggested he was listening. Caleb, on the other hand, was another story. The moment you spoke, his expression darkened—storm clouds gathering behind his eyes. A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth, and it felt like the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees.
“I didn’t get a chance to ask.” Caleb muttered, his voice tight, almost defensive.
You, however, weren’t going to let the conversation slide so easily. “Her name is Tara.” You interjected, “And her family estate is in the far countryside.”
The Queen had a brow raised. “And why the interest?”
“She’s beautiful, and from what I’ve gathered, she’s very kind. I think it would be fortuitous if she and Caleb got to know each other better.” Your eyes locked with Caleb’s across the table, your tone casual, as if you were simply discussing a potential match for a dance. “Perhaps you’d give her a chance?”
The look Caleb gave you could’ve cut through stone. His eyes were icy, his jaw set, and for a moment, you almost felt bad for pushing him. Almost. Was this what it had been like in the original story? Endless family dinners where he and the Villainess would engage in silent, simmering warfare—only now, it was you and Caleb locked in the middle of it? The tension in the air was thick, almost tangible, and you couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else at the table could feel it too.
“Even if I said no, I doubt you’d heed my words.” Caleb replied, arms crossed in obvious disappointment.
You quipped back. “Perfect, so we’re in agreement.”
“No, we’re not.” He spat out, annoyed.
“That’s too bad.” You shrugged without acknowledging his warning look.
Besides, no matter how much Caleb refused, you were already well on your way to making sure he and Tara spent time together. Arranging a classic, romantic meet-cute was out of the question; Caleb had immediately picked up on what you were trying to do. Ever since, he’d made sure to avoid Tara like she was the plague—always one step ahead, making sure he steered clear of her when he knew her presence was around.
But you were crafty in other ways.
Your secret weapon? A tea party. A series of tea parties, actually. There was no way he could escape them. No matter how many times he pretended not to notice, you knew he couldn’t avoid every single gathering of eligible young ladies from the nobility. You'd planned them almost back-to-back. And the best part? The Queen might have been suspicious, but she hadn’t outright stopped you. If anything, she seemed somewhat amused by your persistence. Every time you pitched the idea, she frowned disapprovingly, but she always helped you organize the next one. It was like playing a game, and she was a very willing accomplice, albeit with a knowing smile.
Caleb was none the wiser to your plan. He had no idea when Tara would appear at the next tea party, not when you were so clever with the timing. And with each passing gathering, he thought it would be another meaningless event—until you had the perfect moment to strike. Party after party, he had no idea you invited Tara alone hours before the major party.
You knew Caleb’s routine like the back of your hand. He wasn’t just your brother—he was also a creature of habit. You knew exactly where he would be today, cutting through a particular garden path after his swordsmanship practice, heading back inside the Palace to change. It was the perfect opportunity to set the stage.
So, there you were, sitting with Tara by the fountain, listening to her chatter about her life in the countryside. She was sweet, her voice light and melodic, but you couldn’t help but be distracted by the bigger picture. Every now and then, your eyes flicked over her shoulder, toward the carefully planned blind spot you’d set up just beyond the hedges. You waited, your pulse quickening in anticipation.
And then, right on cue.
You stood the moment you saw him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Oh Tara, have you met my brother before?”
Tara’s eyes widened slightly, her face blooming into a bashful flush. She quickly straightened and curtseyed with a nervous smile. “Your Highness. I made the unfortunate first impression of bumping into your Highness at his birthday…”
Caleb's lips twitched into the faintest smile, his usual mask of the courteous Crown Prince firmly in place, though you caught the briefest flicker of annoyance at the corners of his eyes. “It was an honest mistake.”
You seized the moment to steer the conversation exactly where you wanted it to go. “Aw, that’s too bad you didn’t get a chance to dance together.”
“What?” Caleb's response was almost too genuine, taken completely aback by the sudden shift in subject. His brows furrowed in confusion, clearly unprepared for whatever you had in mind.
“Caleb was able to dance with sooooo many noble daughters that night, but it’s a shame you two never really got a chance to acquaint yourselves.” You said, smiling wide, though the exaggerated cheeriness.
Tara, ever the polite and modest lady, offered a simple response. “I’m sure there will be plenty of other chances.”
“Oh, I know!” You said with an exaggerated flourish. “I just so happened to have all these teas and cakes with me for the tea party later today, but some of them were going to be thrown out for some minor imperfections. Why don’t the three of us go over to the gardens and eat them together?”
You watched Caleb’s expression carefully. There it was—a narrowing of his eyes, a slight suspicion flashing through them, but nothing more than that. He must have realized what you were up to, but as always, he held his tongue. He nodded curtly, clearly resigned to the inevitable.
With a smile as bright as ever, you looped your arm with Tara’s before she could say anything else. She seemed pleasantly surprised by your eagerness, though a little uncertain. You ushered them both toward the white gazebo you frequented in the gardens, the one you’d specifically chosen for this little set-up.
The walk was filled with polite, surface-level chatter, though you could feel the tension in the air thickening. But at least, for now, Caleb wasn’t pulling away. He might not have realized it yet, but he was already walking right into your plan.
To keep the conversation flowing, you pushed on. “Tara, why don’t you tell Caleb about that charity you run for the orphanage in your territory?”
She blushed as Caleb turned to her, “Of course, Princess.”
You shot a glance at Caleb, catching the glint of curiosity in his eyes now as Tara began explaining her work. At least for now, he was listening. That’s all you needed—for him to start caring, to start seeing her beyond the surface. You just had to make sure the seeds were planted, and that was exactly what you were doing.
You sat there, trying to focus on Tara as she spoke about her charity, but your mind kept wandering. Your heart clenched uncomfortably as you imagined the reality of what you were orchestrating. This might actually work. It was ridiculous to feel this way after all the effort you'd put in the past few days, but it still stung to think about. Caleb—your Caleb—would eventually sit in this very gazebo, with Tara beside him, and there wouldn’t be a single thought of you in his mind.
The thought was a bitter pill to swallow, but you pushed it down. After all, this was what you had been working towards, wasn’t it? His happiness. Even if it wasn’t with you.
Then, just as the weight of the moment began to settle on your chest, you saw your maid waving at you from a distance. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
“Oh no! Looks like I forgot I made some arrangements at this exact time. Please excuse me, after all I’m hosting in a few hours!” You said, rising from your seat with as much grace as you could muster.
“I should take my leave as well.” Caleb said, his voice calm but his expression colder than usual.
You smiled sweetly, fighting to hide the glint of mischief in your eyes. “No, stay on my behalf. Of course, the Crown Prince would not leave behind a loyal supporter of the crown simply because of my mistake?” You couldn’t resist. The words were sharp, but playful, and you could practically feel the weight of Caleb’s silent reproach before it even hit.
The air between you two shifted—if it was possible to have a storm cloud hover over Caleb, you were sure it would strike you with a direct lightning bolt.
With that, you made your move. You turned on your heel and ran, as fast and as far as your legs would take you, feeling an odd sense of freedom in the rush. Sure, Caleb was likely furious with you now for pulling this stunt, but it didn’t matter. This was all for his happiness in the long run. This was what he deserved—a love that wasn’t wrapped up in tension, in family dynamics, in the weight of destiny.
He deserved someone who could be everything you weren’t: a perfect match for him.
And as for you? Well, it had been years since you first transmigrated into this world, and while you’d never forget how genuinely in love Caleb had been with the female love interest in the original timeline, it was clear that your role was one of sacrifice.
Time to make yourself scarce.
It was the only way for Caleb to have the life he was meant to, and it was the only way for you to finally let go.
There were truly only two options at this point: the overused trope of running away from the Palace or finding someone else to marry.
The first option was tempting in its simplicity. You could just disappear, disappear into the night with nothing more than a suitcase of clothes and some of your rare jewels. But even as the thought crossed your mind, you quickly dismissed it. Running away meant leaving everything behind, and the truth was, you weren’t quite ready for that kind of freedom.
Not until you ruled out the other possibility.
The second option? It was practical, if not a little cynical. Find someone else. Marry for duty, for peace, for whatever the heck it was people got married for in this world. Maybe that would be the best way to extricate yourself from the mess with Caleb.
You knew Caleb was fully pissed at you since he hadn’t shown up to dinner that night. No note from his guard nor warning of where he was, silence as he completely avoided you for the first time in years.
Your mind wandered back to all the times you'd danced with him in the empty ballroom, your bodies moving together with ease. The lazy days spent sprawled out in the gardens, the laughter that came so easily when it was just the two of you. You never thought that those moments would end. And yet, here you were, trying to come to terms with the reality that they might never happen again.
Perhaps your relationship was always meant to be like the original novel, filled with animosity no matter how hard you tried.
“Something wrong, sweetheart?” The Queen asked you directly, having seen the pining look in your eye as you stared at the seat across from you.
There was no way you could bring up any of this to your mother.
You re-directed the conversation to one of your earlier thoughts. “Why do I not yet have an engagement?”
She blinked twice before asking back, “What do you mean?”
“Almost all the other young nobles my age have a fiance.” You reasoned. “You would think that I, as a steward of the royal family, would also have a formal engagement for the good of our future alliances.”
The Queen’s expression shifted, her posture slumped just slightly and her eyes betrayed a tiredness you hadn’t seen in a while. The kind that came not from age but from the weight of a secret.
“What?”
“Do you really not know?” Your mother asked.
“Why does it feel like everyone is privy to something but me?”
She sighed deeply. “Have you considered that that’s the exact situation?”
“What? Does the King already have an unofficial engagement in mind for me?”
She kept staring at you as if you were truly stupid. “Who do you think it could be?”
You paused for a moment, chewing on the question, trying to make sense of her cryptic words. “Well, there’s been peace in the court for the first time in centuries, right? Most families have already made unofficial concessions to support Prince Caleb. So, I would think Father would allow me to marry someone closer to my age since a purely political marriage isn’t necessary anymore.”
“And that would be?”
You hesitated, trying to piece it together. “There’s a few options, but... if Father allowed me to choose, I think I’d pick Zayne, Duke Akso’s son. He’s smart, kind, and we’ve grown up together. Our personalities get along, and I think, if I had to marry him, I could grow to love him eventually.”
The corners of her lips twitched downward before she asked. “If given a choice you would pick Zayne?”
“He isn’t just smart or has a good title. Zayne is kind to me. I’ve known him for years. He would treat me kindly.” You explained, as if to convince yourself. “Not to mention he’s easy on the eyes. Especially when compared to the fifty-year old Marquis or the Count’s ten-year old son.”
“There’s no one else that comes to mind?”
You paused, hand on your chin, deep in thought. Something in her expression made you feel like there was something she wasn’t saying. Something she wanted to see if you’d say first. “Is there someone I should be considering?” you asked, trying to catch her unspoken hint.
And then, without warning, she laughed.
Laughed.
Not a soft chuckle, but a full-on laugh, one that surprised you so much it made you stiffen. The sound was oddly freeing in its sincerity, yet there was a sharpness to it that made your heart race. “What?” You blinked, unsure whether you were supposed to be offended or confused.
“Why don’t you discuss this with Caleb first before you make any rash decisions?”
Her words hung in the air like a bombshell you weren’t prepared for. Caleb? You were supposed to talk to Caleb about this? Of all people? You felt a knot form in your stomach, but you kept your expression neutral. There was no way she meant what she was implying, right?
But before you could ask her to clarify, the moment slipped away.
Caleb began to avoid you more than ever. He wasn’t just busy with his daily responsibilities—training, etiquette lessons, meetings, whatever—it felt almost like he was making a conscious effort to steer clear. You could almost feel him weaving through the palace corridors, turning corners just before you could catch sight of him. If you went to his usual places, he had already left. If you tried to corner him at meals or gatherings, he’d slip out early.
It was becoming painfully obvious he was doing it on purpose.
Was it Tara? Had their meeting gone so well that he didn’t feel the need to entertain his childhood companion anymore? You weren’t sure, but the thought stung deeper than you wanted to admit. You had hoped that your antics—however well-meaning—would bring them closer, but you had never imagined it would be so immediate, so final.
The palace suddenly felt too big, too empty. You walked the halls with a strange ache in your chest, knowing full well he was avoiding you on purpose.
But what could you do? You had your own plans. You didn’t need Caleb to make your future happen. You could create your own path, even if it meant doing it without him. You could make your own arrangements, find your own happiness, away from the empty promises of someone who clearly no longer cared.
It was only a few days later that you made arrangements to meet with Duke Akso’s son. If your father wanted you to marry sometime down the line, you wanted to be relatively prepared. You waited in the gardens, a small tea party laid out for the two of you, complete with an absurdly delicate porcelain tea set.
“Zayne, thank you for agreeing to meet with me at the Palace.”
He inclined himself slightly before giving you a cordial smile. “Greetings, Princess. I would never turn down an opportunity to be in your company.”
“We both know that is a lie.” You joked. “I would never unnecessarily take you away from your people.”
“Nor would I expect you to.”
You couldn’t help but grin. Zayne’s words were always few, but they were sharp. Not a word wasted, yet it always felt like you were getting more than he meant to give.
“I read about the recent border skirmishes you and your father quelled. It's almost impressive—your diplomatic capabilities, especially with people we've been at war with for decades.”
He seemed unfazed, but the smallest flicker of pride crossed his features. “War and fighting is unnecessary. And once we agreed upon that, it was easy to negotiate.”
“And I’m sure having world-class healthcare is a hell of a bargaining chip as well.”
Zayne smiled at your uncouth language. “Yes, of course.”
“God, you’re impossible.” You grinned, taking a sip of your tea. “That’s amazing, really. But I’m sure you're wondering why I asked you here, not to just drone on about your unending accomplishments.”
Zayne regarded you evenly. “I’m sure you have your reasons, princess.”
“I have wondered for months why I do not have a formal engagement and then I realized: neither do you. I would not be surprised if our fathers have arranged some sort of backwater deal for our engagement.”
“You believe… We are to be married one day?”
You laughed lightly, almost nervously. “Well, considering we’re both high-ranking nobles and neither of us has anyone else lined up—uh, yeah. I’d be shocked if that’s not part of the plan. Everyone clams up and speaks in riddles when I ask and I think I’ve finally solved it.
Zayne tilted his head, a playful smirk on his face. “And you believe we should get married?”
You waved a hand, trying to sound more casual than you felt. “Honestly? I don’t know. But I figured I should at least entertain the possibility before the whole thing gets handed to me wrapped in a bow. Besides, I’m not about to marry some stranger who I can’t have a conversation with.”
Zayne didn’t respond right away, just sipping his tea as if it held the answers to all the world’s problems. After a long moment, he set his cup down, looking at you with a small, almost unreadable smile.
“You’d pick me, then?”
You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Well, yeah. You’re easy to talk to. And unlike some other people, you don’t try to pretend like we’re all made of perfect little pieces that fit together.” You waved your hand in the air as if it explained everything. “And I’d rather marry someone who can stand being in the same room as me.”
Zayne shook his head in disbelief. “You are… something special.”
“Okay Zayne, spit it out. Every time I bring up the subject everyone gets all vague and annoying. What is it that I don’t know?”
“I truly thought this misunderstanding was cleared up at Prince Caleb’s birthday party?”
You leaned forward in your seat before asking. “What?”
Zayne stared at you for a few seconds. If he was anyone else you figured this would be a more impatient one, but it was clear he was trying to figure out whether you were being serious or just playing dumb for fun. “Princess, why would you think yourself tied to me? Let me in on your thought process.”
“Well, we’re around the same age. Of the remaining eligible bachelors of our country you have one of the highest standings to marry into the royal family. You have tons of accomplishments and we’ve been more than civil since we were kids. You’re probably one of the few real friends that I have.” You continued to list off reasons.
“Is that all it takes to marry someone?”
“Well no! I mean we’re not in love, but do many nobles get to afford that type of luxury?” You asked back in disbelief, surprised you were even having this conversation. “And you’re… easy on the eyes. Despite your candor I think we could get along.”
Zayne smirked, a mischievous glint lighting up his usually guarded eyes. If you didn’t know him better, you’d probably have melted right there at how sexy he looked. It was rare to see him let down his walls like this, and it only made him more frustrating to deal with.
“Easy on the eyes?” he repeated, the words dripping with teasing sarcasm.
“What? Do you need me to spell it out?” You rolled your eyes, half annoyed, half entertained. “Cause I’m sure you taking off all five layers of your outfit at the last regatta gala was totally necessary and not at all self-serving.” You paused for dramatic effect. “You’re hot, Zayne.”
He grinned to himself, looking almost pleased with the compliment, but he didn’t show it too much. His usual cold demeanor remained intact, only warm at the edges. “Am I to think that the Princess admires me for my body?”
“Ugh! You are so frustrating sometimes.”
“Princess, I value my life. So no, I would not marry you even for all the nation’s jewels.”
You paused, fully taking in his words. “What?”
But Zayne, being elusive as ever, just throwing you a knowing smile. “Let’s enjoy our tea time together for now. I’m sure after this I will not be welcome here for a long, long time.”
“What do you mean?”
Zayne didn’t answer right away. Instead, he simply took another sip of his tea, his eyes betraying a hint of amusement. You shook your head, clearly not getting the response you expected. It wasn’t the first time Zayne had made a comment that left you puzzled, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But in that moment, the thought of dealing with him and his cryptic ways was the last thing on your mind.
Your best chance at getting out of the palace didn’t want to marry you.
And that left you with only one real option: running away.
The thought of it felt almost absurd at first, but the more you let it settle in, the more it made sense. After tea with Zayne, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being stuck in a cage. The walls of the palace felt like fate closing in. Caleb? Caleb had fallen right back into the same pattern from the original novel, barely able to look at you without flinching with unrestrained anger. The space between you and him stretched further with each passing day, like an invisible chasm you couldn’t cross.
It was almost funny how much hope you’d held on to, the stupid little wish that maybe—just maybe—this time would be different. Maybe you wouldn’t be the villainess, the one destined to fail, forever stuck in the same predictable story-line. You’d spent so many years trying to repair things with Caleb, trying to rewrite the narrative, to break free of the role fate had thrust upon you. You could’ve sworn, after everything, that there was a chance for something else. But now? Now it was clear as day—Caleb hated you. He wanted nothing to do with you.
You hadn’t seen Caleb in weeks. You’d heard the whispers from the maids, the little tidbits of gossip that filtered through the halls like a quiet river of rumors. They said he was focused, serious, more committed than ever to his duties. They whispered about him being on the cusp of finally stepping into his role as King, the inevitable march of time pushing him toward that moment. And in the grand picture of things, they mentioned that a beautiful wife would eventually stand by his side.
A beautiful wife.
Not you.
It was frustrating, maddening even, because if there was one thing you’d always despised in other isekai novels, it was when the villainess kept clinging to the original novel when it was obvious that the male love interest was enamored by them. You hated how so many of them allowed themselves to be swallowed up by the original plot, causing pointless misunderstandings and only delaying their happy ending.
And yet, here you were, clinging to the same hope you hated. The same stupid belief that you could somehow change things.
You were suffocating in a life that wasn’t your own, and the only way out was to disappear. Running away wasn’t just an option anymore—it was the only option left.
And there was no way you were going to wait until Caleb snapped completely back to the original novel, slaying you with the same sword you had practiced with just months ago. You began your preparations, slowly, almost methodically, gathering everything you thought you might need. Nothing too flashy, nothing too obvious.
You started with gold pieces—just enough to keep you going for a while. It wasn’t much, but it would do. Then you packed durable clothing, the kind that would withstand the rough roads you’d have to travel. You didn’t bother with dresses, no—this time, you needed practicality. A heavy-duty cloth backpack became your new best friend, and you stuffed it with essentials: gardening seeds, a small knife, some rope, blankets, and a few more survival basics. It wasn’t glamorous, but it would keep you alive.
You kept everything hidden deep in the back of your closet, buried under a chest filled with childhood keepsakes—just in case someone decided to take a peek. You couldn’t risk being caught.
For the next few days, you laid low. Your schedule was practically empty. Lessons were still on the books, of course, but the usual round of banquets and teas? They didn’t ask for your presence. No one did. No one but the palace staff and the royal family even noticed your absence. You became almost invisible, slipping through the cracks in the routine of royal life like a ghost.
It was the perfect time to escape.
And that’s exactly what you planned to do.
The night was thick with silence, an oppressive quiet that seemed to swallow everything around you. The only sounds were the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze and the faint hum of activity throughout the Palace. You peered over the edge of your balcony, your heart thundering in your chest. The moon hung low in the sky, casting soft shadows over the palace grounds, and the guards—thankfully—had just turned the corner, giving you the small window of time you desperately needed.
This was it. The moment you’d been waiting for, preparing for, and the only chance you had for the next hour before the guards made their rounds again.
You took a deep breath, mentally bracing yourself as you tugged on the rope you’d securely fastened to the balcony. The knot held strong, no sign of loosening. You glanced down, seeing the long drop to the ground below, your stomach twisting. You had been through the motions of planning this escape in your head a hundred times, but now that it was actually happening, the reality hit harder than you expected.
With one final tug, you hoisted yourself over the edge, the cold stone of the palace walls rough under your palms. The air felt cooler as you let your legs dangle for a moment, gathering your balance. There was no graceful way to do this. You'd never scaled a wall in your life, and the movies always made it seem so effortless, like a smooth descent with barely a hint of struggle.
You began your slow descent, gripping the rope tightly, focusing all your attention on not slipping. Your legs were trembling, a mixture of fear and exertion, and your arms burned with the effort. The walls were slick in some spots, the rope digging into your palms with every shift of weight. The higher floors felt like an eternity to climb down, and every creak of the rope made your heart skip a beat. You bit back curses, every muscle in your body tensing as you fought to keep your movements steady and controlled.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of careful maneuvering, your feet hit the solid ground below. The rough stone of the garden pathway greeted your feet with a satisfying thud. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, your chest tight with relief. Your legs felt like jelly, but you didn’t dare linger too long. The last thing you needed now was to get caught at the final step.
With trembling hands, you untied the makeshift harness around your waist. It had served its purpose—getting you down without ending up a tangled mess—but now it was time to move on. You quickly shoved it into your bag, the fabric feeling heavier now, full of your few meager supplies.
You barely had time to process what was happening before you were jerked backward, stumbling on your feet as you heard a familiar voice say your name.
"Ca-Caleb!!"
His presence was overwhelming even as he loomed in the shadows. You could barely see him in the darkness, a mere silhouette against the dim light of the gardens. His voice came out in a low, almost dangerous growl. "Going somewhere, pipsqueak?"
There was no mistaking the intensity in his tone. He wasn’t just the Crown Prince in this moment—he was a force of nature, his posture rigid, every inch of him radiating fury. Caleb was still in his daily uniform, the dark black fabric contrasting sharply with the gold and red embroidery that marked his royal status. It was different from his usual attire. His strong arms were folded across his chest, a look of quiet menace on his face and it was clear he wasn’t going to let you get away with this.
You managed a nervous smile, hoping to defuse the situation with your usual charm, though your voice wavered slightly. "It’s a beautiful night for a stroll, isn’t it?"
Caleb’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a disdainful sneer. "Think I don’t know you by now?" he scoffed, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and something darker. Before you could even react, he grabbed your wrist with surprising force, grabbing the heavy backpack in one hand easily before dragging you further into the gardens.
"You're not going anywhere without me," he added, his tone brokering no argument.
You stumbled as he yanked you along through the garden, the cool night air brushing past you as you tried to steady yourself. His grip was unyielding and you didn’t dare pull away. His movements were fast, purposeful, and every now and then, you could feel the raw tension rolling off him in waves. You had no idea what he was thinking, but you had several red flags going off in your mind screaming at you to run away.
You could only hope that he would spare your life.
Caleb finally came to a stop, dragging you a few hundred feet away from where he confronted you. The soft rustling of lilacs filled the air around you as the night’s cool breeze swirled between the flowers, but all of that faded into the background. You were far too aware of Caleb standing in front of you, his tall figure blocking out the peaceful garden scenery.
One by one, he emptied the contents of your backpack onto the grass. Each item tumbled out, falling into a disorganized heap at his feet. A bottle for water, a hastily folded blanket, some odd gardening seed packets you’d grabbed, and an endless pile of jewels you had planned to pawn off when you finally made your escape.
And he was only at the top of the mountain of contents.
“I’m so sorry, Caleb.” You blurted out, your voice thin and shaky as you tried to apologize for everything.
He dropped the pack and raised a hand sharply, silencing you instantly. His gaze was hard, unyielding. You clamped your mouth shut, but that didn’t stop the anxiety from swirling in your stomach.
“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.” Caleb spit out at you. “Imagine how I felt when you continued to avoid me for weeks. Then you push some random noble girl onto me. And then I have to hear secondhand that you’d rather marry Zayne of all people?
“Caleb—!”
Without warning, Caleb leaned forward, closing the space between you. You instinctively leaned back, heart racing as you felt the heat of his proximity. His arm shot out and snaked around your waist, pulling you so close to him that your breath hitched. His chest was solid against yours, his presence all-consuming.
“I’d rather kill him than let you marry him.” Caleb growled, each syllable dripping with a dark possessiveness. The words were so raw and intense, they cut straight through you, leaving you frozen in place. A strange chill of fear crawled up your spine, not because of what he said, but because of how deeply he meant it. The weight of those words sank into your chest like a stone, twisting something deep inside you.
Caleb must have noticed the flicker of fear in your eyes, because his tone shifted ever so slightly. He gently guided your face back toward his with a hand on your chin, his grip soft but firm. His eyes were no longer filled with rage, but something far more complicated, something dangerous.
“You’re mine and only mine.” He whispered against your lips.
Any protest you had was swallowed up the moment Caleb’s lips crashed against yours, an unexpected storm that left you breathless. It wasn’t sweet—there was no tenderness to it—but it was powerful, consuming. His lips were a little dry, the pressure rough as he pressed into you, but it didn’t matter. The shock of it made you moan before you even realized it. That noise seemed to provoke him further.
His tongue swiped across your bottom lip, urging you open without hesitation. The moment your mouth parted, he took it as an invitation, plunging into the kiss with wild abandon. There was no gentleness, no hesitation—just raw, unrestrained urgency as he explored every corner of your mouth like it was the last thing he'd ever do.
When you finally broke the kiss to gasp for air, it only gave him more room to assault your neck. His lips moved down to your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he sucked deep hickeys into your neck, each one marking you with the same possessiveness that burned in his eyes. The bite of it sent a shiver through you, your pulse racing as heat pooled low in your stomach.
"Mine." Caleb muttered, voice low in a way that made your head spin.
“You…” You could barely keep up, your mind hazy as want and surprise crept up. “You want me?”
He pulled back slightly, his lips still brushing against your skin as he spoke, like every word was a declaration.
"Want you?" He repeated back. "You’ve had me wrapped around your finger for years."
“Since when?” Your words coming out almost breathless.
His his fingers dug into your skin possessively. "You want to know why I don’t have a formal engagement? Because I promised the King I would marry you."
You were stunned silent — never would you have made the assumption that Caleb would silently pledge his life to yours.
He studied your wide-eyed expression for a moment before his lips curled into a dark, teasing smile. "Does that scare you?"
You shook your head, trying to snap yourself out of the daze he had put you in, but his body pressed so close to yours, his warmth seeping into every inch of your skin, making it hard to think straight. “Caleb, you deserve so much better than me.”
"Who’s saying you're not enough?" Caleb’s voice was soft, but there was an undeniable edge to it. He trailed his lips from your ear down to your jawline, his breath sending a wave of tingling sensation through down your back.
It was your turn to gently guide him, moving his chin to full face you. “No one, Caleb. I know I’m not good enough for you.”
“That’s not true at all.” Caleb countered. “Not even you could decide that for me.”
“But I can, Caleb!" You pulled back slightly, frustration creeping into your tone. "You need a kind, smart woman who can support you as King! Not some impatient, uncouth—"
Before you could finish, Caleb closed the distance between you again, his lips smothering yours with a force that stole the breath right out of you. You wanted to argue, to make him understand, but all that came out was a soft moan as he consumed you, his mouth taking away every word you tried to say.
When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your mind reeling. Caleb looked down at you with a knowing expression, the slightest hint of frustration in his eyes. "You refuse to listen to what I need. So I won't listen to your excuses either."
“What?” You said back dumbly.
"I need you in my life." He said, his voice calm but unwavering. He rested his forehead against your shoulder for a moment, his eyes closing as if he was grounding himself. Then, he pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his breath mingling with yours, your hearts were beating in time. "I love when the maids have to wake you up seven times because you’re such a heavy sleeper. I love when you try to cook for me, even though it’s always a disaster. I love when you sit in my office just to keep me company while I work."
“Caleb…”
"Everything that makes you— you— I love." He nuzzled his nose gently against yours, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “And I’ve been in love with you for years.”
To think that you spent all this time on edge, hoping against hope the one day that he might see you as more than just another character in this world. In your previous life, you had read and re-read over and over all the declarations of love he had for Tara, had burned them in your mind even as the real Caleb was before you.
"Caleb, I love you too." The words slipped out so easily and you felt a weight lift from your chest as they finally left your lips.
He smiled softly, the expression almost tender. "I know."
"You're such a jerk!" You couldn’t help but laugh, your frustration finally bubbling up in the form of playful teasing.
"I know you better than anyone. The way you look for me when you do something new. The way you smile only for me when we’re together." He chuckled, but his expression dropped to one more serious. "So why did you try to run away?"
You fell silent, not knowing what to say. The words you had once planned to leave with seemed so irrelevant now, swallowed by the intensity of the moment.
"Does it disgust you?" Caleb asked quietly, his gaze searching yours. "That I’m your older brother and I harbor these feelings for you?"
"No! No." You shook your head vehemently, your heart pounding in your chest. "You’re… you’re my brother in name only. We’re not blood related, that has never bothered me." You paused, the truth of your feelings sinking in deeper. "You’re more than a brother to me, Caleb. You always have been."
And truthfully, you hadn’t seen Caleb as a member of your family in a long time. The years had blurred that line until it no longer held meaning. But the same could be said about the King and Queen - they were not your parents either. They had never been, not in any real, deep-rooted way. You had grown to love them all, yes. But they were not your blood family. This was not your home.
This wasn’t your world.
But this was your Caleb.
“I’m afraid I’ll never be good enough for you, Caleb.” You confessed, the words catching in your throat like thorns. “I’m not a brilliant strategist or some breathtaking beauty, or… or anything extraordinary. I’m just me. And someday, you’ll realize that and meet someone who is all those things—someone who deserves you.”
For a moment, Caleb was quiet. Then his hands gently cradled your face, his thumbs brushing the corners of your eyes with aching care. His gaze searched yours, not with doubt, but with certainty like he was anchoring himself in you.
“No.” His voice was resolute, voice rich with his heart laid bare. “No, I won’t. Because I already found the person I want—and it’s you. You don’t have to be a genius or some perfect vision. You don’t have to be anything but yourself. That’s who I fell for. That’s who I need.”
He leaned in closer, forehead resting against yours, his breath warm and steady. “You are the one who makes me feel like home. The one who sees me; not the title, not the crown. Just me. And I see you too. All of you. Every little thing you think is ordinary… is everything to me.”
The walls you’d built around your heart began to tremble, then finally collapse as tears welled in your eyes. The way he said it — so effortlessly, so certain — made it feel like the most natural truth in the world.
As natural as roses blooming red.
As simple as the sky being blue.
As undeniable as Caleb loving you.
Your voice cracked, a soft tremor escaping you.
“I love you so much, Caleb.”
And in his eyes, you saw it — the kind of love that doesn’t just burn. It stays.
He leaned forward, and in an instant, you both were desperately reaching for each other, the space between you narrowing as your lips met in a fiery kiss. It wasn’t a crash of lips like earlier, but an urgent, synchronized pull—both of you hungry for the connection, the tension built over years finally exploding at this very moment.
Your hands tangled in his dark brown hair, pulling him ever impossibly closer, while his hands found their way to your waist, gripping you tightly as if he was afraid you might slip away. You could feel the heat of his body pressing against yours even through the numerous layers. It was just you and him, desperately trying to be closer, to make up for lost time, to finally feel the longing you both had buried so deep for so long.
The kiss only deepened and before either of you knew it, you were tumbling to the grass. The soft earth beneath you offered little resistance as you landed, his body coming down with you. You ended up straddling his waist, but neither of you paused. Caleb’s hands moved urgently, exploring the curve of your back, tugging you down to him, his lips never leaving yours.
You hadn’t even noticed when one of Caleb’s hands slipped away from your body, his touch now focused on the pile of your belongings he’d scattered across the grass. His fingers searched for something through the mess of limbs, finally finding the blanket you’d packed earlier. He tugged it free, his movements seamless, not once breaking himself from you as he pulled you into another passionate kiss.
Without a word, Caleb lifted you effortlessly, his strong arms lifting you just enough to lift you around his waist. He paused to pull back, spreading the blanket out beneath you both, the soft fabric covering the rough grass beneath before he gently pushed you on your back. You smiled up at him as he put a hand behind your neck, making sure you landed softly.
Looming above you, the young Prince leaned down, his chiseled jawline and swollen lips from earlier mere inches from your face. The heat of his breath brushed against your skin, sending a pang of anticipation down your spine. His gaze, intense and filled with a primal hunger, was a darkness you had never seen before.
Caleb whispered against your skin. “Show me how much you love me.”
Oh god.
His voice was so dark and low it almost made you moan all by itself, the words laced with a hunger that sent a thrill straight through you.
As the kiss deepened, Caleb’s hands were no longer just holding you; they were claiming you. His fingertips traced the swell of your breasts through the fabric of your cloak, the layers of clothing doing little to shield you from the intensity of his touch. Every inch of your body seemed to react to his proximity, his hunger, as if it knew exactly what was coming, what had been building between the two of you for so long.
You were still fully dressed, hidden under layers of fabric that had once been intended for your escape, but in that moment, it hardly mattered. Each brush of his fingers, every shift of his body over yours, set your skin on fire. The way he devoured your expression told you everything. He wanted you. He wanted you with a desperation that left you breathless. And in that moment, you realized just how much you wanted him, too.
He tugged at the laces of your cloak, loosening the garment until it fell away. He did the same with the layers underneath until your last corset fell to the ground, exposing your bare top to the cool night air and his heated gaze.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.”
His mouth trailed down the column of your throat, his lips and teeth leaving a moist path of skin beneath him.
“And all mine.” He continued as you moaned unintelligible words, eyes connecting and setting your skin ablaze.
His teeth grazed your sensitive skin as he made his way to the swell of your breasts. The young prince paused for a moment, his breath hot against your nipple, before taking it into his mouth. His tongue swirled around the hardened peak, teasing and tormenting you with the promise of pleasure. Your back instinctively arched against him.
As he lavished attention on your breasts, Caleb's hands slid down your sides, his fingers splaying across your hips. He gripped your thighs, his touch searing your skin even through the fabric of your skirts. Slowly, teasingly, he pushed your layers up, exposing more and more of your legs to his hungry gaze.
Caleb settled himself between your thighs, his face now level with your most intimate area. He looked up at you, his purple eyes seemingly blown wide with desire and a wicked grin playing at the corners of his mouth. Without a word, he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your clothed sex. Your heart raced in anticipation, your body trembling with the need for his touch.
“Do you need me as much as I need you, baby?” He murmured against your skin.
Of course, this asshole would be just as teasing as he usually was.
“Fuck me already, Caleb.” You spat back impatiently.
You could almost feel the smirk on his face as he licked your panties. “I’ve waited years for you to see me, pip. Surely you can wait now.”
With a single, teasing motion, Caleb pushed your undergarments aside, fully exposing you to his view. He took a moment to admire the sight, your dripping wet pussy gushing just for him. He paused for a moment, savoring the intoxicating scent of your arousal, before placing a single, teasing kiss upon your sensitive folds. A surprised soft moan escaped your lips at the contact, your back arching off the blanket again as jolts of electricity coursed through your veins.
Emboldened by your reaction, Caleb delved in further, his tongue parting your slick folds and delving deep into your core.
“Don’t hold back, baby.” You felt the vibrations of the prince’s words. “I need to hear you.”
“Caleb…!”
He explored you with a fervor that left you breathless, his tongue swirling and stroking your most sensitive spots with unerring precision. Your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as he feasted upon you.
Caleb moved a hand to your clit while the other sat firmly on your stomach. You felt him push down your tummy as one long finger squelched inside you. He devoured you like a man starved, his finger and tongue working in tandem to bring you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy. Obscene slurping noises filled the air as he drank your juices, your arousal dripping down his chin as you fought against his hold to lift your waist to his face.
The sensation was so overwhelming you could barely come to terms with your senses. It was like hearing someone else’s voice, but it was only your unintelligible words as Caleb fingered you rougher and faster. Your toes curled as he shoved another finger to the knuckles.
Caleb's eyes, wild and fevered with lust, flicked up to meet yours. The purple irises had nearly disappeared, consumed by the black pupils that swirled with unbridled desire. His fingers, slick with your juices, pumped roughly into your clenching heat, his palm grinding against your clit with each forceful thrust. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the garden as Caleb feasted upon you like a man possessed.
"Please, Caleb!" You cried out, your voice breaking out a desperate moan. Your body writhed beneath him, your hips bucking wildly to meet his relentless onslaught. You could feel the coil of tension in your core pulling tighter and tighter, your release just out of reach.
Your inner walls clamped down around his fingers like a vice, rippling and squeezing him as your climax crashed over you. Wave after wave of pure, unadulterated bliss radiated out from your core, consuming your entire being. You thrashed and writhed beneath Caleb, but even then he seemed entranced with watching you lose control.
"Yes, fuck, yes!" You screamed, lost to the all-consuming pleasure that had shattered your world. “I need you, all of you.”
There was an uncomfortable tinge in your lower stomach as Caleb refused to letup, his fingers inside you even after you came. He ripped your skirts off with ease, throwing the fabrics over his shoulder and letting his eyes rake over every inch of your body.
"I need to see you, please Caleb."
He smiled to himself as you begged, sitting on his knees as he took off each layer. Your hands moved with an urgency, helping him with each agonizing layer - the gold medal he earned for the Eastern border skirmish, his pins signifying his status as royal family member - you threw it all to the ground without a second thought. Once he lay bare before you, you could hardly contain yourself from surging upward and kissing his collarbone.
"Like my body this much, Princess?"
But you could not even dignify him with a response, lowering yourself with each butterfly kiss down his body. His breath hitched as your lips ghosted over the skin of his abs. You wanted to show him how much you needed him, but Caleb sighed lowly before pushing you back to a sitting position.
His voice was breathless, want matching your own. "Next time, my love. I need more of you..."
You looked down and watched as he pumped his hard cock with one hand. You felt yourself drool for a second, his girth more than you think you could handle.
“I'm afraid..." He started, cheeks flushed with the same lovestruck look on his face. "You won't want everything I want to do to you.”
“Yes, I do."
Caleb murmured. “The things I’ve imagined over the years…”
You put a hand over his, squeezing the hold on his cock. “You won’t scare me away. I love you, all of you.”
“All of me?”
You smiled at him then, truly. “Yes, I want to know every desire in your heart. I want you to let go. Do it to me.” You whispered against his ear, before adding. “I want you to ruin me, my King.”
Your words seemed to unleash something primal within him. With a feral growl, Caleb surged up your body, his hand wrapping around your throat. His fingers tightened, not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make your pulse pound wildly against his palm. He captured your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue invading your mouth, claiming you, consuming you.
"You want to know my desires?" Caleb snarled against your lips, his voice a dark, dangerous rumble. "I must have imagined you a million times. Under my desk, on my balcony, hell right in the middle of the ballroom for everyone to watch.”
You melted into his kiss, a soft moan escaping before you could stop it. “You wanted to claim me?”
Caleb's responding moan only heightened your arousal. He had no reservations about how loud he was and you loved it. You wanted to hear him, to come undone purely because of you.
“So much more, baby. I wanted to tie you up and stuff my cock down your throat. I almost did, that night of the coronation. You, in your sheer nightgown, getting into bed with me almost naked. I thought you were teasing me.”
“What did you want to do to me then?”
“I wanted to rip it off you. I wanted to stuff it in your mouth and lay you on your back. Watch you struggle and cry to take my dick. I wanted to cum on every inch of you.” He had an almost manic look on his face — you loved it.
“Not inside me?”
He laughed then, “Everywhere, pip. Inside, on these gorgeous tits, on the swell of your amazing ass.”
“What’s stopping you now?”
“Fuck….” He whispered before lifting your leg to sit on his shoulder. “Fuck.”
He rubbed his throbbing cock against your clit and felt your pulse beat wildly in your throat under his hold.
“Please… inside, Caleb. Please please.”
“Keep begging me, pip.”
You weren’t below getting on your knees and licking his abs in reverence. “My King… please. I need your cock. I need you to cum inside me now.”
Caleb moaned in response, one hand holding your leg in place while the other grabbed your head to mold your lips to his. He sheathed himself in slowly, tears at the corners of your eyes as you felt his massive girth inside you. Your thighs trembled and you willed yourself to ignore that massive pressure.
“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He whispered against your skin. You could feel it, the veins of his enormous cock rubbing agonizingly slow against your walls.
He stopped moving for a moment and you gasped out a reply. “Please please please. Tell me you’ve bottomed out.”
Caleb leaned down to your earlobe, your leg stretching with the movement and making you gasp more.
“Pip, I’m not even halfway.”
You cried as he slowly continued to push in, his length impossibly longer and almost bordering painful. He had a self satisfied look on his face and if you were in your right mind you would have playfully slapped at his chest. Now, you could hardly bare a single thought.
“Ahhhhh…!”
“I’m sorry my love, just a little bit more.” He kissed your unsaid tears. “I love you so much, please relax for a little bit more.”
Caleb gripped your waist now, trying to steady you as he plugged himself deeper. When his hips finally met yours, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. He stayed there for a minute, letting you get used to the fucking emergency-room-worthy cock that was inside you.
“Let me know when I can move, my love.”
“I can’t take it.” You cried.
“Yes you can, baby. You’re so good for me.” He whispered, voice sweet as he peppered your hair with kisses. “I love you.”
You couldn’t help but be so acutely aware of his cock inside you. You couldn’t help but squeeze around him in just silent awareness, hearing his replying groan a second later.
“Fuck, don’t tease me.”
“Can’t handle it, my King?”
His eyes narrowed for a second, your teasing words enough to push him over that teetering edge, before he shoved back then forward, making you scream as the full length of his cock pistoned inside you.
Caleb's massive cock stretched your delicate insides to their limits, the sheer girth making your mind go blissfully blank. Drool escaped the corner of your mouth as he pounded into you, his thick veiny shaft hitting depths you swore were in your stomach. Each brutal thrust drove the air from your lungs, leaving you panting and helpless, a puppet addicted to his rigid rod.
The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the air as he gained speed, punctuated by your muffled moans and Caleb's grunts of exertion. His muscular form loomed above you, a vision of raw power and primal lust. You wanted to grab his abs, to feel the sexy lines of his waist against yours. But you couldn’t move, hardly able to even lift your head.
As he watched you lose yourself to the overwhelming sensation of being fucked by his enormous cock, that possessive glint from earlier came back in full force. "Look at you, so stupid with need." He purred.
Caleb's grip tightened on your hips as he picked up the pace, his balls slapping against your ass with each savage thrust. The intense pressure built inside you, coiling tighter and tighter like a spring ready to snap. Your mind fogged further, thoughts fragmenting into nothingness as your entire being focused on the relentless pounding of his cock.
"Look at how well you take my cock." Caleb taunted, his breath hot against your ear. "You were made for this, weren't you? To be used and claimed by me."
His words only fueled your desperation, your body surrendering completely to the dominant force driving into you. You couldn't even form coherent pleas, just incoherent whimpers and cries as he ruthlessly plundered your depths.
“I should’ve fucked you that night. Should’ve made you act out that book and choke on my cock.” Caleb rambled on.
Caleb's hand shot out to grasp your clit, pinching and rolling the sensitive nub in time with his relentless thrusts. The added stimulation sent shockwaves of pleasure through your over-sensitized body, drawing another high-pitched wail from your lips. Not content to leave any part of you untouched, he leaned down to capture a pert nipple between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to make you arch off the blanket. His tongue swirled around the abused bud, soothing the sting even as he continued to tease and torment it with his teeth.
The dual assault on your most sensitive places pushed you as the coil in your tummy got tighter and tighter.
With one particularly brutal shove, Caleb buried himself to the hilt, grinding his rough pubes against your clit as your orgasm crashed over you. Your inner walls spasmed wildly around his throbbing cock, milking him for all he was worth. Pleasure overwhelmed your senses, reducing you to a quivering, senseless mess.
But Caleb wasn't finished with you yet. If anything, his speed increased, pistoning into your still-clenching cunt with renewed vigor. He reveled in the sight of you losing your mind on his dick, your once elegant features contorted in ecstasy.
"That's right, cum all over my cock," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "Use me, my desperate little Princess.”
Despite the intensity of your release, Caleb continued to fuck you with ruthless abandon, your pussy clenching in near pain from the unrelenting stimulation. He wanted you to feel this, to feel so overwhelmed from just him that you could barely move a muscle.
“Don’t avoid me or try to run away again. Don’t even look at Zayne. You're mine." Caleb punctuated his thrusts with commands. “If I have to lock you in this palace forever to make you see that, I will.”
“Yes yes yes…!”
Fuck, you couldn’t help it.
You loved seeing this possessive side of him, see him lose control because of how much he wanted you alone. Your pussy clenched around him as he continued his possessive rant.
“Is this what I have to do to keep you locked here with me?” Caleb was barely recognizable, face dark and taken over by lust. “Fuck a baby into you?”
Your heart raced at Caleb's dark declaration, a thrill of fear mingling with the illicit excitement coursing through your veins. The idea of being impregnated, of carrying his child. You locked your legs around his waist, locking him to you. Even if he wanted to pull out he wouldn’t be able to — you were just as twisted as he was.
Caleb's composure shattered, his usually controlled demeanor giving way to a primal, animalistic hunger. Gripping your waist with bruising force, he slammed into you with reckless abandon, the force of his thrusts nearly lifting you off the blanket.
Each plunge of his cock seemed to bury him deeper, as if he sought to claim every inch of your being. His hips hammered against yours, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing through the quiet gardens. Sweat dripped down his face, mixing with the beads that dropped down his back and chest.
With a final, brutal shove, Caleb buried himself to the hilt, his thick shaft pressing against the entrance to your womb. A guttural roar tore from his throat as he came, his hot seed erupting deep inside you in powerful spurts. You felt him in every part of your womb, spilling out even onto the blanket below you.
Exhausted but sated, you lay limp against the blanket, your chest heaving with labored breaths. Caleb's warm lips brushed against your neck, murmuring endearments and loving words that sent pleasant tingles through your spent body.
Just as you started to get comfortable, Caleb's movements shifted, his weight settling atop you. A momentary flash of concern crossed your mind when he positioned you on your stomach, but it was quickly replaced by a jolt of surprise as you realized his cock remained stubbornly hard inside you.
Before you could process this development, Caleb pulled back and delivered a deep, punishing thrust, his thick cock spearing into your already-stuffed heat. A loud, wanton moan spilled from your lips as he bottomed out, your stretched walls struggling to accommodate his girth. Caleb lifted you at the waist, guiding you in a position that was head down ass up.
“I’m sorry, Princess. You’re so fucking gorgeous. I can’t...” Caleb murmured against the skin of your back, almost entranced and moving without realizing it.
“Okay. Okay…!” Your voice tilted off to a scream at the end, Caleb taking your assent instantly. He reared back and shoved himself, tip to hilt in one fluid movement.
Caleb grasped your wrists, pulling them behind your back as he positioned you on all fours. The new angle allowed him to penetrate you even deeper, his cockhead kissing your cervix with each powerful thrust. He was manhandling you like is life depended on it and it was so fucking hot. He needed you to the point that he could barely think, just an animal with one thought in mind: breed.
"Look at this perfect ass bouncing on my cock.” He growled, lifting one hand for a second to slap the mound. You moaned at the action, but it was nothing as the force of his strokes made your breasts sway beneath you.
Your cries of pleasure filled the air, punctuated by the lewd sounds of skin meeting skin. Caleb's balls slapped against your clit with every retreat, adding an extra layer of sensation to the intense fucking. You felt like a ragdoll in his hands, completely at his mercy as he used your body for his pleasure.
Caleb's pace turned brutal, his hips snapping forward with reckless abandon. Each thrust drove him impossibly deeper, made worse as he moved one hand to your tummy and felt his cock spearing inside you. The pressure built, threatening to push you over the edge into another mind-shattering orgasm.
"You're mine forever.” He snarled, his fingers digging into your skin as he held you in place. "My perfect princess, built for my cock."
His words, laced with dominance and possession, only served to heighten your arousal. You felt owned, claimed, and it sent a dark thrill through your core. Caleb's cock pulsed inside you, signaling his impending release, but he showed no signs of slowing down, determined to prolong both your pleasure and his own.
Caleb's relentless pounding sent shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body, each thrust pushing you closer to the brink of oblivion. The slick sounds of your combined fluids filled the air, a symphony of debauchery that only fueled his desire.
Suddenly, he reached around to pinch and twist your nipples, the sharp pain sending a jolt straight to your core. Your back arched, pressing your ass further into his groin as he fucked into you with renewed ferocity.
"Cum for me, pip.” Caleb commanded, his voice low and husky with need. "I want to feel you squeeze my cock again.”
But he might as well have said nothing, since you could hardly even hear him over the roar in your ears. You doubted you could even recall your name at the moment.
With a keening cry, you surrendered to the overwhelming sensations, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of pure bliss.
“Fuck, I’ll never get over this feeling. I need to feel you around me forever, pip.” He said as his eyes rolled back, not letting up his thrust for a second. “I love you with all my heart."
“I love you, Caleb!”
"So good...you feel incredible," he panted, his eyes locked on yours, adoration peeking through all the lust.
With a final, guttural moan, Caleb surged upward, his cock twitching inside you as he spilled his seed deep within your welcoming heat. You felt each pulse, each hot spurt claiming you as his once more. You could only imagine how lewd your pussy looked - your shared essence spilling around his cock and dripping onto the blanket beneath.
As the last tremors faded, Caleb gently eased you down, flipping your positions to lay you onto his chest, cradling you close as you both collapsed onto the blanket. Caleb's strong arms wrapped around you, holding you securely against his warmth. He peppered your face with soft, loving kisses, each one a tender promise of his genuine, unbridled love.
"My beautiful Princess.” He whispered, his voice husky with emotion. "You've stolen my heart, body and soul. I never want to let you go."
His lips found yours in a sweet, lingering kiss, conveying all the love and devotion he felt for you. As you melted into the embrace, you knew in that moment that nothing could ever come between you two. You were forever bond, two souls intertwined.
“No more misunderstandings.” He whispered against your ear as he trailed a hand over your bare arm. “You’re my future. My dream. My everything.”
“I never thought you’d ever want me.”
He kissed the side of your face. “I need you. That’ll never change.”
“I love you so much. I want this future with you.”
“My sweet Princess.” Caleb nuzzled your nose with his own. “I love you with my entire heart. I’ll never let you go.”
.
.
.
.
.
.
Bonus:
You stood before the King with Caleb at your side, the throne room empty as you two held hands. It was late, having closed to the general public just a few minutes prior. This was an unscheduled audience to the King, born from a sudden urgency.
The both of you inclined into a slight bow before Caleb started, in his formal Crown Prince voice, addressing the King.
“Your Majesty, we confessed our love to one another last night. Please bless our marriage as we would like to join together as soon as respectfully possible.”
The King lifted a brow, eyes going from one to the other.
Of course, he heard about your… spirited activities long before you entered the throne room.
The staff of the Palace knew everything about your relationship — perhaps before even either of you realized your feelings for one another. When you were young and Caleb had his rough nights, screaming for his faceless parents, you would climb into his bed and rock him to sleep. And likewise, when you would get in your head with unsaid worries, Caleb would wrap his arms around you and read you to sleep.
It was never the King’s goal to have you two fall in love.
Truly, he adopted Caleb as an impulsive decision. His only blood was someone he never wanted to pass the crown to and it was not like he could commandeer another noble’s child. Caleb was a genius from a young age, having met the King by chance.
Caleb was the Crown Prince simply because he was at the right place at the right time.
To think that Caleb would fall in love with that same child the King held in contempt. And not only that, but improved his only blood from an absolute menace into a real human being. He watched over the years as Caleb’s eyes never strayed from his daughter - laughing, smiling, and falling in love with the one person who could validate his claim to the throne through marriage. A blood member of the royal family, it could not get any better.
It was all very convenient.
Except for one thing, apparently.
“Your… marriage. Rather than an engagement?” The King asked back, looking suddenly tired.
Caleb smiled to himself. “I’m sorry, your Highness. But I cannot wait any longer.”
You elbowed the Prince lightly in the stomach and the King stared at you both deadpanned.
Again, he had heard about your activities from multiple different knights the night prior. Apparently you had attempted to run away, your maid instantly warning Prince Caleb about this sudden development. Originally, the King thought you would tearfully and angrily reconcile before beginning your courtship.
It was to his surprise when the same knights returned with a rosy blush, reporting on your enthusiastic joining in the gardens. It was almost impressive how long you two had gone at it — the sunrise of the next day apparently had not stopped you, nor the cold outside air.
A number of unfortunate maids had stumbled through the gardens, only to be met with you underneath Caleb moaning in all sorts of positions.
Gossip ran like wildfire. The King refused to hear the details, but almost every maid had spoken about the salacious tales of you and Caleb moaning against one another. There were all sorts of positions they had seen: leg held up on Caleb’s shoulder as he shoved you against the gazebo pillars, in the hallway as you struggled to quell your lust just to head back to your rooms, or even the two of you on your balcony — you on your knees as Caleb slapped his cock against your face.
The list was unending in just a single night.
Disgusting.
The King really really didn’t need to know.
Everything was dramatic with you two.
The King only had one question. “My child, are you pregnant?”
A blush grew in your face and Caleb sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. Good god, you hadn’t even drank the contraceptive tea, after the King had taken the initiative to stock up after that first night at Caleb’s coronation.
You expected the worst from your father. A lecture about propriety, especially as two of the highest ranking nobles setting an example for others your age. Or worse, his disapproval due to your odd relationship as adopted brother and sister.
“We’ll plan the wedding for the upcoming fall.” He said without hesitation. “Tell your mother she owes me 100 gold pieces.”
“What?!” You shrieked, disbelieving this was your cold and detached father.
“You bet on us?” Caleb asked also.
“Multiple bets. I lost some good money over the years.”
You near screamed. “You knew?!”
“When did you… what?!” Caleb was just as confused.
The King leveled a look at you. “The guards know everything.”
Too much of everything, actually.
Notes:
A/N:
Dark hearted!Crown Prince Caleb with all the WEBTOON tropes and naughty goodness. Love him, hope you loved him too!
(It is truly ironic that the villainess would’ve gotten all the power she wanted if she only let Caleb into her heart)
Next is Rafayel ;)
3/20/25 - edited for grammatical / formatting errors. not fully edited tho :""")
Chapter 2: Prince of Southern Isles Rafayel
Notes:
Letting you know that Rafayel is bound by magic to make people not recognize him from human to mermaid form. Otherwise he looks exactly the same.
Also, the alias he uses here is his original Chinese name, Qi Yu.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
If you were any less of a person, you would have screamed at the top of your lungs.
(Of course, that was for later.)
The moment you transmigrated to this Webtoon, you immediately knew where you were. This was the same Isekai trash you were reading just a few hours ago.
It wasn’t that the story was not good, it actually had you on the hook with all the different twists and turns. But unfortunately, as the novel went on, the story went a little too off the rails and some of the characters you came to love were caricatures of their true selves by the three-hundredth chapter.
Webtoons centered on political intrigue often thrived on complex character motivations, where every action carried weight and consequence. To keep the audience hooked, these stories often pushed characters into bold, sometimes reckless decisions that propelled the plot forward. Surprises and betrayals were a given, ensuring that no alliance was ever truly secure and no scheme was without risk.
And, of course, that included the body you inhabited.
How cliche was it that you were in the body of the villainess - the elder sister of the main female love interest?
With short, beautiful brown hair, the real center of the Webtoon was known as Tara. You and her were both daughters to the Duke of the Teyvat territory. She had fallen in love with Crown Prince Thomas at a young age, having met him purely by chance after wandering off at a tea party hosted at the Palace. The villainess knew about her feelings, but hardly cared about them as she wanted to be the woman with the most power in the entire country.
And so with a little begging and more blackmail, the Villainess scored an engagement to Crown Prince Thomas before either of them were teenagers. She didn't love him, not by any means, but she needed the power that came with standing by his side. And the poor prince had a heart of gold, which meant he would not dare to take in concubines nor divorce her when he needed her political tie.
Unfortunately, this turn of events would eventually lead to the Villainess’ demise at Thomas’s hands.
The Villainess had committed truly unforgivable acts against both Thomas and her younger sister, solidifying her role as one of the webtoon’s primary antagonists in its early arcs. She orchestrated her sister’s social downfall, ensuring the noble class turned their backs on her. She played a key role in a coup d'état, only to betray her supposed allies at the last moment for personal gain. But perhaps her most devastating act was setting into motion the very events that would ultimately lead to her own father’s untimely demise—a consequence she never could have foreseen, yet one that sealed her fate as an irredeemable villain in the eyes of the audience.
And so you did what any sensible person would do. You marched right back to your father and demanded the engagement be broken off. The political ramifications would be alright since your sister would still provide the link between your family and that of the royal family; it would be you alone who bore the consequences. Your father had acquiesced to your demands simply because of that fact.
“You… Are you being serious?” Tara asked.
You had invited both Thomas and Tara to the parlor of your family estate, eager to deliver the news. Neither of them knew why they were summoned or that the other was arriving, only that you had something important to say. The moment they stepped into the drawing room and made eye contact, Thomas instinctively moved to Tara’s side, his hand subtly reaching in front of her as if to guard her. He was clearly still expecting the worst from you.
But it wasn’t you anymore.
You gestured toward the plush couch, silently inviting them to sit as you settled onto a chaise across from them. That alone was enough to put them on edge—suspicion flickered in their eyes, but they complied nonetheless. Thomas sat rigidly, his posture braced as if preparing for a blow. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched over his knees.
Taking a deep breath, “Our engagement is over. My father has already sent the formal declaration to the King.”
Silence.
Tara’s lips parted in shock. Thomas, ever the reserved prince, blinked once, then twice. He tilted his head like a confused puppy. “I’m sorry… what?”
You leaned forward, clasping your hands together. “I brought you both here to apologize.”
Thomas straightened. “Why?” His voice was cautious, as if this was some elaborate trick.
You sighed, shooting them both the most sincere look you could muster. “Because I realized the error of my ways. I see the way you two look at each other. I know you belong together. And I’m sorry for keeping you apart.”
Thomas stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the marble floor, before immediately collapsing to one knee in front of you. His face was stricken with agony, as if he were preparing for the worst from the renowned Villainess.
“I have never been unfaithful to you. Nor have I ever done anything unsavory during our engagement. My feelings have remained but a thought in my mind. If this is some kind of trap—if you’re testing me or trying to catch me in a lie—I beg you, do not do this to Tara.”
You stared at him, stunned, before letting out an exasperated sigh. “It’s not a trap, Your Highness. For heaven’s sake, get off the floor.” You reached out, awkwardly patting his shoulder. “I mean it. I want my sister and the love of her life to be together.”
Tara gasped, her hands flying up to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. “I believe her, Thomas.”
Thomas, however, was still stuck in a state of utter disbelief. “But… why ?”
“It’s as I said. I had a change of heart! No amount of power or titles will ease the guilt I have in separating you two.” You shook your head, trying your best to be patient. “I see the truth now and I want to make things right.”
Tara didn’t hesitate—she sprang from her seat and tackled you in a hug so forceful you nearly toppled backward. “Of course we forgive you!” She cried, squeezing you tight.
You sighed into her hair as Tara clung to you, her grip tight, as if afraid you’d change your mind if she let go. There were still a hundred threats looming from a million different places—this was a webtoon, after all—but at least, for now, you were on their side. After a moment, Tara sniffled and pulled away, wiping at the tears that had slipped past her kind composure. You turned your gaze fully to the prince, your expression steady.
“To you, Prince Thomas,” you started, your voice firm. “I offer my sincerest apologies. I know how precarious your claim to the throne is, how your brothers seek to undermine you at every turn. But hear me now—whatever the future may hold, I pledge my loyalty to your rightful bid for the crown.”
Thomas smiled at you—fully, genuinely. It was the kind of smile only the main character of a webtoon could give, unburdened by hesitation or lingering distrust. Any other person might have regarded you with suspicion, questioning your sudden change of heart. But Thomas? His gaze shifted to Tara, to the happiness in her eyes, to the way she had clung to you without fear. And in that moment, he let his guard down.
For the first time in this Villainess’ life, Thomas stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you—a firm hold that caught you slightly off guard. He was warm, solid, and surprisingly sincere.
“Thank you.” He murmured.
You huffed a quiet laugh. “Of course.”
Tara practically vibrated with joy, clasping her hands together as she looked between the two of you, eyes shining. “This is amazing,” she whispered, as if she were witnessing the impossible.
You sighed, already knowing what was coming. “Alright, alright, don’t get used to it.”
Still, you weren’t about to let Thomas off too easily. Pulling back, you fixed him with a sharp look, arms crossing. “You’re not completely out of the woods yet.” You warned, arching a brow. “If you break my sister’s heart, then I’ll become the villainess you all expected me to be.”
Thomas, to his credit, only hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Duly noted.”
Meanwhile, Tara had the absolute gall to swoon, pressing her hands to her cheeks with a dreamy sigh and that dopey smile on her face. “You two are so dramatic,” she giggled, before launching herself at you once more.
Her hug was tighter this time, full of unspoken gratitude. Despite everything you let yourself sink into it, warmth unfurling in your chest.
“Thank you, my dear sister.” Tara whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I love you so much.”
Your heart clenched — she was too good for this world. To think that the Villainess had treated them horribly up to this point, but Tara still loved her sister. You had to protect her, come what may from the Webtoon.
You exhaled, pressing your chin against the top of her head. “I love you too, you ridiculous girl.”
From that moment forward, their relationship accelerated at an almost dizzying pace. Within weeks, Thomas and Tara were formally engaged and a grand royal wedding was set for the end of the season. True to their word, neither of them harbored resentment toward you.
If anything, they seemed grateful—so much so that you began to feel like the third wheel to their giddy romance.
Especially with Tara.
It became immediately apparent that, in her mind, your sacrifice had promoted you from problematic older sister to absolute best friend in the world. And, unfortunately, that meant you were now part of every single wedding preparation.
“I can’t possibly decide without you.” She would say, linking arms with you as she dragged you from boutique to boutique. “It just wouldn’t feel right!”
No flower arrangement was chosen without your approval. No cake was deemed acceptable until you had taken a bite. No dress was even considered until you had sat through four excruciating hours of fittings, only for Tara to look at herself in the mirror, turn to you and sighed. “But what do you think?”
Honestly, you should have seen it coming when she named you her maid of honor.
You didn’t mind, though. For the first time since transmigrating, you felt like you belonged.
Those early days had been hell—frantically scribbling down every event tied to the Villainess, every noble she manipulated, every blackmail scheme she orchestrated. Even the enamored fools who had once followed her blindly were cataloged, their usefulness weighed.
There wasn’t a second to waste, no room for the memory to slip away. You met your ‘father,’ but he was just another shadow in the background, a figure who existed only because the story required him to. None of it felt real. None of them felt real.
But with Tara?
This wasn’t just survival. You weren’t just playing a role, carefully navigating the script to avoid disaster. For the first time, you weren’t just a character trying to outwit a doomed fate. You were a person, forming real bonds.
Tara wasn’t just your sister in name anymore—she was your friend.
Of course, that friendship came with its own set of obligations. Namely, being dragged to every royal event imaginable. If foreign dignitaries were visiting? You were there. If there was a noblewoman’s tea party? Tara had you seated right next to her, sipping tea and politely engaging in gossip. If Thomas was hosting a military banquet, you somehow found yourself chaperoning the very couple whose love story you had facilitated. The only time you were separated from Tara was when she would visit outside the country with her Prince, but even then she would send you letters of their time away.
You had gone from villainess fiancée to unofficial third wheel to this entire engagement.
Still, you were happy for them.
Truly.
You were especially grateful that you transmigrated before the events of the Webtoon kicked off and you were cruel to the point of no return.
But, unfortunately for you, some damage had already been done.
Your reputation as the infamous Villainess had made its rounds among the noble class. The Villainess and still been quite the bully to those she deemed beneath them. And after losing your engagement to the most eligible bachelor in the country, there was not a single aristocrat left willing to take your hand.
You were silently deemed unmarriageable to the other noblemen your age.
Your father didn’t say it outright, but you could see the truth in the way the marriage proposals never arrived even after the formal announcement of your single status. In the way the noblewomen whispered behind their fans at every event Tara dragged you to. In the way the young men actively avoided eye contact when you entered a room, as if the very idea of marrying you would curse their future.
Fuck it all.
You had better things to do than wallow in self-pity. You were still a noble, living a life of luxury that you couldn’t have even dreamed of in your previous world. While others whispered that you were missing out by not marrying a prince, you knew better. This life, even without a royal match, was a privilege—one these people took for granted.
Still, it was irritating to be dismissed so easily. It wasn’t just that no one courted you; it was the way they barely even considered you. As if the word ‘Undateable’ was scrawled across your forehead in invisible ink, clear to everyone but you. It left little room for entertainment outside of Tara, and with no other friends, the days could get very boring.
Which was how you ended up at the one place that had always brought you peace, even back in your original world.
The beach.
Thankfully your family estate was only walking distance away from a nearby shore. You savored the feel of the salty air whipping against your face as you approached, waves crashing against the rocks. You dug your heels into the sand, clenched your fists, and finally, let the emotions explode out of you.
Taking a deep breath, you started.
“Fuck you universe! Fuck you for doing this to me!”
For a single, glorious moment, you relished in the sheer catharsis of it.
And then—
A pile of sand smacked you right in the face.
“Geez.” A lazy voice drawled. “Some people are trying to nap here.”
You screamed again, this time out of pure shock. “What the fuck?!”
The voice came from behind a mound of rocks and as you wiped the sand from your eyes, you saw him.
He was lounging there, propped up on one elbow, his chin resting against his palm like he had all the time in the world. Sunlight glinted off his damp skin, highlighting the striking contrast between his bare chest and the shimmering purple-and-blue scales that led down to the water.
A tail.
A real, actual mermaid tail.
“What?” He said, tilting his head. “Never heard of a lazy summer day?”
Your breath hitched.
A mermaid.
A real mermaid.
Your mind raced. There had been no mention of mythical creatures in the Webtoon—no magic system, no alchemy, not even the mention of cursed objects. There was no merfolk, nothing. How were you supposed to prepare for this?!
Your eyes drifted downward, taking in the iridescent scales, the defined muscles of his abdomen, the lazy way his long fingers drummed against the rock. Your gaze trailed back up—lingering far too long on his broad, bare chest—before finally locking onto his face.
“Had a good look?”
You stiffened. “I—I’ve never seen a mermaid before,” you stammered.
He hummed, clearly amused.
“Are you sure it’s not my dashing good looks that have you starstruck?”
Your amazement immediately melted into unimpressed exasperation.
Oh, great.
Not only was he a mermaid, but he was also one of those types. For your own sanity, it was best to do as you always did in the past, shoot the arrogant man a few quick retorts and drive him away.
“Okay, never mind.” You deadpanned, folding your arms. “You’re not that special.”
But to your surprise, the mermaid only gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest like you’d personally wounded him. “Not that special?” He leaned forward, tail flicking against the water. “That’s funny, coming from the girl who was just staring at me like I was the most enchanting creature she’d ever seen.”
“I was enchanted.” Your eye twitched. “Until you opened your mouth.”
He let out a chuckle and the sound was infuriatingly pleasant. “Come on now, don’t be mean. You’re the one who interrupted my nap.”
Fuck, he had a point.
“No, you’re right. I’m sorry for interrupting you. I didn’t think anyone was here, and I just… It’s been a shit few weeks, okay? I just needed to scream.” You sighed, rubbing your temples to calm yourself down.
The mermaid hummed, tilting his head. “If you’re really that frustrated, might I suggest throwing yourself into the sea? It’s quite therapeutic.”
You gave him a flat look. “Gee, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Anytime.” He said with a wink.
You couldn’t tell if he was genuinely trying to be helpful or if he just enjoyed messing with you. Knowing your luck? Probably the latter.
Still, now that you were really looking at him, the situation was… strange. You had no idea how a mermaid could exist in this world. The Webtoon had never mentioned anything about mythical creatures, much less an entire species of them. Maybe you were hallucinating. That would explain a lot. Maybe the stress was finally getting to you and this was a coffee induced nightmare.
Before you could stop yourself, you blurted. “You’re real, right?”
He blinked at you, then grinned. “Would you like to kiss me and find out?”
The sheer audacity.
“No thanks.” You shot back. “I don’t go around kissing random strangers.”
“Pity.” He sighed, stretching his arms over his head. “I wouldn’t have minded.”
You turned away before he could see the way your face burned. This was ridiculous. What kind of luck did you have to end up in a Webtoon world where the most intriguing person you’d met was an annoying, smug mermaid?
And worse—why did he have to be so handsome while doing it?
“So, what's your name?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Why? Are you going to use it to hypnotize me or something?”
He let out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes. “I’m a mermaid, not a siren.”
“Same difference.” You muttered under your breath.
“If it helps.” He continued, ignoring your snark. “You can call me Qi Yu.”
You nodded, deciding to return the favor and offering him just your first name.
Qi Yu gave you a once-over before flopping back onto the rock like he had all the time in the world. “So, what brings you out here, screaming loud enough to traumatize all the nearby marine life?”
You gave him the abridged version. “My ex-fiancé and my sister are in love. I broke off our engagement so they could be together and now no one wants to marry me.”
His eyes were wide as he took in your words. “That’s… a lot.”
“Tell me about it.” You shrugged. “And it’s mostly my fault. I forced the engagement in the first place, so setting things right was the least I could do. Maybe this is just karma coming back to bite me.”
He hummed, resting his chin on his palm. “I’m sorry your life sucks.”
“Thanks.” You chuckled, finally relaxing a little. “What about you, mermaid boy? How’s your life going?”
Qi Yu’s expression instantly morphed into offense. “Hold on—mermaid boy?”
“What?”
“I’m a mermaid man. ” He emphasized the last word, sitting up slightly to point at his body. Of course he was right, having a solid chest and rock hard abs that made your mouth water.
You quickly looked away before your brain could short-circuit. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Mermaid man. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
He smirked like he knew exactly what was going through your head but let it slide. “It’s not all bad, I guess. My family keeps nagging me to settle down and get married, but I try not to think about it.”
“Must be nice.” You whispered under your breath.
“Huh?”
“You’re a guy. You can afford to not think about it. I don’t get that luxury. If I don’t find someone to marry before I hit my ‘expiration date’ as a noblewoman, I’m basically doomed to be an old maid.”
Qi Yu made a face. “Screw that.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“No.” He sat up straighter, his ocean-blue eyes suddenly sharp with conviction. “You seem smart enough, definitely loud and assertive enough. So make a name for yourself. Make these lame nobles want you instead of chasing after those who don’t.”
You blinked at him, his words settling into your mind like pieces of a puzzle clicking together. He wasn’t wrong. You had an advantage no one else did—knowledge of the Webtoon’s future. There were plenty of opportunities for you to gain wealth, influence, and eventually your own freedom. You didn’t have to rely on marriage to secure your future.
Qi Yu squinted at you. “What’s with that look?”
You grinned, a newfound spark igniting in your chest. “No, you’re right. There’s so much I can do.”
His lips quirked into a lopsided smile. “Glad to be of service.”
You stood, brushing the sand off your dress with a new sense of purpose. “Thanks, mermaid boy.”
“Mermaid man.” He corrected, but the teasing lilt in his voice told you he didn’t mind.
You just laughed, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. Maybe your life wasn’t over after all.
Maybe it was just beginning.
The moment you got home, you grabbed a quill, ink, and every scrap of parchment you could find, scribbling down every major event you knew was coming. Wars, plagues, economic collapses—your past life as a Webtoon reader had suddenly turned into insider trading on a medieval scale.
Time was tight, but you had a plan. Now you just need investment capital.
Convincing your father to invest in your business was... an ordeal. You swore up and down that your allowance would not be wasted on silks and jewels (even if, technically, you were investing in fine materials). In the end, a mix of strategic pleading, big words like ‘market demand’ and a reminder that you were very single and could not rely on a husband’s wealth, made him sigh and hand over a generous sum.
No wonder the Villainess was able to reign free in the original novel.
First, you hoarded spices and teas. For the first time in centuries the neighboring country to the East was about to close its borders, fearing a war with its neighbor on the other side. This meant that the nobles would soon be desperate for their beloved exotic spices like saffron and cinnamon. You could already hear the merchants wailing about the price hikes.
Too bad for them, you’d be the one setting those prices.
Next, real estate. You funneled funds into what looked like worthless land but, in a few years, it would be at the heart of early glass production. Windows, eyeglasses, fancy mirrors for vain noblewomen—it was about to become the next big thing.
Then came technology. You scoured your brain for the records for inventors on the cusp of breakthroughs—clockwork mechanisms, primitive automation. The moment you found someone promising, you all but threw money at them.
“Just sign here. No, don’t worry about the fine print.”
You were working nonstop. The nobility had barely started noticing your rising wealth, and already they were either afraid or suddenly very interested in reconnecting.
And yet, despite everything, you always found time to visit him.
That insufferable, teasing, smug mermaid.
Qi Yu—no, Mermaid Boy, as you called him just to annoy him—remained the one person who didn't care about your past or your newfound business empire. He still greeted you with exaggerated sighs about how you ruined his peaceful days, flicked his tail dramatically if you ignored him for too long, and had an endless supply of teasing remarks that made you want to throw a shoe at him.
But he was growing into being your second friend in this world.
The only one who liked you for you.
And that was worth more than all the gold in your growing vault.
“I hate the old fashioned nobles.” You announced, dramatically flopping down next to him.
Qi Yu cracked open one eye from where he lay sprawled out, basking in the sun like a starfish. “Rough day, business tycoon?”
You groaned, tossing your arms over your face. “These insufferable old men think they can play hardball with me. I’m negotiating a trade contract for imported textiles and they’re acting like I should be grateful to them. As if they don’t need me more.”
Qi Yu hummed, propping himself up on one elbow. “So, what’s the game plan?”
You grinned, because of course you had one. “Oh, they’ll crack. They’re just holding out because I’m young and unmarried. They think I’m desperate.”
He let out a sharp laugh. “Are you?”
You turned your head to glare at him, and he had the audacity to look amused. “Desperate for a good deal? Yes. Desperate for some crusty old noble to graciously accept my business? Not even slightly.”
He chuckled, his tail flicking water onto your ankle. “I like it when you get all schemey. It’s cute.”
You sat up and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “I am not cute. I am fearsome.”
“Mmhm.” Qi Yu smirked, trailing a lazy hand through his wet hair. The movement sent droplets trickling down his chest, and—
Oh.
Oh, no.
You were suddenly painfully aware that he was... well. Very shirtless. And not in the way that was just there, but in the way that made your brain short-circuit just a little. Has his shoulders always been that broad? Had his arms always looked that strong? And had his voice always had that low, teasing lilt that made your stomach do weird things?
“You’re staring.”
“I am not.” You snapped, too quickly.
Qi Yu’s smirk deepened. “No? Then why are you blushing?”
You turned away from him, attempting to hide away from his callout. “I am leaving. You are insufferable.”
“You came to me, remember?”
“Poor life choices.”
He just laughed, the sound warm and rich. “Come back. You hardly visit me these days. Am I going to have to wait another 800 years again?
"Eight hundred years?" You glanced back at him and raised an eyebrow, half-laughing, half-curious.
He just grinned, looking annoyingly pleased with himself. "I don’t exaggerate."
"Sure." You muttered, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m drowning in work.”
“Work?” He sat up, arching an eyebrow as he propped himself on his arms. “I thought you were busy being a fearsome businesswoman.” His voice dropped into a teasing drawl.
“Alright, alright, I get it.” You shot back, sitting back down beside him. “I can’t always be busy.”
A silence settled between you two, comfortable yet charged. For once, it wasn’t like the usual banter, but something more real. His expression softened, a flicker of something—something you didn’t want to label—passing through his ocean-blue eyes.
"I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something." Qi Yu finally said, his usual teasing tone now replaced with a touch of something else. "But... I’m not sure how to start."
You gave him a curious look. "What’s going on? You can tell me."
“I know I can.” He sighed, his eyes drifting out toward the ocean. “I’ve been pressured by my family to meet with some people’s daughters. They want to arrange a political marriage for me. You know, the whole... typical noble thing."
Your heart tugged slightly, but you masked it with a smirk. "Sounds like a fun time.”
He shot you a deadpan look. “Yeah, it’s thrilling. I get to meet more nobles and pretend to care about their ridiculous proposals while I try to stay out of the way.”
“Ugh. I know the feeling.” You muttered, leaning back and staring at the sky. "The endless politics, the fake smiles. What happened to just... living your life?"
“You and I know that’s not possible for people like us.” He laughed softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "It's always about what’s expected of me. My parents keep saying I should marry someone for the future of our country and secure alliances. I’m not sure my life is even my own anymore.”
You could see the frustration in his posture, the tension in his shoulders. There was no teasing here, no sarcasm—just a guy who had been stuck with expectations that weren’t his own.
“Look.” You said, nudging him gently with your shoulder, “it’s your life. If you want to make a name for yourself, you should do it your way. Sure, maybe marriage is a part of the game, but don’t let them dictate your happiness. You don’t owe anyone your whole future.”
Qi Yu let out a long breath. “I know, but it’s harder when it feels like everyone’s counting on you, y’know?”
“I do.” You smiled softly, then added with a shrug, “But you don’t have to follow the script. And if they want you to meet nobles, just... pick one who doesn’t annoy you too much. Who knows? You might get lucky.”
He gave you a look, one eyebrow raised. "You really think that's how it works?"
"Absolutely." You grinned, then sighed dramatically. “I mean, if I had the option, I’d marry someone who doesn’t want to treat me like an object to trade off. But I suppose that’s not how it works either, huh?”
He chuckled, but this time, his hand brushed against yours in an unintentional, casual touch. It was only then that you noticed how delicate his hand looked. It was dainty in a way that was beautiful. Large, much larger than yours, but somehow it beckoned you to rub your lips along it.
What the fuck.
You smothered your feelings and neither of you pulled away, though the moment seemed to stretch out a little longer than either of you expected.
“You’ve got more courage than you give yourself credit for.” Qi Yu said softly.
You blinked, taken aback by the compliment, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. "You're not so bad either, mermaid man."
He smirked, leaning a little closer. “Well, someone has to teach you how to make better choices, right?”
You laughed, shaking your head, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest. "Yeah, yeah, just... don't take too much credit, okay?"
He grinned, that same teasing spark back in his eyes. “I’ll try. But I’ll also be here, whenever you need to vent about your miserable nobles.”
There was a beat of silence as you looked at him, the moment lingering just a bit too long. For a brief second, you wondered why you hadn’t noticed just how much you genuinely liked him. Maybe it was the way he listened without judgment or how he could make you laugh no matter what you were talking about.
Either way, you couldn't deny it—he was becoming more than just a friend.
But for now, you’d keep it to yourself. One complicated thing at a time.
"You know." you said, sitting back with a sigh, "If you ever need advice on those arranged marriage candidates, I’m your girl. I can teach you how to fake a smile while making them think they really have a chance."
His eyes sparkled. “Oh, I’ll hold you to that.”
And just like that, the weight of his worries seemed to lift a little, at least for now. You both sat in comfortable silence, the warmth of the sun mixing with the growing bond between you—undeniable and still unspoken.
.
.
.
.
It was almost impressive how much wealth you had amassed in such a short amount of time. Every move you made seemed to fall perfectly into place, as planned. And by now, you were comfortably on the path to financial independence. You could’ve easily retired to an estate by the beach, basking in the sun and indulging in the quiet luxury you had always dreamed of.
But that wasn’t you anymore.
Not the person who would rest on her laurels, at least not yet. Qi Yu had encouraged you to reach the sky, this was the same woman who turned away a Prince, he would point out. You were building something—an empire, a future.
You were going to make those greedy nobles regret ever doubting you.
And you also knew better than anyone that you needed a safety net. Your knowledge of the webtoon only covered so much, it hadn’t even ended yet at the time of your transmigration! There could be a major war or some type of natural disaster to threaten all you worked for. You had learned the hard way that things could change in the blink of an eye.
So you kept going, eyes focused on the future, managing your ever-growing trading empire while simultaneously supporting Tara as she planned her wedding to the Crown Prince.
And of course, your secret rendezvous with your favorite mermaid.
You would never admit this aloud, but spending time with Qi Yu was your favorite part of any week.
Usually you two would sit and lounge, talking about everything without any fear of judgement from the other party. As of late, you had been bringing along a little picnic basket filled with treats you’d carefully selected—local delicacies Qi Yu had never tried but always seemed curious about.
He lounged half in the water, propped up on his arms, watching you with bright, expectant eyes.
“You always bring me the most interesting things,” he mused, his tail flicking idly in the shallows as he peered into the basket. “What’s today’s selection?”
You pulled out a small parcel wrapped in cloth and unwrapped it to reveal delicate pastries, fragrant rice balls, and skewers of grilled seafood. “I figured you might want a taste of the land since I’m always stealing a taste of the sea.” You teased, nudging his shoulder lightly.
Qi Yu chuckled, reaching for a skewer. “Oh my, my own personal chef.” He said, taking a bite. “Are these your favorites?”
“Some of them. But if we’re being technical, I just have a love for mozzarella cheese. I know it’s hard to get, but I like indulging from time to time.” You answered honestly. “That and different kinds of meats, love a good charcuterie board.”
His eyes widened and you already knew his grin spelled trouble. “You love my meat?”
“Meats! You idiot.” You laughed at his terrible joke, slapping his shoulder playfully.
Qi Yu rolled his eyes as he tried another piece. “Okay, this is incredible. Maybe I should start trading pearls for snacks instead of just waiting for you to bring them.”
“You’d be the wealthiest foodie in the ocean.” You grinned, picking out a handful of grapes from the basket. Before you could pop one into your mouth, Qi Yu plucked it from your fingers with a mischievous smile.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he tutted, rolling the grape between his fingers. “A proper land princess shouldn’t have to feed herself.” He leaned in, holding the grape up to your lips. “Go on. I’m at your service, my lady. ”
You raised an eyebrow at the new nickname. “So you’re my personal servant now?”
“Personal slave.” He corrected dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Bound to your whims, doomed to fetch you grapes for all eternity.”
You laughed but indulged him, leaning forward and taking the grape from his fingers. He watched you with a lopsided grin, clearly pleased with himself.
“Oh no, I think I like this arrangement.” You mused, reclining against the sand. “I could get used to having a handsome merman as my snack assistant.”
Qi Yu smirked, plucking another grape and dangling it teasingly above your lips. “Careful,” he murmured. “You might get too used to me.”
Something in his tone made your breath hitch for just a moment. But before the mood could shift too much, you swiped the grape from his fingers and popped it into your mouth with a smirk of your own.
“Too late.” You said cheekily. “Now, less talking, more feeding. Chop chop, slave.”
Qi Yu groaned dramatically but still plucked another grape from the small bunch, shaking his head in exaggerated despair. “This is definitely not how I pictured today going.” His voice dripped with mock tragedy, as if being reduced to your personal snack servant was the greatest hardship he had ever faced.
Yet, despite his complaints, he remained exactly where he was—lounging beside you in the warm sand, hand poised with another grape, his laughter mingling with yours as the waves kissed the shoreline. The sun glowed lazily above, the scent of salt and warmth thick in the air. It was the kind of day that made the world feel endless.
“How has the wedding planning been going?” He asked, popping a grape into his own mouth before you could protest.
You sighed, leaning back on your elbows. “It’s okay. My sister is stressed, obviously. I mean, she’s marrying a prince—an only child at that. There are probably a million and one expectations on their wedding, and I’m sure it only gets worse after the vows are said and she’s officially a princess. But so far, things have been going a lot better than it was last week.”
“That’s good to hear,” Qi Yu said, studying you with a knowing look. “You say you’re doing okay, but I can see it on your face.”
You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You weren’t getting enough sleep before.” He pointed out, lazily swirling a finger in the sand beside him. “Your eyes were tired, your shoulders tense. But you look a lot better now.”
Your lips twitched at his observation. Qi Yu might pretend to be aloof, might joke like nothing ever truly fazed him, but he knew you.
“Thanks for looking out for me.” You murmured.
“Always, my dear lady.” He smirked, reaching for another grape and holding it up expectantly.
You rolled your eyes but took it anyway, smiling to yourself at the playful title.
“Wait. Is that why you took me out for a swim last time?” You asked after a beat.
“I can neither confirm nor deny.” He replied.
Of course, he did. Qi Yu always noticed the things no one else did. It was probably the best you had felt in weeks—between managing your trading company and the whirlwind of wedding preparations, you barely had time to breathe, let alone take care of yourself. You doubted you looked anything like your usual self, yet he saw right through you, past the practiced smiles and the carefully placed composure.
And instead of prying or lecturing, he did what he always did—found a way to silently lift your spirits.
If you were anyone else, maybe you would have blushed, or even teared up at the kindness of it. But instead, you just sat there, your heart swelling in a way that felt almost too much to contain. It wasn’t grand declarations or sweeping gestures that made Qi Yu matter to you. It was this—the quiet understanding, the effortless way he made you feel seen.
“How’s life been for you?” You asked after the long silence.
He let out a noncommittal hum, stretching his arms behind his head. “Eh, it comes and goes. My family is still my family. They mean well, I suppose, but they’ll never see me as anything more than a tool for their political gain.”
You frowned, shifting slightly to face him better. “I’m sorry it’s like that.”
Qi Yu shrugged, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, he turned to you with that easy, mischievous grin that always made your chest feel lighter. “It’s alright. It can’t be that bad. After all, it’s a beautiful sunny day and I’m here on the beach with my absolute favorite person in the world.”
You raised a brow. “I’m your favorite person?”
He leveled you with a deadpan look. “I better be your favorite person.”
You held his gaze for a moment before letting out a small laugh. “Yeah,” you admitted softly. “You are.”
There was a quiet ache in the realization—an ever-present guilt in the back of your mind. There was an entire person who had woven himself so deeply into your life, into your thoughts, and yet, he was a secret you could never share. It wasn’t just about keeping a hidden rendezvous; it was about knowing that something so important, so fundamental to your happiness, existed in a space no one else could acknowledge.
Qi Yu was more than just a friend. He was a constant, a presence you sought out when the world above felt too heavy. With him, there were no expectations, no formalities. You could quip and tease, trade sharp words and easy laughter, or simply exist in comfortable silence, letting the tide do the talking. He knew your moods without you having to explain them. He understood your frustrations before you voiced them. And yet, when you returned home, it was as if he disappeared from existence, a fragment of your life tucked away where no one could see.
Tara knew, of course. She always knew. There was an unspoken understanding in the way she glanced at you when you returned late, in the way she never asked where you had been. You suspected she wanted to, that curiosity burned behind her knowing eyes, but she never pried. Maybe she understood what it meant to keep something precious away from prying hands.
And yet, as much as you longed for more—for a world where you could pull Qi Yu into the sunlight and introduce him as the irreplaceable part of your life that he was—you knew better than to be selfish. His world was different from yours, vast and hidden beneath the waves, full of people and places you might never know.
But for you, Qi Yu was here . He was real . He was a part of your life in a way that no one else was. And even if the rest of the world never knew, you did.
And that had to be enough.
.
.
.
.
.
Your face warmed as you recalled your last gathering.
"Your eyes are so beautiful." You murmured honestly, staring into them as you both treaded water, the ocean stretching endlessly around you.
Qi Yu had convinced you to join him in the sea again, and you'd happily obliged, unable to resist the allure of the water—or him. You watched as he swam effortlessly, quick and fluid like he was a part of the waves themselves, moving with a grace no human could ever match. He was beautiful and you knew he knew it, the way his smirk deepened every time he caught you looking. But for once, you didn’t have it in you to bite back with a snarky remark. Instead, a slow, unfamiliar warmth settled in your stomach.
You sat at the surface and when you got too tired, Qi Yu would lay out for you to lay your upper body on. Currently you were lounging against his chest as the two of you floated. You had been staring at his eyes, marveling at the blues and pink hues that stared back at you.
"Thank you for noticing.” He quipped, voice carrying amusement, though there was something softer beneath it.
You didn't look away, letting your fingers brush against his damp skin as you reached up to push strands of wet hair from his forehead. He let you, watching you with quiet curiosity.
It was almost concerning how familiar you were with his body. The little moles he had on his skin — a few on his chest, one below his elbow, another behind his ear. You had traced a single finger along his skin, learning him. While you were staring into his eyes, you spied some light blue strands that were at the edge towards his face.
"Thank you for being my friend.” You said at last, voice quieter, more serious.
Qi Yu regarded you with an arched brow. "Come on, you're my friend too. Are you really about to get all sappy on me, my lady?"
"Shut up." You flushed slightly, but you held his gaze. "Just listen, okay?"
For once, he stayed silent, though the usual teasing glint in his eyes was replaced with something softer.
"You’re the only person in my life who doesn’t care about who I am, who doesn’t expect things from me. You know I’m a noble, but you don’t ask from which territory. You don’t tiptoe around me or try to use me for something. You just—see me. And I really appreciate that.”
A slow smile tugged at Qi Yu’s lips before he pulled you closer, pressing your upper body against his as you both floated. "You mean my confident, determined, sassy, completely unbothered by propriety friend?" His arms tightened slightly around you. "Yeah. She’s the best.”
You snorted but smiled, settling into his side, the rhythmic lapping of the waves soothing against your skin.
“This is the part where you talk about me.” He added, smirking.
You rolled your eyes but decided to humor him. “You’re kind, even though you hide it behind twenty layers of snark. You’re endlessly cute. And you’re a great friend.”
“And you forgot ruggedly handsome.” He added with a smug grin.
You huffed a quiet laugh, your finger absentmindedly tracing a slow line down his chest. “That and extremely sexy.”
The moment the words left your mouth, the world seemed to still. You hadn't meant to say it—it had just slipped out so easily, so naturally, that you didn't even think before speaking. And now it was too late. Qi Yu stilled beneath you, the teasing in his eyes darkening into something else entirely. Before you could panic, he pulled you against his chest once more, this time with a slowness that made your breath catch.
"You," he murmured, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering at your cheek, "are so incredibly beautiful."
Your pulse jumped. His gaze was so intense, too much, too consuming. You couldn't hold it—you let your eyes flicker down, desperate for an escape, only to find yourself staring at his abs, the water making them glisten like something carved by the gods. Your throat dried. When you dared to glance back up, you caught him staring, too. His eyes were fixed somewhere decidedly lower than your face, mouth parted slightly as if he'd just realized he was staring at your damp chest.
Feeling bold, you lifted one of your breasts and gave it a slow, deliberate squeeze, watching with satisfaction as Qi Yu's lips parted slightly, his expression flickering between fascination and restraint. His pinkish eyes followed every movement, dark and unreadable, but the twitch at the corners of his lips betrayed him.
A thrill ran down your spine. He was entranced. And you—well, you felt powerful.
Maintaining eye contact, you pushed aside the damp fabric of your top, letting it slip lower until your breasts were completely bare to him. The ocean breeze sent a pleasant shiver across your exposed skin, the cool air contrasting deliciously with the heat pooling in your stomach. You cupped yourself again, unabashedly showing off, watching how his throat bobbed as he swallowed.
Qi Yu exhaled sharply, his restraint snapping like a delicate thread.
He leaned forward, his touch firm yet reverent as he brushed your hand aside. His lips found one taut peak, latching on with a heat that had you gasping. The first flick of his tongue sent a jolt through your core, your fingers tangling into his wet hair as a quiet moan escaped your lips. He sucked and nibbled at the sensitive flesh, his other hand palming your neglected breast, kneading with an almost lazy indulgence.
The sensation had you arching into him, chest pressing against his mouth, craving more, more, more. Your legs instinctively tightened around his waist as you moved to straddle him, heat coiling between you—
A deafening boom of thunder shattered the moment, the sky above flashing in an angry warning.
You both sprang apart like startled animals, your hands flying to cover yourself, eyes wide as reality came crashing down around you. The weight of what had just happened—what was about to happen—settled between you like a physical wall.
Qi Yu exhaled, dragging a hand down his face before finally meeting your gaze, his expression unreadable. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible over the ocean’s restless churning.
“I should bring you back before it starts to rain.”
You swallowed, forcing down the erratic pounding of your heart. “That’s… that’s a good idea.”
Yet, even as you reached for your discarded top, you couldn’t ignore the lingering heat in his gaze—or the unspoken promise hanging between you.
Since then there had been so much sexual tension in your meetings. Yes, you had found him attractive the moment you met him, but you never acted on it. Now you have the acute knowledge of how his large hands felt grasping your breasts, how he wanted to suck on your tits.
Goddamn it, he was so fucking hot!
You attempted to calm yourself for the twentieth time, attempting to focus on the task at hand. Your sister needed you to help plan and organize her wedding. You needed to lock-in and keep the thoughts of the sexy mermaid out of mind until you saw him again.
So of course, you busied yourself with every detail of the wedding — helping Tara pick out the flowers, choosing the perfect shade of white for her wedding dress, debating between the two dozen cakes she had narrowed it down to (each more extravagant than the last). She was a whirlwind of excitement, and despite your distracted mind, you found yourself actually enjoying the process.
The more you spent time with Tara, the more you realized how much she genuinely cared for you.
The two of you had become closer in ways you would have never expected. It was no longer just the sisterly bond that came with the fate of a novel—it was a real friendship, one that had grown organically over shared laughs, late-night talks, and some surprisingly candid advice.
Today was no different. You were sitting across from her at a small cafe, the sun dipping low in the sky as the warm afternoon light streamed through the windows. The two of you had spent the morning scouring wedding boutiques, getting into the nitty-gritty of fabric textures and floral arrangements. Now, you were both enjoying a peaceful break, sipping tea and nibbling on delicate pastries.
You stirred your tea absentmindedly, the quiet buzz of the cafe in the background, when Tara’s voice broke the comfortable silence.
“Something is different about you recently.” She said, her eyes narrowing with a knowing glint.
You blinked, momentarily confused. “What do you mean?”
Tara’s lips curved into a mischievous grin and you could tell she wasn’t going to let this slide. “You’re smiling just a little too much.” She said, a playful edge to her tone. “You’ve got that dopey look on your face again.”
“I’m just a happy person.” You muttered, trying to brush it off.
“Oh, uh-huh. Sure, sure.” Tara laughed, her voice rising slightly as she continued to tease.
You stared at her, half-amused and half-embarrassed. “What now?”
Tara’s grin widened, her eyes glinting with mischief. “I’ve seen you laugh evilly while making snow angels in a pile of gold, but nothing like this.” She leaned forward, tapping her chin with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “Is it a man?”
You almost spat out your tea. “What?!” Your face immediately turned a shade of red, and you tried to recover with a dramatic eye roll. “Absolutely not.”
“Mm-hmm.” She sang, clearly not convinced. “So it is a man.”
You slammed your teacup down with a slight thud. “You know better than anyone that there isn’t a man in my life that can handle me.”
Tara’s eyebrows waggled in mock curiosity, her voice dripping with playfulness. “That’s not what I said.” She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms with a teasing smile. “Just that you’ve got a man on your mind.”
A sudden warmth flooded your cheeks and you quickly turned your head to avoid her gaze. “Nope, no way…”
“So who is it, then?” Tara asked, her voice turning mock-serious. “Someone I know?”
You groaned and looked around the cafe to make sure no one was listening—though the place was fairly quiet, the last thing you wanted was the gossip mill catching onto anything. “No, it’s nothing.” You affirmed, lowering your voice to a whisper. “We talk, we flirt, that’s it.”
Tara leaned in even closer, her grin never faltering. “Flirting, huh? Is he cute?”
You couldn’t help but laugh a little at her overly eager expression. “That’s the thing! He’s—ugh! I don’t even know if I’m serious about it. It’s just some light banter here and there. You know, casual. Nothing major.”
“Wow, look at you all flustered just by talking about him! He must be hotter than you’re saying.”
“He’s… he has rockhard abs.”
“You’ve seen him shirtless already?”
!
Your face flushed a deep red as you leaned back in surprise, caught completely off guard by how your sister mentally cornered you. She burst into laughter, her joy infectious, and you couldn’t help but playfully slap her shoulder to get her to stop. Her giggles echoed, but eventually, she calmed down, her face softening into a genuine smile as she looked at you with warmth.
“You know I won’t judge you.” Tara put a hand over yours, comfortingly. “If anything, you’re practically glowing just speaking about him to me.”
“I’m not glowing.” You grumbled, but the warmth in your cheeks said otherwise.
“Sure, sure.” Tara teased, now fully enjoying your discomfort. “But you know what? It’s nice to see you smile for real. After everything that happened, I think you deserve it. A little light flirting never hurt anyone.”
You softened at her words, touched by the genuine care she was showing. “Thanks, Tara. Given our positions, I didn’t think anyone would be supportive of… this.” You gestured vaguely, still feeling oddly shy about the whole thing.
“Of course, I’m supportive.” Tara raised her teacup in a mock toast. “I’m practically your official cheerleader now. If it doesn’t work out, though, just remember—this face?” She pointed to herself with exaggerated pride. “I’ll always be here with a cup of tea and some good advice. But for now…” She winked. “I’m rooting for you.”
You chuckled, shaking your head. “Well, I don’t know if you need to be rooting for anything, but thanks.”
Tara sat back, looking smug. “Anytime. And remember, don’t let him off too easily. A little mystery never hurts anyone.”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Right back atcha, sis.”
Unfortunately, choosing to confide in your younger sister had been the wrong call. While Tara had been nothing but supportive, it seemed she took it upon herself to become your personal investigator. She never asked outright who the lucky man was, but that didn’t stop her from becoming a detective in her own right. It was almost impressive how quickly she turned into the worst kind of matchmaking enthusiast.
You couldn’t even attend a noble gathering without her somehow tagging along—whether it was an afternoon tea, a banquet, or yet another gala-style party. Tara would always make sure she was there, of course, but that wasn’t the worst part. No, the worst part was how she would plant herself across the room like a hawk, her eyes constantly scanning for you.
You would shoot her a warning look across the room, to which she would only respond with a wink and an overly innocent smile. It was funny at first, mostly because you knew exactly what she was up to. It was a bit like a game, where she tried to decipher who you were really interested in by watching your every interaction. But despite all her attempts, you knew one thing for certain: she would never figure it out this way.
“Ah, another dance with Lord Tavish? Curious.” She’d say to you in the carriage ride home, practically purring as she watched from the other end of the ballroom. “You two look cozy. Is there something I should know?”
You’d roll your eyes and brush it off, already exhausted but laughing internally at her attention. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. We’re talking about the latest investment strategies. Trust me, there’s nothing exciting going on here.”
Tara, of course, wouldn’t be dissuaded. “Mm-hmm. Sure. Because Lord Tavish is so into talking about market trends.”
You'd sigh, knowing you could never win. It was like trying to outwit a bloodhound when it came to her level of persistence.
As she continued her hunt for answers, you found yourself secretly amused, though a little irritated by the whole thing. Still, there was a part of you that appreciated how much she cared about your happiness—even if it meant enduring her little spy sessions. After all, you couldn’t imagine a life without her antics. Even if you did have to keep things a little more secret for now.
And of course, you told your mermaid friend all about it the next day when you saw him. You sighed, brushing some damp strands of hair from your face as you looked out at the waves crashing against the shore.
"Can you believe how far she’s willing to go to track down this mysterious man?" You asked, rolling your eyes.
Qi Yu, sitting with his tail stretched out on the rocks beside you, perked up immediately at the mention of a ‘mysterious man.’ He shifted closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief, clearly interested. His fingers idly traced patterns on the stone, but his gaze never wavered from you.
"Is that so?" His voice dropped to a teasing murmur. "Sounds like this man makes your heart race. Who wouldn’t want to know more?"
You huffed, trying to look unaffected. "I guess. I just didn’t think I’d be dealing with this at all, you know? My relationship with her it's just... not what I expected."
A slow, calculating smile spread across his face. He leaned back, propping himself up on one elbow, still watching you intently. "So... who is it, then?”
“Hm?”
“Who’s the lucky man?”
You froze for a moment, staring at him. It was almost as if the air had thickened between you. Your pulse quickened, and for just a split second, you wondered if you should just tell him the truth.
That this mysterious man was... him.
You fought the urge to shoot yourself in the mouth. You were so used to telling Qi Yu everything that you never wondered if he would ask who this mystery man was. It never occurred to you that he might have asked the million dollar question, just assumed that Qi Yu would know it was him.
Biting your lip, you chose your words carefully, trying to play it cool. "I—well, you don't need to know."
The small smile never left his lips, though his eyes flickered with curiosity. It was the kind of look that made your stomach tighten, the kind that made you wonder if he was getting closer to something you weren’t ready to say out loud. He leaned in a little closer, not quite touching you, but enough that you felt the warmth of his proximity.
He didn’t wait for an answer.
He just knew.
His expression softened slightly, his teasing giving way to something that felt more... intimate. "Come here, my lady." He beckoned you with a raised palm, voice low and gentle.
You raised a brow at him, unsure of what exactly he had in mind. But you didn't question it, never with him. You stood and walked toward him, the cool sand beneath your feet contrasting with the warmth emanating from his body as you sat next to him.
Immediately, you felt that warmth, like a furnace just beside you, and despite the cool water from the waves, it was comforting in a way. His gaze lingered on you, his eyes tracing over your damp skirts, lingering on your lips before returning to your face. The teasing light was still there, but now something else flickered behind it, something more dangerous, more electric.
You held his gaze, your breath catching slightly in your throat. The usual playful banter was gone. The air between you two was thick with unspoken words, and for once, you weren’t sure what to say.
He didn’t break eye contact. Slowly, ever so slowly, he leaned in, his lips just a hair’s breadth from yours. You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin and your heart skipped a beat. But, instead of closing the gap, instead of kissing you as you had both been teetering on the edge of, Qi Yu paused.
He raised a hand to the side of your face, brushing aside some hair before lowering to your collarbone. His touch burned through the fabric as he pushed it aside, his lips brushing the curve of your collarbone instead, his touch so featherlight it made you shiver.
The sudden move caught you off guard, your breath hitching as his lips lingered on your skin, the sensation sending a wave of warmth coursing through you. You feared that he could hear how fast your heart was racing. Every inch of your skin seemed to be hyper-aware of the intimacy, the closeness, the fog of tension building between you two.
Just as you thought the world might come to a crashing halt, the sound of a distant wave breaking against the rocks shattered the moment, pulling you both back to reality. The noise was loud, jarring, and with it, the electric connection between you two seemed to flicker and break apart.
Qi Yu pulled back slightly, his eyes flicking up to yours, a half-smile tugging at his lips, but now there was something else—something more sincere, hidden beneath the playful facade. You couldn't quite place it, but you could feel the change.
"Well." He said with a soft laugh, breaking the silence, "That was..."
Your pulse still raced, each beat echoing in your ears as you tried to steady your breath, trying to ignore the way Qi Yu's touch lingered on your skin. The heat of the moment still clung to you like a second skin. You cleared your throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure, though your heart refused to slow. “Maybe next time.” You muttered, barely above a whisper.
“Next time?” Qi Yu's voice was thick with curiosity, but there was an underlying intensity, a deeper hunger in his gaze that made your stomach tighten. His eyes never left you, and the way he looked at you sent a shiver down your spine. His playful smile was still there, but now it felt more dangerous, more loaded.
You stood up, your legs a little unsteady as you tried to move away, hoping the fresh air would cool your fiery thoughts. It was too much. All of it was too much. This connection with him—the one relationship in your life that you cherished as just you and him, with no titles, no wealth, no obligations. No one else mattered here.
But damn it, was he hot.
Fuck it.
With a deep breath, you pivoted on your heel and walked back toward him. Qi Yu was still sitting, looking out at the ocean, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside you. But you weren’t going to let this moment slip away. Not this time.
In a burst of sudden confidence, you pounced. With two outstretched arms, you threw them around his neck, yanking him down into a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was wild, bruising, a desperate clash of lips as you poured all your pent-up frustration, desire, and need into him. The kiss was deep, hungry, and everything you had been holding back for so long. His lips parted beneath yours, and you took the invitation, tangling your tongue with his in an intimate dance that made your head spin.
If you had a dollar for every time you stared at his abs, you’d be a millionaire. But also, every time something happened in your life, he was the first person you wanted to tell. Everything led back to him and you only wanted to grab him and make him breathless beneath you.
Qi Yu's hands, large and warm, immediately grasped your waist, holding you steady as the kiss deepened. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his chest pressing against yours as his fingers tightened on your waist, pulling you even closer.
Without thinking, you straddled him, your thighs wrapping around his hips and you could feel the heat of his body through the thin, damp fabric separating you. The shift in position made the kiss more intense, more intoxicating. Your body surged with an undeniable hunger, a need you could no longer ignore. You took control, rolling your hips into his as you kissed him deeper, your hands tangled in his hair. He groaned into your mouth, a low sound that made your body tingle in all the right ways.
His fingers pressed into your skin, but there was something in his eyes now—something that mirrored the look in your own—that made you crave more. The power shifted between you two, a balance of give and take, as you kissed him like there was no tomorrow, like you might never get this chance again.
But just as the moment reached its peak, Qi Yu pulled away just enough to look up at you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
“Well.” He said, a teasing smile curling at the corner of his lips, though his eyes were still dark with that earlier desire. “That certainly wasn’t ‘next time,’ was it?”
You both stared at each other for a beat, the air between you thick with the remnants of the kiss, the tension still humming just beneath the surface.
“I blame you.”
“What?”
You muttered just loud enough for him to hear over the waves. “Why are you so fucking hot?”
His smile widened, a smug, knowing curl of his lips. He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. His eyes were all over you—drinking you in like a man starving for the sight of you. Your white garments clung to you almost transparent from the water, leaving nothing to the imagination. Every inch of your skin, from your pert nipples to the curve of your body, was on full display for him. And he was enjoying it far too much.
You shifted uncomfortably, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from him either. The weight of his gaze made your skin tingle, and you were caught between wanting to run from the intensity of it and the undeniable pull that kept you rooted in place.
“Then as your mystery man,” Qi Yu murmured, his voice low and husky now, as he lifted a hand and brushed it lightly toward your body. His fingers ghosted across a hardened peak, an obvious, deliberate gesture that made your breath catch. “It’s my duty to keep you warm, my lady.”
You blinked, your pulse spiking once more at the teasing way he spoke, the innuendo hanging thick in the air between you two. His hand didn’t leave your chest, but the way he looked at you made your legs feel weak and your body felt like it was on fire.
“Is it now?” You managed to reply, your voice unsteady, trying to maintain some semblance of control, though you were far past being in control at this point.
His gaze softened, but there was still that edge in the way his eyes burned into you. “Of course,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like melted honey. “And I always keep my promises.”
Before you could respond, Qi Yu leaned forward, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your neck. His touch was gentle, but the intensity of it was anything but soft. The moment you had both been dancing around had arrived and you were powerless to resist it.
The sea roared behind you, but all you could hear now was the sound of your own ragged breath as his lips found your collarbone, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin. His hands were everywhere, cupping a breast as the other roamed your body to feel every damp curve.
He pulled back, just enough to look you in the eyes, his gaze now searching, waiting.
And you... you couldn’t look away.
“I guess we’re both keeping promises tonight.” You whispered, your voice low and full of unspoken invitation.
Every visit to the beach thereafter was your favorite part of the week. You would talk about everything and nothing, from your responsibilities to your titles to the way your parents were governing your lives.
Qi Yu would comb your hair with his fingers, lavishing the softness of it as you laid against his bare chest. You loved how warm he was, soft skin cuddled against you. He would tell you about his territory and you would nod along, nuzzling your head under his chin and savoring your time together.
The best part was the way your meetings ended.
After that first makeout, every meeting ended with his hands exploring all over you. You never crossed the line into sex, had only just kissed until the sun dipped below the horizon. But since then, you felt the stakes rising with every visit.
Qi Yu would get a gleam in his eye, one you were sure you were mirroring back to him, before either one of you would pounce. Many times you had straddled his waist, rolling your hips against his to get as much friction as possible. Sometimes he would lay you down, licking and squeezing your breasts as you moaned his name.
Today was a first.
You had a hand covering your mouth, attempting to silence your loud moans as Qi Yu’s head disappeared beyond your thighs. You had one hand in his purple hair, almost pulling him closer to you as he abused your clit with hard sucks.
You were swimming in the water together, just laughing and splashing each other until something had changed. Perhaps it was your particularly sexy swimsuit or the fact that you tried especially hard to showcase your ass today, bending over to ‘pick up some interesting looking seashells.’
He took the bait, even though you knew that he knew what you were doing. Qi Yu grabbed you by the waist and immediately kissed you, pulling aside your bathing suit top until your breasts came free. The ocean air was cold for a moment, but he made sure to immediately cover your skin with his own before bringing you back to shore.
It was so sexy to hear Qi Yu’s adjoining moans, as if eating you out was turning him on too. He had a hand on your tummy to hold you down, but his mouth made a vacuum-like suction on your lower pearl and you could not help but writhe beneath him.
“Yes, yes…! You’re so good to me…” You babbled out.
He lifted his head, your essence dripping from his lips. “Don’t cover your mouth. I wanna hear you.”
His words, no matter how soft or gentle, felt like commands you had to follow. You moaned loudly in response, upper back lifting off the sand on instinct. No matter how kind or teasing Qi Yu looked, he could flip a switch into a commanding air that could have you on your knees panting.
He outlined your pussy with one finger, slowly dipping it into your cavern as you got more and more desperate.
“Inside, inside. Need you.”
You could almost feel Qi Yu’s smirk as you begged him for more. He slowly stuffed his finger in, down to the knuckles, enjoying as you cried out in response.
“Is my lady close?” You could barely hear him whisper.
“Yes, yes, yes…!”
You came with a crash, but that hardly stopped him from slobbering over your dripping cunt as you came. He held you by the waist to his mouth, sucking you for all your worth even as you cried. You collapsed onto the sand and stared down at him, enjoying the self-satisfied look he shot you.
“That was amazing.”
Qi Yu smirked at you. “Only the best, for my favorite businesswoman.”
You put a hand on his chest, moving to sit up. “Let me take care of you too.”
He flushed, looking at your bare breasts as if he was engraving it into his mind. And, out of nowhere, he kissed you by the hair gently, then pulled you to simply cuddle into his side.
“Another time.”
You pouted, to which he squeezed your cheeks. He couldn’t help it - you just looked so cute.
Yes, this was your favorite part of the week.
.
.
.
.
The shift in how people viewed you was almost surreal. Nobles who had once ignored or ridiculed you were now vying for your influence. Marriage proposals and trade offers flooded in from the very same individuals who had once labeled you a ‘Villainess.’
It was as though your worth had suddenly been recognized just because you did the opposite of what society told you to do. You were independently wealthy, but had gone about it without a marriage.
Surprisingly, your father never pushed you to consider any of these proposals. Instead, his trust in you grew, especially after the success of your business ventures, which had earned you a newfound respect in his eyes. If anything, it showed him that you were going to be alright taking on the world on your own.
It was your younger sister who wanted nothing more than to see you get married.
Every proposal that came in the mail, she would watch your reaction closely to see if that mystery man had sent something in. But with each passing day nothing had changed and you could definitely tell she was getting impatient.
Especially after she caught you…
You were changing into a maid of honor dress, a deep lilac set aside by her majesty the Queen. It was a nice dress, expensive with many embellishments fit for royalty.
But it was ugly.
Hideously ugly — a fact that both you and Tara agreed on the moment you saw it.
Since it was only your sister, you had no qualms about dressing down in front of her as you tried on different styles in her room. There were five or six left you had to try on, but it was clear to both you and her that Her Majesty’s pick were not going to be great. The maids had long left the room to get dinner since they knew it would be a long night.
You stood in front of the mirror as you changed, absent-minded as another dress was thrown in your direction.
“What is that?!”
You blinked, turning toward her in confusion. Tara’s gaze wasn’t on your dress—it was locked somewhere lower, her expression an odd mix of scandalized and gleeful. Following her line of sight, your stomach dropped.
Oh, fuck.
That asshole.
“Is that a hickey?!” Tara’s voice shot up an octave, her eyes practically sparkling with newfound ammunition against you.
“No—”
“Don’t you dare lie to me,” she cut you off, stepping forward like a detective closing in on a suspect. “I know a hickey when I see one.”
You opened your mouth, scrambling for an excuse, but she was already on a roll. “It’s not like that…!”
“Oh, come on.” Tara folded her arms, voice dripping with exasperation. “What, did he trip and fall, his lips just so happened to latch onto the inside of your thigh?”
You glared at her, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Can you lower your voice?!”
“Wow, look at you.” she said, eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m kinda jealous you get all this freedom. The maids follow Prince Thomas and me around like hawks. If we so much as hold hands, every servant in a ten-mile radius goes on high alert.”
You shot her a flat look. “Cry me a river.”
But Tara only kept staring at the area, even after you straightened out the dress and your skin was out of view. “So is it any good?”
“Tara!” You pulled her closer to you, as if someone would hear. “We haven’t had sex yet.”
Tara’s eyes widened like saucers. “Yet?!” She let out a dramatic gasp, clutching her chest. “So you are planning on it!”
You sighed and closed your eyes. “We kissed one time and then things kinda just happened. We’re not planning anything.”
She had a small smile on her face, genuine curiosity beaming back at you. “Who is it?”
Your chest tightened slightly. You weren’t ready to answer that—not yet. “We’re just taking things as they come.” You admitted. “No labels, no pressure. Just… us.”
Tara studied you for a moment before nodding in understanding. “Okay. But you do know who’s the first person you’ll tell when you are ready, right?”
You smiled. “It’ll always be you.”
“Exactly.”
She grinned, plopping onto the chaise as you turned back to the mirror to look at the dress, the original reason you were even changing in front of her. A brief silence settled between you as you adjusted the fit of the dress, waiting for her opinion.
Then—
“So… not that I’m fishing for details, but—”
You sighed. “Oh my God.”
“I have to ask! Why that low?” Tara’s voice was laced with pure curiosity.
You stilled, turning to face her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” She gestured vaguely toward your thigh. “Does he like… kiss you? Everywhere?”
You raised a brow at her in the mirror. “Have you never had the birds and bees talk?”
She groaned, throwing her head back. “Of course I have! Dad made it equally traumatizing for both me and him, thank you very much.”
You winced. “Yikes.”
“Yeah.” She shuddered. “But he only talked about, y’know… baby-making.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, there’s other things people do that make each other feel good. And he, my mystery guy, he’s amazing at making me feel good. He listens to me.” You said candidly, deciding it best to answer her question since she was soon to be married without the necessary knowledge.
She blinked. “So he… uses his lips? Down there? ”
“Yeah. Lips, fingers. It helps with the prep.” You nodded back.
“The prep, right.” She repeated back. “I figured since like. Sometimes those things are massive and there has to be a way to make it not hurt, right?”
“For sure. But knowing you and Thomas, you’ll figure it out.”
Her voice sounded genuinely curious. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah, he loves you so much.” You replied. “He’ll cherish you for sure.”
“Okay, thanks for saying that. I’ve honestly been a little worried about that part since everyone’s so vague. I needed to hear this.”
You turned to her and smiled. “Of course. If you need any questions, your big sister is here for you.”
Tara grinned. “Good. Because I definitely have more.”
You groaned back. “Of course you do.”
Ever since that conversation a week ago, Tara had been relentless—an absolute hawk —watching your every move, waiting for you to slip up. Any time you so much as glanced at a male noble, she was right there, eyes sharp with suspicion and glee, ready to pounce.
It hardly helped that the palace was hosting a grand banquet at the end of the week, a dazzling affair meant to welcome the nobility from the neighboring southern kingdom, a string of islands united under one banner. The recent trade agreements had strengthened ties between your country and theirs.
And what better way was there to celebrate than with an opulent night of music, wine, and diplomacy disguised as revelry?
You had mentioned the banquet to Qi Yu in passing, mostly complaining about the inevitable exhaustion of noble politics and the endless matchmaking attempts that were bound to occur. He had listened intently, but there had been a strange glint in his eyes—sharp, knowing, mischievous. You knew that look, had learned to recognize it as a warning sign of impending trouble. But before you could press him for an explanation, his hand had found its way under your skirt, and—well.
The party had become the least of your concerns.
Now, you stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching as nobles twirled and drank the night away, laughter and the clinking of glasses filling the air. The center of attention was the visiting royal family, more specifically, the Crown Prince—young, single, and therefore a prime target. A swarm of nobles surrounded him, each one vying for a moment of his attention, hoping to secure favor, a marriage, or simply the bragging rights of having charmed foreign royalty.
You had yet to see him, but Tara had sighed dreamily, whispering that he was devastatingly handsome. It was not like you wanted to seek him out either, because no matter how dazzling the company, there was only one person on your mind.
You wondered what Qi Yu was doing at this very moment.
Tara and Prince Thomas stuck by your side throughout the banquet, the three of you moving through the crowd together. You played the role of their chaperone, a polite smile on your face as you moved from one conversation to the next. As the evening wore on, you found yourself greeting other nobles absently, your mind wandering as you tried to make polite small talk.
That was, until a new voice cut through your thoughts, and a man approached the couple with an easy smile, offering a greeting that caught your attention.
Tara was practically vibrating with excitement as she nudged you forward. “Ah! I don’t think you’ve had the chance to officially meet my sister yet.” She chirped, her voice a little too eager.
Officially? You mind wondered, What odd phrasing.
Thomas, ever the polite one, gestured toward the tall figure in front of you. “Welcome, this is my future sister-in-law.” He said smoothly before turning his attention to the man beside him. “And this is Prince Rafayel of the Southern Isles.”
You plastered on a polite smile, dipping into a well-practiced curtsy. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Highness.”
As you straightened up, your gaze met his, and for a brief second, something nagged at you. His face was striking—purple hair, sharp blueish-pink eyes that almost glowed under the golden ballroom lights. He was handsome, that much was undeniable. If anything, you felt that the noble gossip had actually not hyped up his good looks enough.
But there was something about him… something vaguely familiar.
Before you could dwell on it, he took your hand in his, lifting it toward his lips with a slow, deliberate grace. “Of course.” He murmured, voice like silk. “A beautiful flower like you is always my pleasure.”
You barely kept yourself from making a face, fighting the urge to drop your polite smile into an instinctive grimace. You had heard about his charming behavior, but experiencing it firsthand was another thing entirely.
Maybe he was just this way with everyone?
“Ahh… Sure.” You replied, voice a little stiffer than you intended and showing off your impressive vocabulary.
But Prince Rafayel was undeterred. With an easy smile and a confident tilt of his head, he extended a hand. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?”
You hesitated for a second too long, but before you could form an excuse, Tara nudged you—hard.
“Go on!” she hissed under her breath, practically beaming with glee.
Trapped, you had no choice but to place your hand in Rafayel's. His grip was firm and warm, the kind of touch that felt oddly familiar, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on why. There was something about the way his fingers wrapped around yours that eased the tension in your chest, almost like it had happened before. Without a word, Rafayel guided you toward the dance floor, moving with a grace that seemed to command the attention of the entire room. As the two of you stepped into the center, the nobles quickly parted, their whispers starting almost immediately, a low hum of curiosity and speculation.
She’s dancing with the foreign prince!
They look rather striking together, don’t they?
Do you think he’s interested?
You ignored them. It wasn’t like you had a choice in this dance, and even if you had, it wasn’t as if you’d ever—
The music started and Rafayel pulled you in close, a hand unnecessarily around your waist. You were not at all discreet as you moved it up your back into a more modest position. He guided you effortlessly across the floor. His movements were fluid, precise, as if he had memorized the rhythm of your body before you had even taken the first step.
“You’re tense.” He murmured, voice smooth with amusement.
“I’m focused.”
His lips twitched, eyes gleaming with something playful. “On me?”
“On not tripping in front of an entire ballroom of noble families.” You shot back, arching a brow.
“Hmm. I saw you dance earlier, could’ve fooled me.” Rafayel spun you, his hand trailing down your arm before catching your palm once more. “And here I thought you were enjoying yourself.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Why would I be enjoying myself?”
He smiled as if you had told a joke. “Because you like talking to me.”
You scoffed. “That’s an assumption.”
“A correct one.” His finger traveled back down to your waist, pressing down lightly into the fabrics, sending an unexpected shiver up your spine. “You don’t have to admit it now, of course. I can wait.”
The confidence.
The sheer audacity.
“You’ll be waiting a long time.” You muttered, glaring at him.
He hummed as if considering your words, then effortlessly dipped you back, his face hovering far too close to yours. “I’ve got nothing but time while I’m here.” He whispered, his breath warm against your skin.
Your heart stuttered, but you quickly schooled your expression and let out a sharp breath. “Do you practice these lines in the mirror?”
“Only for special occasions.” His smirk deepened.
Your glare held, but it was getting increasingly difficult to ignore how easy it was to banter with him.
Most men would call you unruly or that you had an uncouth tongue, not fit for a wife in this day and age. There was only one exception to the rule and he was somewhere out in the ocean at this point. And now, there was another man in front of you, with striking eyes and a teasing smile that matched your own. He even seemed to enjoy this verbal back-and-forth you had.
It was… concerning.
The music slowed and Rafayel’s hand lingered at your waist for just a moment longer than necessary. The ballroom erupted into polite applause for all the dancing couples at the end of the song, as they usually did, and you hastily took a step back, desperate to put some distance between you.
He, of course, looked completely unbothered.
You huffed, smoothing your dress as if that would somehow settle the odd warmth spreading through your chest. “Thank you again for the dance, Your Highness.”
Rafayel bowed slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “The pleasure was all mine.”
You turned on your heel before he could say anything else infuriating, but you could feel his eyes on you as you walked away—watching, waiting. And for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why it felt so damn familiar.
From his striking hair color to the mesmerizing depth of his eyes, it felt as though you had been gazing into them for hours, memorizing every flicker and glimmer.
There was something about those eyes, something that tugged at the edges of your memory, as if you were on the verge of unlocking a long-lost secret.
But just as you thought you could place it, a wave of confusion washed over you, and all the clarity you had just begun to grasp vanished in an instant, leaving you with nothing but the same nagging sense of familiarity.
You had hoped—prayed—that would be the last of him. But, of course, the universe had other plans. Tara nearly squealed when you returned to her side later, grabbing your arm with barely restrained excitement. Apparently almost all eyes were on you both during your dance, even jealous onlookers had to admit that you looked like a handsome pair.
“Do you know how many people were watching you two? I swear, half the room looked ready to smite you; they were so jealous.”
You groaned. “He’s infuriating.”
She only smiled knowingly, sipping her drink with an insufferable air of smugness. “And yet, you danced with him.”
“He’s a foreign prince and this party is basically for him. That was my obligation.” You huffed.
Tara didn’t look convinced.
And neither, apparently, was Rafayel.
Because for the rest of the night, he hovered. Not obviously, at least for most people, but you were keenly aware of his eyes on you. It was infuriating how he always seemed to be nearby. A lingering presence at the edge of your vision. You thought your very obvious attempts at disdain would make him lose interest, but no—he took it as a challenge.
After a few more nameless dances, Prince Rafayel somehow managed to slip away, only to return moments later with a small plate in hand. Casually he swapped your empty champagne glass with the plate—an assortment of grapes, delicate slices of cured meats, and fresh mozzarella cheese.
Your favorites.
You blinked in surprise, glancing up at him, but he only offered a knowing smile, as if this gesture was the most natural thing in the world. How did he know? Had he been paying that much attention to you?
“You looked like you wanted something to eat.” He said simply.
You eyed the plate suspiciously. Last you checked, they weren’t even serving half the things he handed you. “How did you—”
“I have my ways.” He smirked before winking.
Winking.
You almost threw a canapé at him.
When you glared at Tara next to you, she only shook her head and said there was no way Rafayel heard it from her. You wanted to believe that this was just the charming Prince’s personality, but there was no one else he was so attentive to the entire time. Every time you chanced a glance at him, he was always looking back at you.
When an older noble, a traditionalist who believed a woman’s place was in the kitchen of all things, cornered you with an endlessly dull monologue about land tariffs, Rafayel appeared at your side like a phantom.
“Forgive me, my lady.” He interrupted smoothly. “But I believe you owe me another dance.”
You had zero intention of dancing with him again, but the old noble practically shoved you into Rafayel’s waiting hands, bidding you farewell with an approving nod.
“I despise you.” You muttered as Rafayel spun you onto the dance floor.
“Lies.” He said, looking downright pleased with himself. “Tell me I didn’t just save you.”
There was no way you were going to admit he was right, so you decided to stay silent.
It was alarming how natural it felt to be in his arms, being guided along the dancefloor as every noble family in the country watched. You never believed in love at first sight, but there was an undeniable pull to Rafayel that you were barely just fighting. It was like a siren song, your body calling for him to stay close, to dance the night away in his arms.
You needed air.
The moment the song ended, you quickly slipped out onto the balcony, craving the cool night breeze to calm your flushed skin. You slapped your cheeks lightly, hoping the shock would clear your mind — stop your heart from its erratic beating for a man you barely even knew.
This was dangerous. Beyond dangerous. You couldn’t stand cheaters or anyone who claimed to love two people at once. That would never be you. You needed Rafayel to stay away — his infuriatingly handsome smirk, the intense, almost magnetic gaze he held whenever he looked at you. It was all too much, too overwhelming. You couldn’t let yourself fall into this mess.
“These events can get so stuffy.” A familiar voice said behind you, as if thinking about the prince too much had somehow manifested him.
You turned just as Prince Rafayel clicked the door shut behind him. He held out a glass of cold champagne. “Thought you could use this.”
You took it with a nod, sipping in silence. How did he know that? How did he know your favorite dishes and when you needed a cold drink? Even Tara wasn’t out here with you, none the wiser when you left the ballroom time and time again. Why was he so attentive to you, a literal stranger?
He leaned against the railing beside you. “You don’t like me, do you?”
You wanted to laugh, as if you hadn’t told him earlier about your disdain. “You come on a little strong . ”
“Do I?” He sounded genuinely surprised, as if the idea had never occurred to him before.
You raised a brow. “You’re a prince. You probably get anything you want without trying too hard. People probably willingly bend over backwards to please you.”
Rafayel swirled the champagne in his glass, gaze flickering down as though contemplating your words. Then, after a beat, he looked back at you. “And you?”
“I don’t know you.” You exhaled, shifting your weight against the railing. “And if you’ve heard anything about me, you’d know I don’t care about titles. I care about the person.”
A breeze swept through the balcony, ruffling the edges of his coat. He didn’t speak immediately, just held your gaze, unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer. “Thank you for your candor.”
Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten. It wasn’t mocking or dismissive.
It was… genuine.
You let out a breath, setting your empty glass down with a quiet clink. “I should head home.”
His fingers curled slightly around the stem of his own glass. “Do you really dislike me that much?”
You actually laughed at that. “No. I’m just overwhelmed. I’ve never been good at these big events.”
“I can understand that.” He nodded, and for once, he didn’t have some clever retort waiting on his lips. Just quiet understanding. “Would you like an escort home, it’s not safe for a young woman to be on the road alone.”
You smiled back genuinely. “Thank you, I brought two knights with me tonight.”
“Glad to hear.”
You turned toward the door, ready to disappear back into the ballroom, but his voice stopped you.
“Wait.”
You glanced over your shoulder. He was watching you intently now, the usual playfulness gone.
“Get to know me.”
Your brows furrowed. “What?”
He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking, his voice quieter now—steady, deliberate. “Get to know me. Not my title. Not the prince. Me.”
Something in his voice made your breath hitch—an earnestness you hadn’t expected. It was raw, unfiltered, and so different from the usual playful arrogance that he carried like armor.
You searched his face, looking for the usual mischief, the playful arrogance that so often danced in his eyes. But for once, there was none. No jest, no teasing smirk. Just sincerity laid bare, dangerously disarming.
Your heart twisted in response, a strange pull you couldn’t ignore, and you hated yourself for it.
Because no matter how alluring the offer, no matter how tempting his presence, this was not right. You had someone back home, someone who looked at you like you hung the moon, who was waiting for you. You knew better than to entertain the idea of this prince, with his easy confidence and infuriating charm.
And yet…
Prince Rafayel was exactly your type. Confident, with a wicked sense of humor that both intrigued and irritated you in equal measure. He had seen past your sharp edges, your teeth and claws, and instead of shrinking away, he embraced them—almost daring you to snap at him. It was maddening. His effortless charm pulled you in, making it difficult to keep your distance. Worse still, he was undeniably handsome, the kind that had you catching your breath when you least expected it. Even as you willed yourself not to feel that pull, your pulse quickened, betraying you every time he flashed that infuriatingly perfect smile.
Why did some treacherous part of you whisper to stay? Why did your mind scream that you should be by his side?
You exhaled, forcing down the rush of thoughts. After a long pause, you met his gaze and offered a small, uncertain smile. “We’ll see.”
Then, before he could say another word, before your resolve could crack, you spun on your heel and walked away. Your steps were quick, almost too hurried, but you couldn’t allow yourself to look back. You couldn’t let him see how close his words had come to breaking your carefully built defenses. Pretending you didn’t feel the weight of his gaze lingering on you, heavy and unyielding, long after you’d vanished into the crowd.
The entire carriage ride back to your family’s estate, Rafayel’s presence lingered in your mind, like a soft hum you couldn’t escape. From the way his hand had gripped yours during the dance, steady and sure, to the way his attention had never wavered, making you feel like the center of his world for just a moment. You tried to convince yourself it was a one-night thing—just some fleeting distraction. Tomorrow, he’d forget about you, and move on to someone else, someone less complicated. But there was a voice deep inside your head telling you that wasn’t right.
It kept pushing you, urging you to go back. Go back and dance with him again. You couldn’t understand why, but there was something in the way his eyes had looked at you—something almost familiar, like you were supposed to know him in some way. It made your chest tighten every time you thought about it, and your mind kept circling back to those eyes, begging to just stare into them a little longer, to unravel whatever feeling they stirred inside you.
How was your mind both loud and blank?
The next day, you sat on the warm sand, the rhythmic crash of waves filling the quiet afternoon air. The salty breeze tangled in your hair as you traced absentminded patterns into the damp shore, waiting.
Qi Yu had warned you weeks ago that he’d be late to your secret meetings for a while—some kind of responsibility keeping him occupied at home. He hadn’t elaborated and you hadn’t pressed, just another part of your lives that you could never truly be a part of.
Still, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly was keeping him.
The waves lapped at the shore and just as you were about to start drawing nonsense in the sand again, a familiar splash caught your attention. You turned just in time to see Qi Yu emerging from the water, his silver-blue hair slicked back, droplets clinging to his skin like scattered pearls.
A wide smile broke across your face as you scrambled to your feet. “You’re here!”
He barely had time to steady himself before you threw your arms around his neck, holding him close. His laughter was soft, warm against your ear as he wrapped his arms around you, the coolness of his skin a sharp contrast to the heat of the sunlit beach.
“Miss me that much?” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.
You hummed in response, tilting your head back to look at him. “How was your day?”
His eyes softened, and his usual playful energy was replaced with something calmer. “It was fine. Nothing too exciting.”
You narrowed your eyes, sensing something unsaid, but let it slide. Instead, you leaned into him as he spoke. “How was that big banquet you mentioned?”
“It was alright.” You decided to be honest. ”I met the Prince of the Southern Isles.”
“How was he? Should I have some fighting words with him?” He joked.
“You could take him, easily.” You joked back. “He was such a flirt! I tried my best to offer him simple words to make him go away, but he was always just around.”
“Well, he is a Prince. Maybe he’s not used to anyone not showing interest in him?”
You scoffed. “Then I’ll happily knock him down a peg.”
His gaze flickered, amused. “Yeah?”
You turned to Qi Yu, smiling softly at him. “There’s only one person I’m looking at.”
His brow raised in playful curiosity. “Not a handsome, wealthy Prince who wants to shower you in jewels?”
“Not for every jewel on the planet.” You murmured, leaning in to kiss him again. “I love you.”
Qi Yu stilled, and you only realized after a moment that this was the first time either of you had said it out loud. His eyes softened and a smile tugged at his lips as he replied, “You love me?”
“With all my heart.” Your voice was quiet, but it held a certainty you hadn’t fully understood until that moment.
“I love you too.” He murmured, his hand cupping your cheek before he gently rubbed his nose against yours.
You both smiled, the moment so tender that even the air around you seemed to hold its breath. When your lips met again, he cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing across your cheek as he whispered soft, loving words into the quiet space between you. Each touch, each word, seemed to say everything you couldn’t express with just words. The world outside melted away, leaving just the two of you in that peaceful, perfect moment. It wasn’t this rush to touch each other or as passionate as some of your other kisses.
But it was the most heartfelt.
.
.
.
.
.
Unfortunately for you, Prince Rafayel and some of his royal stewards were still very much present on Palace grounds, hovering as you helped your sister navigate the overwhelming task of finalizing the wedding details. The foreign King and Queen had left the evening after the banquet, but Rafayel specifically was chosen to stick around for the time being.
Tara was in her element, of course, utterly caught up in the excitement of it all. Not to mention she was excited to have an excuse to be under the same roof as her husband-to-be. But you were focused on ensuring everything went smoothly—something that was proving to be more difficult than expected with Prince Rafayel around.
The ceremony was set to take place in the temple on the Palace grounds, an ancient, breathtaking structure with towering stone columns and elaborate frescoes that adorned the walls. Following the vows, the grand ballroom would host the reception—of course, impressive with its high ceilings lined with sparkling crystal chandeliers that bathed the room in a warm glow.
And helping with wedding preparations, as it turned out, meant that Prince Rafayel was always around. Like an unavoidable shadow, lingering both at the edge of your thoughts and in-person.
Today was no different.
You were combing through the palace library in search of something for Tara when you heard someone clear their throat just a few paces away. You turned sharply, already bracing yourself.
Sure enough, there he was—Rafayel, leaning against the doors as if he had all the time in the world, arms crossed over his chest, that insufferable smirk playing on his lips. He looked entirely too pleased with himself.
“Are you following me now?” You asked, exasperated.
He lifted a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Coincidence.”
“Sure.” You muttered, already turning back to the shelves. Your fingers skimmed the spines of books, eyes scanning for the right category.
“What are you looking for?”
“What?” You questioned.
He took a slow, measured step forward. “You’re searching for something. Maybe I can help.”
You shot him a glance. “What, are you secretly a librarian too?”
He grinned. “Not quite. I’m a painter, just so you know.”
That caught your attention. You arched a brow. “Really?”
“Yes. Want to take a look?”
You hesitated. You were in the middle of something, but curiosity gnawed at you. Finally, with a sigh, you relented. “Fine. But make it quick.”
His smile widened—he knew you’d cave. Without another word, the prince led you to the far end of the library, near a sunlit window where a canvas was propped on an easel.
Your breath hitched slightly.
The painting was a breathtaking mountainous landscape, an intricate blend of greens and earthy browns, the peaks kissed with misty blue hues. Scattered in the foreground were wildflowers—trilliums, violets, and others native to your homeland.
“While I’m here, I wanted to learn more about the local flora.” His voice was casual, but there was something incredibly earnest about it.
You stepped closer, drawn in by the details. “It’s… beautiful.”
“I know.” He shrugged, entirely unbothered by his own talent. “It’s been fascinating studying the artistic practices here. The materials you use are so different from what I’m used to—I think I might adapt an entirely new style. And your musical instruments—” He shook his head, as if still in awe. “It’s remarkable, the cultural differences between us, despite only being a day’s journey apart.”
You nodded absently, still taking in the brushstrokes, the deliberate way he had captured every detail. You hadn’t expected this. You had assumed he would lounge around idly while in your kingdom, waiting for the wedding to be over.
But no—he was observant, engaged, and evidently very skilled.
“You’re an amazing painter.” The words left you before you could think twice.
Rafayel turned to you, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then, as if making a spur-of-the-moment decision, he leaned slightly closer. “Perhaps you’d be willing to sit for me, while I’m here?”
There was something in his voice—an earnest question wrapped in silk.
You shouldn’t have entertained it.
But you did.
“Maybe.”
You met his gaze and neither of you looked away. A long moment stretched between you, charged with something unspoken, something dangerous (as you reminded yourself nearly every time you were in his presence.) You felt it in the air, in the way his eyes lingered just a little too long, in the way your pulse quickened against your will.
“But I should get going. I do need something from the library, after all.”
You turned back to the shelves, refocusing on your original task. It took only a moment before you spotted the book you’d been searching for. You looked at the top shelf and sighed, realizing you’d have to find a ladder or step stool to reach it—
Only for Rafayel to beat you to it.
Without answering, he handed you the book, but not before purposefully letting his fingers brush against yours.
“For you.” He murmured, his touch lingering just a little longer than necessary.
You swallowed, ignoring the way your pulse jumped. “Thank you.”
Rafayel tilted his head, eyes narrowing in amusement. “How are we supposed to get to know each other if you keep avoiding me?”
You huffed, forcing yourself to sound indifferent. “I’m not avoiding you. If you haven’t noticed, I’m a little busy helping plan a wedding.”
He pressed a hand to his chin, considering your words for a moment. “Is there any way I can help?”
That made you pause. “What?”
“I mean, I’m here as a guest. But that’s really just code for useless and bumming a room off other royals. Might as well make myself useful.”
You eyed him warily before setting the book down on the nearest table. “Tara wanted me to look up some old wedding traditions. Some of the kooks have conflicting recollections, so we’re trying to confirm what’s accurate.”
“Hm.” Rafayel leaned against the table, arms crossed. “You may need more than just that one book. What exactly were they disagreeing about?”
You sighed, recalling the conversation. “A few things. This might take a while.”
He only rolled up his sleeves, smiling like you had just challenged him. “Try me.”
You blinked, half-expecting him to get bored or abandon the idea. But as you listed off the debated traditions, he took note of them mentally, then immediately set off down the aisles. You sat with the single book you first found, attempting to find that specific passage that the old man had rambled on about. Within minutes, he returned with several books, flipping through them with practiced ease.
You had barely gotten through the first dozen pages of your book before he handed you a sheet of parchment, neatly written with perfectly indexed notes and citations.
“You…” You stared down at the paper, impressed despite yourself. “You indexed all of this already?”
Rafayel merely grinned, completely unfazed. “You’re welcome.”
You shook your head, exhaling. “This would have taken me forever.”
“Well, I do aim to impress.” He said easily, his tone light, but his eyes were intent. “And relax. I only wanted to spend some time with you.”
You crossed your arms, giving him a skeptical look. “Why?”
“Because,” he started, stepping closer, “despite how much you pretend otherwise, I think you enjoy our little interactions. As do I.”
You scoffed. “I tolerate them.”
Prince Rafayel laughed, low and knowing. “You’re really going to lie to me like that?”
Your breath hitched. His gaze flickered over your face, unreadable for a long, taut moment. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned in—just enough for his nose to brush against yours. You froze, caught between leaning in and pulling away. But before you could decide, he smirked and pulled back.
To your horror, you found yourself unconsciously following.
Rafayel chuckled, eyes dancing with mischief. “Tell me you don’t feel it.”
You refused to answer.
His grin deepened, but instead of pushing further, the prince stepped back with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. I’ll let you go—for now.”
And with that, he turned, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, his words lingering long after he was gone. You didn’t trust the way he said that — didn’t trust yourself either.
The worst part?
You did enjoy your interactions.
.
.
.
.
.
You were getting your mind off of things today, sitting in a lounge chair outside in the Palace gardens. Well, kind of off of things. You weren’t running around the Palace, directing maids to decorate hallways and ballrooms a specific way. Today you were just absently drawing your maid of honor dress. You had tried on and flipped through different catalogs of dresses, but none really caught your eye.
Some dresses were too stiff, others didn’t quite match your personality. Though it wasn’t your wedding or your big day, your sister insisted that you find a dress that made you feel beautiful and comfortable. You took that to heart and decided to go with something that truly felt like you.
This was a dress for a more modern era—far removed from the corsets and layers of underskirts that most of the other nobles still clung to. The fabric was light, flowing effortlessly with each movement and perfect for dancing the night away. The cut accentuated your figure in all the right ways, a slit flirting to your knees.
The design you were drawing was cinched at the waist, with a relatively modest neckline for the twenty-first century. But in this era? Absolutely scandalous.
In a time when flat necklines and modesty were the norm, a dress with even the slightest hint of exposure was bound to raise eyebrows. This was just another rough draft, a mock-up to send off to the actual designer—someone who would know how to refine it and make it a bit more “acceptable” for the nobility, while still keeping your vision intact.
That very first draft your sister excitedly demanded to see you in it, having fallen in love with the design even without changes. But Prince Thomas and some of the maids had urged you to change your mind. It was too forward, too crass for a noble woman of your stature. Some of them put a dramatic hand to their mouth, as if looking at a drawing of the dress was too scandalous. You watched the Queen herself smile and look intrigued at your design, before ultimately frowning and putting a comforting hand on your shoulder—it was just too forward for the time.
But still, the vision of the dress lingered in your mind and you found yourself absently sketching away, lost in the flow of your thoughts. The sun was warm on your skin, the late morning light spilling over the paper as you lazily worked, the quiet hum of the world around you fading into the background.
“To think you’re also a designer, my lady.” A familiar voice rang out behind you.
You smiled to yourself before smothering it before he could notice. “Not a designer; it’s not that good.”
“Do not jest with me, I have an eye for these things.” Rafayel said, his teasing smile dropping as he sat at the foot of your lounge chair. “Is this your dress for the wedding?”
“Just an idea.”
He lifted it to his eyes, taking in every detail. “While it would look exquisite on you, I fear that it would outshine even the bride.”
You smiled before looking up at him. “You don’t think it’s too crass for a woman?”
“My lady, I think it would suit your beauty perfectly. It’s bold, but not overbearing. It highlights your body in all the right places, but not in a way that is obscene. It’s creative, perhaps the first of its kind.”
“Thank you.”
“If anything, it would be too tempting. How ‘bout you wear this just for me?”
“Shut up.” You smiled to yourself. “You’re just saying that.”
“Nonsense. The details on this dress are very nice. If you really aren’t a designer, I’d say you have a good backup plan.” Rafayel genuinely complimented. “Tell me your thought process.”
“Well, I like these starry accents all over the dress, small but a shiny glint without the fuss of glitter. But I'd want the actual bodice of the dress to be a two-toned gradient. I can’t explain it, but I’ve had this one pattern stuck in my head. It reminds me of blue skies with rose-colored clouds.” You explained.
Rafayel blinked twice, saying nothing as you spoke. You turned to him, an unsaid questioning look in your eyes. It seemed he noticed something from your phrasing, something even you did not catch. You shook your head at him to speak his mind, but he simply smiled at you before changing the subject.
“When do you expect the dress to arrive?”
“Never, probably.” You sighed. “We have to send it to a real designer and they’re gonna make it a bit more modest.”
“How annoying.”
“Yeah, but I’m not here to shake the boat at my sister’s wedding.”
Rafayel smiled “That’s nice of you. But we could always use this design for something else.”
“Oh yeah, like what?”
“Perhaps when you visit me in my home country.” He pondered, a finger on his chin. “I’d throw an entire banquet just to see you in this dress.”
“Really?” Your voice dripped with condescension.
“My lady, why are you second guessing yourself?” Rafayel shot back, a genuine look on his face.
“I’m not.” You countered, raising your chin. “I know I’d look hot in this.”
“Good. I’d expect no less.” He said as he leaned forward.
“I’m just… hesitating. I know a lot of nobles wouldn’t be happy seeing me at all and this dress would only fuel their anger towards me.” You muttered to yourself, the pen pausing mid-air as you gazed at the sketch.
It wasn’t that you were scared of the criticism—it was just the constant reminder that no matter how much you tried, you were still under intense scrutiny. After all, this was supposed to be your wedding to Prince Thomas. The thought of wearing something so bold felt freeing, yet daunting at the same time. You wanted to be true to yourself, but the weight of expectations had always been heavy.
Rafayel sighed, leaning more into your space. “And since when have you cared about what a bunch of stuffy nobles think?”
You couldn’t help but smile, amused by his bluntness. It was kind of refreshing, honestly. “How would you know that?”
He shrugged with a casual grin, his eyes glinting with something almost mischievous. “I know we’ve only just met, but I admire you. I’ve heard things about you — how you didn’t just accept your lot in life, you made your own business. That took a lot of courage.”
The unexpected compliment caught you off guard. Your cheeks warmed, and you couldn’t hide the way your heart skipped a beat.
“Thank you.” You said softly, not sure how to react, but still feeling the warmth of his words settle in your chest.
There was something about the way he spoke that made it all feel more genuine, like he wasn’t just saying it to make you feel good, but because he truly meant it. It left you with a strange flutter in your stomach, and for a moment, you couldn't quite figure out whether you were flattered or something more.
Rafayel's gaze softened, his voice quiet but sincere. “You were never meant to fit into their world. You’re too... extraordinary for that.”
Your breath caught in your throat at the weight of his words. It was strange, how natural it felt to be around him, like you’d known him for far longer than you really had. And yet, there was still a nagging feeling, a curiosity that hovered just out of reach, about the true nature of your connection.
He leaned forward into your space, until his lips were just a few breaths from your ear. “Get the dress made.”
Your breath caught in your throat as his presence enveloped you, every inch of your body acutely aware of the space between you shrinking with every second. The warmth from his body seemed to wrap around you, settling heavy in the pit of your stomach, while your heart started beating harder, faster. Each soft exhale he took brushed against your skin, making the space between you feel almost unbearable. The tension in the air wasn’t just thick; it was a weight pressing down on you, an invisible thread pulling you closer without a single word spoken.
“It doesn’t hurt to have both, right?” He said with a smirk.
Your eyes stayed locked on Rafayel even as he slowly stood, but you couldn’t tear yourself away, not yet. His gaze lingered over you for a beat longer, and as he turned to leave, his words dropped like a velvet promise.
“And just so you know, in the Southern Isles, my ceremonial garb is shirtless. Nothing at all like these stuffy ballrooms. You could wear that all you like.” His voice was low, the suggestion lingering in the air like a slow burn.
Dear God, you were fucked!!!
Prince Rafayel had a way of unraveling you with just a few low, deliberate words—words that sent your heart pounding and a heat pooling low in your belly, leaving you achingly aware of every inch of space between you. It was maddening, really, how easily he could make your body betray you.
Just days ago, your heart had whispered its devotion to Qi Yu. But now it was racing for someone else, craving the prince’s nearness, his teasing smirks, the way his voice seemed to wrap around you like a promise.
You were furious with yourself. How could your heart be so fickle?
But even as you scolded yourself, you couldn’t ignore the way your breath hitched when his gaze lingered, or how your skin prickled with anticipation every time he leaned in just a little too close. You wanted to keep talking, to let his sharp wit and playful banter draw you in, to feel the magnetic pull of his presence until the air between you crackled with tension. You wanted him to keep flirting, to close the distance until your resolve shattered and all you could do was reach for him, letting the heat between you consume everything.
You were becoming blind and reckless.
The next night it was more of the same. You inhabited the same Palace guest room you had for the past few days, helping Tara during the day with all her planning. And unfortunately, the room was next to the object of your daily annoyances. You had a feeling your sister had a hand in it, since her eyes seemed to dart between you and Prince Rafeyel conspiratorially.
You sat on the balcony, the cool nighttime air brushing against your skin, the stars twinkling overhead as the quiet of the evening wrapped around you. You closed your eyes, enjoying the peace and solitude—
Until, of course, the Prince chose that exact moment to interrupt.
“Now I’m thinking you’re attempting to tempt me on purpose.” Rafayel’s voice rang out beside you, smooth and teasing, his balcony just a few paces away. You could almost hear the smirk in his voice.
You whipped your head around startled and quickly pulled your nightgown tighter around yourself, soft silk clinging to your body as you instinctively shielded yourself. The fabric, light and breezy for the summer heat, left very little to the imagination. And now the thought that there was a chance someone could be nearby made you flush with embarrassment.
“You—!” You started, your voice cracking slightly as you shot him an accusatory look, but the words were lost when you saw him leaning casually against the balcony railing, eyes twinkling with mischief. He seemed completely unbothered by the situation, as if he were daring you to respond.
“You look beautiful.” His tone was nonchalant, but the way his eyes roamed over you sent an expectant shiver downward.
“And more than you could handle.” You snapped back, trying to maintain some semblance of control, though you couldn’t quite hide the heat rising to your cheeks.
He paused for a beat, clearly taken off guard by your bluntness. “Oh? Is that a challenge?” He raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his gaze.
“It’s a fact.” You shot back, leaning casually against the railing as if you hadn’t just been caught in a rather compromising position.
You couldn’t help but enjoy the playful exchange. The banter between you both was always effortless, but tonight, there was an edge to it—something more than just teasing.
Before you could even process the moment, Rafayel pushed off from his railing and, in one fluid motion, jumped from his balcony to yours, landing with a soft thud in front of you. You gasped, instinctively rushing forward to check if he was okay. You reached out, hands hovering over him to ensure he wasn’t injured, but as you confirmed that he was perfectly fine, a wave of frustration hit.
Without thinking, you slapped his shoulder. “Are you crazy?” You hissed, trying to keep your voice down, but the sudden proximity made it impossible to stay composed. “You could’ve—”
He raised a hand, silencing you with a wicked grin. “But I didn’t. And now, here I am with you, exactly where I want to be.”
His words, his actions—everything felt charged, as if this moment was teetering on the edge of something more than just a playful encounter. You couldn’t decide whether to laugh it off or do something entirely different, but before you could fully process, Rafayel was already inching closer, his gaze never leaving yours.
“You cannot be here!” You whispered loudly.
“Why not?”
“If someone finds out, they’ll misunderstand!” You glanced around nervously, your heart racing.
“Misunderstand what?” He asked back, infuriatingly.
“That we’re having some kind of secret affair!” You hissed, unable to keep the blush from creeping up your neck.
Rafayel stepped closer, his presence commanding. He reached out, taking your hand and gently guiding it to the open fabric of his shirt, letting your fingers brush against his lower abdomen. Your breath hitched and for a moment, you didn’t pull away.
“It wouldn’t be a lie to say you’re interested in me.” His voice was low, almost a challenge.
“Don’t—” You felt your heart race, but you couldn’t quite form the words to push him away.
“Why not?” He leaned in slightly, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Do you have a boyfriend? A fiancé?”
The question hit too close to home. You and Qi Yu had never put a label on your relationship. You would always say that you were okay with the casual nature of things, but that would be lying through your fucking teeth. You were in love with him — thought about him first thing in the morning, dreamily throughout the day, wishing he were with you at night.
But there was something more in your heart, something deeper, that gave you questions—was it possible to be with someone like Qi Yu? A mermaid with his own people, with responsibilities that you could never truly understand?
That small seed of doubt must have been palpable on your face since Rafayel’s hand moved to guide yours underneath his hand, moving it across his chest to feel the firm muscle beneath the skin. You gasped before unconsciously squeezing.
“Touch me more.” His voice was almost a command.
You sucked in a breath, your fingers sitting deliciously on his skin. “You—”
“Tell me.” Rafayel murmured, his voice rich with intent. “What is it you really want?”
You swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts, but it was hard to think clearly when his touch was so electrifying. The way his gaze never left yours made your stomach twist, a heady mix of frustration and desire swirling inside you.
“I want you to stop pretending.” He continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can see it in your eyes—you’re fighting something you know you want. You want to rip me of my clothes. You spit of your hatred for me, but what of your unguarded lust for me?”
The words hit too hard, too deep. You didn’t know how to argue with him—because he was right.
You were furious—not just at yourself, but at Rafaye, too, for being so damn right. He saw through you, saw the way your body reacted to him, the way your thoughts spiraled into places they had no business going. You wanted him in ways that were forbidden, ways that made your stomach twist with guilt. Whenever you willed yourself to think of Qi Yu’s face, Rafayel’s piercing eyes would flickered in your mind instead, the way his eyes gaze seemed to strip you bare, leaving you exposed and craving more.
You were downright pissed at yourself for letting it get this far, for letting him get under your skin like this. No matter how hard you tried to push him out of your thoughts, he was always there, lingering at the edges, his voice, his smirk, his presence haunting you. It was infuriating, the way he consumed you, the way your body betrayed you every time he was near. And the worst part? You didn’t know how much longer you could keep pretending you didn’t want him just as much as he seemed to want you.
He was right and that made you angry.
And anger was an emotion you could understand.
You shoved him none-too-gently toward the inside of your room. The air between you both felt heavy, charged with tension as you clumsily pushed his lean, muscular form onto the plush, velvet chaise. Your hands were trembling with a mix of rage and forbidden desires, but you didn't stop yourself from dropping to your knees when he met your gaze again, his presence suffocating in the best way possible.
With a single, purposeful movement, you roughly palmed the straining bulge in his royal trousers, relishing the sharp gasp that tore from his lips. His cock, long, slim, and exquisitely formed, sprang free from its confines.
You paused for a scant moment, momentarily transfixed by the breathtaking sight of Rafayel's hard cock. It was a thing of beauty, long and slender like the rest of him, yet thick and virile in a way that made your core clench with wanton need. A slight curve to the left gave it an almost artistic elegance, a work of nature's finest craftsmanship.
Your hand looked almost dainty as you wrapped it around his impressive girth, your fingers barely meeting. A fierce, primal hunger surged through you and you gave a hard lick at the tip, pumping what you could not reach of his thick pulsing shaft.
“Ahhh—!” Rafayel's head fell back against the chaise, his lips parting in a silent cry of ecstasy as you worked him with ruthless, almost punishing strokes of your mouth.
His fingers tangled in your long hair, fisting the locks as his hips rocked up slightly to meet your relentless onslaught. Tears sprung from the corners of your eyes, but you hollowed your lips and hummed around him, his chest heaving at the suddenness of it all.
“That’s right. Don’t fight it.” Even through the haze of lust, Rafayel teased you. “You love my cock.”
A fierce blush stained your cheeks at Rafayel's brazen words, even as a wicked smile curled your swollen lips. You could feel the heat of his mocking taunt, the way he dared to flaunt his own pleasure, his own power over you. It only fueled that inferno raging within you, the all-consuming need to be on top in this moment.
"You love my mouth, you arrogant bastard.” You purred, your voice a throaty rasp around his pistoning flesh.
Slowly, torturously, you sank down, taking him inch by excruciating inch. Your lips stretched obscenely around his enormous girth, your jaw aching as you struggled to accommodate his size. Rafayel's fingers tightened in your hair, his grip bordering on pain as he held you in place, forcing you to take the rest of his long cock.
A strangled cry tore from his throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated bliss that sent a dark thrill racing down your spine.
Rafayel must have seen the self satisfaction on your face and he goaded you. “See what happens when you give in? You get what you need.”
You moaned wantonly around Rafayel's pulsing cock as he began to fuck your mouth with wild abandon. His hips snapped forward, driving his shaft deep into your throat, again and again. The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with your muffled cries and Rafayel's grunts of ecstasy.
Tears streamed down your face at the onslaught, dropping like rivulets as he used your mouth like his own personal hole. You could feel the harsh slap of his heavy balls against your chin, the brutal force of rattling your teeth. It was crude, it was degrading, but God help you, it only turned you on more.
“Fuck, your mouth is made for me.” He punctuated his words with a particularly brutal move, burying himself to the hilt in your convulsing throat.
You gagged around him, your throat bulging obscenely as you struggled to breathe, to think, to feel anything but his dick inside you. The room spun, your vision blurred by tears and the intoxicating lack of oxygen. Yet, through the haze of sensation, one thought crystalized with startling clarity: you never wanted this moment to end.
You never wanted to be free of his intoxicating taste, his scent, the sheer overwhelming essence of him that filled your every sense.
With a low, muffled moan, you relaxed your throat, surrendering yourself completely to his brutal pace. Your fingers dug into his muscular thighs, your nails leaving crescent-shaped indents in his flesh as you held on for dear life. Each brutal thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure-pain radiating through your body, stoking the inferno that raged in your core.
"Mmmmph..." You whimpered around his cock, the sound vibrating deliciously along his length. You could feel him throbbing, pulsing, growing even harder as he fucked your face with wild, animalistic abandon.
With a guttural moan, Rafayel's cock jerked, his balls drawing up tight as he teetered on the brink of release. You could feel the hot, thick spurts of his seed erupting from his tip, flooding your mouth and throat with his essence. The sheer volume was overwhelming, the creamy fluid gushing out around your stretched lips and dripping down your chin, staining the front of your nightgown.
You swallowed desperately, gulping down mouthful after mouthful of Rafayel's pent-up release. The taste was intense, musky, and overwhelmingly him.
It was too much, far too much for you to contain, and you could only watch in a daze as pearly white cum trickled down your lips.
Rafayel seemed not to care, not to notice the mess he had made of you. He crashed his lips against yours in a bruising, almost punishing kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth, tasting himself on you. His hands roamed your body with a newfound sense of possession, of dark, hungry desire.
“Shit, I need to feel you.” He admitted, eyes roaming over your body in delight.
Rafayel lifted you effortlessly, his strong arms encircling your waist as if you weighed nothing at all. He manhandled you across the room, your feet stumbling over the hem of your ruined gown until he had you positioned in front of the ornate, gilded mirror. With a single tug, he ripped your nightgown apart, the delicate fabric tearing like tissue paper in his grasp.
You stood before the mirror, clad in nothing but the tattered remains of your undergarments, your skin flushed and glistening with a sheen of sweat. Rafayel loomed behind you, his imposing form still clad in his rumpled shirt and trousers, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. He reached around and grasped your breast roughly, his fingers sinking into the soft pliant flesh, kneading and squeezing out of desperation.
You trembled as you watched, transfixed, as Rafayel used his other hand to free his still-hard dripping cock. It bobbed and jerked as he lined it up with your aching core, the swollen head nudging against your sensitive folds. You could feel the heat radiating off him, could see the raw, primal want in those suddenly dark eyes.
"To think you claim to hate me so, and yet your greedy little cunt is dripping all over my dick.” Rafayel taunted, his voice a low, mocking rasp.
You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, stifling the wanton moans that threatened to spill from your lips. You refused to give Rafayel the satisfaction of a response, refused to acknowledge the twisted, dark desire that gripped you. Yet, your body betrayed you, your core clenching and fluttering around his cock as it brushed against your slick folds.
His fingers started an agonizing assault on your sensitive clit, circling the throbbing nub with infuriating slowness, sending jolts of pleasure-pain shooting through your veins. You writhed in his grasp, your nails digging into the flesh of his forearms. Tears of frustration and all-consuming need stung your eyes as you glared at him through the mirror, your chest heaving with each ragged breath.
“Fuck me already, you pussy.” You spat, your voice dripping with venom and barely restrained lust.
With a dark, triumphant chuckle, Rafayel finally, mercifully gave you what you so desperately craved. The swollen head of his cock pushed past your fluttering entrance, stretching you deliciously around his girth. You couldn't help your head falling back against his shoulder as you savored the exquisite sensation of being filled.
To your horror, Rafayel cruelly kept only the tip of his cock nestled inside your dripping heat, refusing to give you the deep hard thrusts you were begging for.
"Please. Please, I'll be good…!" Your pleas turned to incoherent, garbled pleas.
“Moments passed.” He whispered against your ear. “You're just a naughty girl who needs to learn her place.”
“No no no…!” Your voice was unintelligible as Rafayel refused to shove himself in.
You writhed and whimpered, your hips bucking as you tried to grind yourself against his cock, to force him deeper. But Rafayel was relentless, his grip on your hips unyielding as he held you in place, denying you the friction you craved. His hold on your body was tight, but it was also the only reason you were still standing.
In a moment of sheer, blind desperation, you made your move. With a cry, you shoved your hips down, impaling yourself on his rigid cock and making both of your thighs shake. The breath punched out of your lungs as you felt finally full, stuffed to the brim with hard, hot male flesh.
Before you could catch your breath, Rafayel stretched out his large hand, coming down hard on the supple flesh of your ass.
“Ah—!”
The sharp, stinging slap sent a jolt of shocked pleasure shooting up your spine, making you yelp beneath him. He used the momentum to shove you forward, your elbows slamming into the plush rug as your knees gave way, leaving you splayed out before him on all fours.
"Fuck, look at you." Rafayel snarled, his voice rough with lust and dark, cruel amusement. "Such a desperate, cock-hungry little slut. You can't get enough, can you?"
His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as he loomed over your prone form, his still-clothed body casting a long shadow over you.
"Please, don't stop, please don't you dare stop!" You screamed, your voice both raw and hoarse.
Your thighs trembled violently, the muscles quaking as Rafayel's cruel fingers continued their merciless assault on your clit. You could feel your climax building, the coil of tension in your core winding tighter and tighter until you swore you would snap at any moment.
Just as your vision started to blur and your cries turned to garbled screams, Rafayel abruptly pulled his hand away. Your hips jerked forward, seeking the friction, the touch, anything to push you over the precipice into oblivion. But he denied you even that small mercy, leaving you teetering on the brink, your body screaming in frustrated need.
You barely had a moment to draw a breath before Rafayel gripped your hips and slammed forward, burying his cock to the hilt inside your dripping, clasping cunt. The breath exploded from you, pussy spasming around him all at once and your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.
"Yes, my lady." Rafayel hissed through clenched teeth, his dark fuchsia eyes boring into yours through the mirror, watching your every expression, savoring your ecstasy. "Cum around me, milk my cock like you need it.”
Your pussy clamped down around him like a vice, the velvet walls rippling and squeezing his throbbing cock with a force that stole the breath from both of you. You threw your head back, your long hair cascading down your arched back as a scream of pure, unadulterated bliss tore from your throat. Your body convulsed, wracked with the intense pleasure of your release.
At the last possible second, Rafayel wrenched his hips back, his cock slipping out of your over-sensitive pussy just as his orgasm overtook him. Thick, hot ropes of his seed erupted from his tip, splattering against your dripping folds and coating your inner thighs. Some of it painted the swell of your ass—marking you, claiming you, branding you as his.
You collapsed into a pile of bones on the soft carpet, completely spent, your body feeling like it had turned to jelly. Every inch of you seemed to hum with a pleasant, lingering warmth, a contentment that settled deep in your bones. Rafayel, suddenly gentle and attentive, held you close, his hand resting at your waist as he lay beside you. His breath was warm against your skin as he whispered soothing words, his voice a soft murmur that seemed to melt away any lingering tension.
"You’re perfect.” He whispered, his fingers tracing comforting patterns against your side, as if reassuring you that you were safe and cherished.
Your breathing came out in slow, measured gasps, still feeling the sweet aftermath of everything that had just passed. The connection between you two felt electric, yet tender in a way that made your heart race, and your pulse slow all at once.
He knew exactly how to balance the heat and the softness—rough when you needed him to be, and gentle when that’s what you craved most. It was like he could read you without a word, matching every shift in your mood, making it impossible not to feel completely content in his arms.
Rafayel shifted slightly, moving just enough to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips soft and warm against your skin. “I’m here.” He said, his tone full of warmth and care, as he settled you into the softness of the carpet beneath you.
Rafayel left the room for a few moments, coming back from the bathroom with a few damp washcloths in hand. He kissed your temple again, then pulled back slightly, his hands gently brushing away the shared fluids that made a mess of your lower areas.
"Let me take care of you.” He murmured, his voice a quiet promise as he helped you sit up just a little, tucking you under his arm.
As he settled you back into bed, his touch was light and careful, but full of tenderness. His hand gently brushed over your body, making sure you were comfortable before pulling the blanket up around you. The soft glow of the moonlight spilled into the room, casting a serene glow over the two of you as he stayed close, his arms wrapping around you in an embrace.
The warmth of his body against yours was comforting, the rhythm of his breath syncing with yours. You nestled closer to him, feeling completely safe and adored. Rafayel kissed your forehead once more, his lips lingering a little longer this time.
"I’m not going anywhere," he whispered softly. "I’ll be right here, always."
And with that, you both drifted into a peaceful sleep, the quiet comfort of each other’s presence the only thing that mattered in the world.
…
When the maid entered the next morning and noticed the disheveled room—ripped clothes and knocked-over furniture—she simply paused, her lips curling into a polite smile and offering a soft, ‘Good morning,’ before she left as quickly as she arrived.
Rafayel, ever so gentle, drew you closer, his warmth enveloping you as he nestled you against his chest. His embrace was tender yet strong, a safe cocoon that made everything outside the moment fade away. To your surprise, you found yourself melting into him, instinctively seeking the comfort of his presence as his hand gently traced your back.
“This feels so right.” Rafayel whispered against your skin.
He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, a simple but intimate gesture that made your heart flutter. Without thinking, you snuggled into him, your cheek resting against his warm, bare chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the skin.
He tightened his hold around you and you smiled up at him, your breath a little unsteady from the morning. His lips found your nose in a light, playful kiss, and you couldn't help but blush, the soft warmth of his affection making your cheeks flush. With a contented sigh, he closed his eyes, pulling you impossibly closer as if the world outside didn’t exist. You rested against him, the feeling of his arms around you making everything seem perfectly right.
You woke up more fully a few hours later, the late morning light filtering through the window. But to your surprise, Rafayel was already gone. The space beside you was cool, his warmth having long since vanished. A faint smile tugged at your lips as you noticed a small gesture left behind. On the pillow where he had rested, there was a single light pink rose, its delicate petals almost glowing in the morning sun.
Alongside the flower was a small card, the elegant script catching your eye. It read: "For you, my dear lady."
The simple yet heartfelt words made your heart flutter, a warmth spreading through your chest as you held the card between your fingers. You brought the flower to your nose and inhaled, savoring the smell for a few beats.
What the fuck had you done.
Your contentment immediately evaporated, replaced by a sharp pang of guilt that twisted in your chest. The rose and the card—symbols of kindness and tenderness—only served to magnify the weight of your emotions.
How could you allow yourself to be so swept up in this whirlwind with Rafayel, knowing full well it was unfair to him, unfair to Qi Yu, and most of all—unfair to yourself? You’d never been the type to betray the trust of those closest to you, and yet here you were, standing at a crossroads, caught between the warmth of one and the guilt of the other.
Your fingers tightened around the card as a wave of anger surged through you—not at Rafayel, who had done nothing wrong but fall for a stupidly greedy girl, but at yourself for allowing this confusion to take root. You'd always prided yourself on loyalty, on clarity of heart, but now, it felt as if everything was shrouded in doubt and turmoil.
Sure, you and Qi Yu hadn’t made things officially exclusive, but that didn’t make this any less wrong. You knew that if the tables were turned, if you were in his position, the hurt would be unbearable. The thought of him, of his quiet devotion and the way he trusted you, filled you with a pang of guilt that tightened in your chest.
You knew you needed space—desperately. The next day, you made it your mission to avoid Rafayel at all costs. Every time you caught even a glimpse of him, your heart would leap into your throat, and that familiar heat would flare low in your stomach, only to be quickly smothered by a wave of guilt. It was too much—the way his presence seemed to short-circuit your thoughts, the way your body reacted before your mind could catch up.
You couldn’t trust yourself around him, not when the memory of what you’d done hung over you like a storm cloud.
Space was the only answer, even if it meant avoiding the person who made your pulse race and your thoughts spiral into dangerous territory. You needed to breathe, to think, to untangle the mess of emotions he’d left you in. But deep down, you wondered if even distance would be enough to quiet the pull he had on you.
Luckily, your sister’s wedding provided the perfect excuse to keep busy, to keep moving. There was always something to be done—decisions to be made, things to coordinate, a guest list to update and coordinate with other countries. It was chaotic, and for once, you welcomed the distraction. You buried yourself in the wedding preparations, keeping your focus on the tasks at hand.
But no matter how much you tried to stay busy, no matter how many people you had to speak with, there was always that quiet, constant thought at the back of your mind—Rafayel. It was impossible to push him completely away. His presence, his touch, still lingered like a soft echo in your mind. And as much as you tried to avoid him, you couldn’t escape the pull he had on you.
How could you ever face him after knowing how long his cock was? When you knew how his face contorted when he came? How his hard pulsing dick felt when it was fully sheathed inside you?
This was so out of character for you! You were never the type for one night stands or casual sex. Why was it that just talking to him was enough to lower your walls? To make you want to kiss and touch him?
And so, you kept your distance. The thought of being near him again, of feeling that spark of attraction, terrified you. You didn’t trust yourself not to crack. And if you cracked, you feared there would be no going back permanently.
Thankfully, a few days passed with little interaction between you and Rafayel. You threw yourself into your duties to keep your mind from wandering back to him. But even amidst the whirlwind of preparations, you couldn’t avoid the reality of what you were doing. The occasional glances he sent your way were heavy with emotion—hurt, disappointment, and maybe even confusion. You could see it in his eyes every time they met yours. He wasn’t angry, but there was a quiet ache in him that made your chest tighten.
And every time you caught his gaze, a wave of guilt washed over you. How could you act like nothing when you knew you were avoiding him for reasons you couldn’t explain? You felt stupid, like you were playing a game you didn’t know the rules to and the only one you were hurting was yourself.
You were angry at yourself for letting things go this far. Angry for putting Rafayel in this position. Angry that you couldn’t just make it stop—that you couldn’t undo everything and go back to the way things were. But as much as you tried to push those thoughts away, the truth kept creeping in—avoiding him, pretending like nothing had changed, wasn’t the solution.
You needed time to think, to escape the whirlwind of your thoughts and the tension you’d been feeling for the past few days. The palace gardens were quiet, the soft rustling of leaves a soothing balm for your restless mind. The air was cool, a gentle breeze brushing your skin as you walked slowly, taking in the peace of the night. It was a small sanctuary away from the chaos, from everything that had been weighing on you.
You didn’t expect to find him there, but of course, you did. Rafayel. Lounging lazily on a stone bench, his arms crossed behind his head, eyes fixed on the vast expanse of stars above. The moonlight bathed his face in a soft glow, highlighting the lines of his jaw and the quiet intensity in his gaze. He looked so at ease, so calm, that it made your heart ache.
The urge to run away was overwhelming. Every instinct screamed at you to leave, to avoid the feeling of inevitability that hung in the air.
But then, he saw you first.
"Hey, stranger." Rafayel’s voice was light, teasing, as if the distance between you hadn’t been stretched by the weight of unspoken words.
“Hi.” You responded lamely, the word barely more than a breath as you walked up to sit beside him on the bench.
“Thought I’d have to wait another 800 years before I saw you again.” He jested, leaning back a little.
Despite yourself, you smiled, the warmth of the joke spreading through you. But as your lips curved upward, a deep, nagging sensation clawed at your mind. That line—almost those exact words—something about them felt like an echo from a past you couldn’t fully grasp. You’d heard them before, in a different time, a different place.
Yet every time you tried to focus on it, the memory slipped further away.
You sighed quietly, the moment stretching on, both of you dancing around what lingered between you. The space between your hearts felt impossibly wide, and yet, the connection was undeniable.
"I’m sorry." You finally said after the long silence, your voice trembling ever so slightly. "This is so complicated. You don’t deserve this."
His eyes softened, the teasing in them fading into something warmer, something that spoke volumes of understanding. “No.” Rafayel said, his voice steady and calm. "I understand."
The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t the kind that made you fidget or search for words to fill the void. It was heavy, charged, like the air before a storm. You could feel his eyes on you, and when you glanced up, you caught him staring—again. But this time, it was different. There was no teasing smirk, no playful glint in his gaze. Instead, his expression was thoughtful, almost searching, as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle only he could see.
“Do you like being out here, the gardens and nature?” Rafayel asked, motioning around you.
“I love being outside. But the gardens aren’t my favorite.”
“Me neither, don’t get me wrong. The flowers and the arrangements are beautiful. Not to mention I love the crisp nighttime air.” Rafayel admitted, “But my personal favorite is the beach.”
You quirked a brow at the unexpected answer. “Really? You?”
“What? Don’t expect that from me?”
“I know a lot of nobles don’t like it because it can get messy, the sand and all.”
“Thankfully, that’s not me. I love the feel of the ocean air, almost salty just standing out there.” He said, eyes almost wistful as he spoke. “There’s something about lazing on the sand after a good swim, just taking it all in.”
You smiled, agreeing with him for once. “I love the beach. It’s been my comfort place for a long time. Where I would go when I’m happy, sad, you name it.”
“We should go together one day.” He offered. “My nation is a string of islands, all united under one common culture. We have some of the best delicacies by far.”
“I’d be down one day.”
“I look forward to it.” He replied, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness.
You told yourself that flutter in your chest—familiar yet unsettling—was nothing. Just a passing feeling, something you could ignore. But the way Rafayel held your gaze told you otherwise. If you stayed even a second longer, you’d be in trouble.
And then he glanced down at your lips, saying nothing, but the air between you shifted. The pull was undeniable, magnetic, drawing you closer until your lips brushed his in a soft, tentative kiss. His hand cupped your cheek, his touch warm and deliberate, and you leaned into it, eager, hungry. His other hand found its way to your breast, squeezing gently, and a low moan escaped you before you could stop it.
But it was him who pulled away, not you.
“We shouldn’t do this here.” He said simply, his voice steady despite the heat still lingering in his eyes. He pressed a kiss to the side of your face, a fleeting touch that left you aching for more, and then he was gone.
You stood there, stunned, your body still humming from his touch. What the hell was wrong with you? You couldn’t even trust yourself around him. It didn’t matter how much distance you put between you, how long you went without seeing him—your body craved him, and that craving was becoming harder and harder to ignore.
Not to mention these terrible fucking headaches you’d been having as of late.
The headaches were relentless, almost like your body was punishing you for being an idiot. Every time you thought of Qi Yu—his beautiful face, the feel of his skin as you both floated in the water—your mind would throb with a sharp, pulsing pain. It felt like a cruel reminder, a way for your subconscious to scream at you for being an adulterous whore. You’d already crossed a line, but deep down you feared it was more than that.
Your connection with Rafayel wasn’t just physical—it was something deeper, something that scared you because it felt familiar in a way you couldn’t quite place.
The headaches, the guilt, the pull you felt toward both of them—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle you weren’t allowed to solve.
Perhaps your mind was making excuses for being such a slut, as if being with Rafayel wasn’t such a bad thing. You hated how your body seemed to betray you at every turn, how your heart ached for someone who felt so much like the person you were already supposed to love. But no matter how much you tried to rationalize it, no matter how much you told yourself you were just being reckless, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something you were missing—something your subconscious was desperately trying to tell you.
.
.
.
.
.
You were deeply focused, a careful eye on every detail of the ballroom as you directed the maids, making sure each flower arrangement was perfect for the wedding. The scent of fresh roses and lilies hung in the air, a soft perfume that lingered as the maids bustled around, arranging the blooms in tall vases and delicate centerpieces. This was only the practice, ordered by the Queen to make sure everything looked perfect not just in her mind’s eye but in-person too.
You had spent hours working with the florist to get everything just right and it was starting to come together beautifully. The soft glow of candlelight shimmered off the polished marble floors, and the sound of the band tuning up echoed in the background, their melodies drifting through the room as they rehearsed the songs your sister had carefully chosen.
It was a flurry of activity, but you thrived in moments like this, the rush of making sure everything went smoothly. You’d never had a problem with organizing events—being in control, making sure nothing slipped through the cracks. But all of your focus was suddenly drawn elsewhere when you felt his presence.
Prince Rafayel was leaning lazily against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, an impossibly charming smirk playing on his lips. His gaze was fixed on you, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischievous sparkle you’d come to loathe. The room was filled with the bustle of preparations, but there he was, as usual, watching you like some predator observing its prey.
You sighed inwardly, knowing you’d have to deal with him eventually, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care at that moment. You waved a hand to one of the maids who had asked a question about the placement of the flowers and continued to give directions. Every so often, you would glance over at Rafayel, his unwavering gaze following you with an intensity that made you uncomfortable.
He wanted you.
Not in a fleeting way with his cock shoved down your throat. He was prepared to hold your hand and kiss you for the entire noble class to see.
It was… so much.
The band had been practicing various arrangements that you knew Tara wanted. And after a few moments, you heard the music shift, the first notes of a waltz echoing through the room. You paused to adjust the flower on the nearest table, trying to focus on the task at hand, but then you felt him move. Before you could react, Rafayel was suddenly in front of you, his hand on your waist and the other at your back, lifting you off your feet with a fluid motion.
“What the—?” you gasped, instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders to steady yourself. The maids, busy with their own tasks, didn’t seem to notice.
His smirk grew wider, eyes twinkling as if he knew exactly what he was doing. “You’ve been working so hard, my lady. A little break is in order.”
He twirled you, his movements smooth, pulling you into the rhythm of the waltz. Your pulse quickened, the music flowing around you, a strange sense of urgency filling the air. Despite your instinct to pull away, your body responded to the familiar rhythm of the dance. You had to admit, he was good at this, damn him. The way his hand held yours, the graceful way he guided you across the floor—he was impossible to ignore.
“Don’t you have something better to do?” You muttered, trying to keep your tone sharp, but there was something in your voice that betrayed you.
He was right. You were drawn to him and you hated the type of person it made you.
“Oh, I’m quite entertained,” Rafayel said, his voice low, teasing. “I’m sorry if I came on too strong the other night. I just… I feel myself falling for you.”
You wanted to tell him you felt the same, how insufferable it was that you were falling for him, but the words caught in your throat. For a brief moment, you found yourself completely in sync with him, lost in the fluid motion of the dance. The space between you felt electric, but you couldn’t let yourself get distracted. Not now. Not when there was too much at stake.
When the song finally drew to a close, you didn’t hesitate. As soon as the final note played, you stepped back, pushing him away with a firmness that surprised even you. He stumbled slightly but caught himself, his smile never faltering.
“Goodbye, Your Highness.” You said simply, your voice colder than you intended, and without another word, you turned on your heel, walking away from him before he could respond.
The music continued to play in the background, but all you could hear was the echo of your own heartbeat, thundering in your chest as you retreated into the safety of your responsibilities.
But, of course, you knew Rafayel would be back.
He always was.
Apparently after that, word got around quickly that Rafayel was hovering all around you. You knew the giddy whispers of the maid and knights who had watched your private dance, knew they were at the center of the growing gossip.
Tara’s excitement over the whole situation was practically contagious. She was practically bouncing with the idea that Prince Rafayel could be your mystery man—the mystery man.
And the more you tried to deny it, the more her grin seemed to stretch wider.
She’d been absolutely right, though—when it came to older men or those with far too much arrogance in their tone, you were like a steel wall. The coldest of shoulders. But Prince Rafayel? He had an entirely different effect on you. He knew exactly how to get under your skin. All it took was a few words and suddenly you were flustered, annoyed, sometimes a little embarrassed by how quickly you’d fallen into his trap.
And of course, Tara knew that better than anyone.
She had watched it all unfold and you couldn’t help but feel like she was relishing every moment. Like she was watching some grand spectacle as you danced this ridiculous, hateful tango with the Prince. So when she invited you to tea—just the two of you—you should have known that her plan was far from innocent.
Naturally, you arrived at the scene only to find both Prince Thomas and Prince Rafayel already seated, lounging with amused smiles on their faces as though they’d been waiting for you specifically. You almost felt the need to laugh at the irony—Tara had set this up perfectly. You were stuck now. The Crown Princes were seated, expectant, and you couldn’t possibly turn tail and run without making it completely obvious what had been going on.
Rude was not the word for it.
More like a diplomatic disaster.
“My lady, I’ve been aching to see you as of late.” Rafayel’s voice cut through the air, smooth and playful.
He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped casually across the armrest and that ridiculous smirk of his making its usual appearance.
You stiffened, of course, a sharp edge to your voice as you walked toward the table, your eyes narrowing. “Prince Rafayel. How delightful to see you; however, I was under the impression that this would be a private gathering with just my sister.”
Tara sat beside Thomas, practically bouncing in her seat with excitement, trying her hardest to suppress her smile. Meanwhile, Thomas, trying to keep his composure, simply raised an eyebrow, watching the scene unfold in front of him.
“Well, now you can enjoy my good company.” His eyes twinkled with mischief, and you could tell he was just enjoying the chance to rile you up.
“I ran into my fiancé and we get so little time to spend together, I thought it would be nice for him to join us. And then Prince Rafayel, of course, I couldn’t exclude the Prince of our neighboring nation, could I?” Tara stated enthusiastically, clearly pleased with herself. “Besides, I thought it was time to see if you two could get along. A little challenge never hurt anyone, right?”
Prince Thomas, trying to make himself scarce from this increasingly awkward exchange, cleared his throat. “Well, this is certainly... an interesting way to start a conversation.”
“It’s only getting better.” Rafayel added, catching your eye with that teasing glint. “I find it rather charming when people pretend they don’t want to be around me. It’s adorable, really.”
“Oh, you think I’m pretending?” You scoffed, annoyance rising with each word for some reason, meeting his challenge head-on. “That’s cute. I’m practically suffocating just being in the same vicinity as you.”
Rafayel chuckled, clearly enjoying every second of this back-and-forth. “How can I know if I’m simply too irresistible to you?”
“Maybe stop being so insufferable and you’ll find out.” You muttered, sipping your tea with exaggerated calm.
You knew full well that no amount of insults or glared daggers would make him go away. He was exactly the kind of man that was your type. He could match you one for one in verbal confrontations, never afraid to push the fold regardless of the audience.
But that was the last thing you’d admit out loud.
Tara, catching the sparks flying between you both, was absolutely delighted. “See? This is exactly what I wanted!” she practically squealed to Thomas. “They’re perfect for each other!”
Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Perfect? I thought it was more... tense?”
“Oh, it’s definitely tense,” she said, almost glowing. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Tense with sexual tension maybe, but that’s the fun part! They’ll be married before we know it.”
You shot her a deadly look before turning back to Rafayel, trying to fight the grin tugging at your lips. “Don’t listen to her. She’s clearly delusional.”
Rafayel leaned back in his chair, his eyes glinting with unspoken challenges. “Oh, I don’t know. I think she’s onto something. But don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to test how well you can handle me.”
You felt your pulse quicken at the challenge. Rafayel knew it. You knew it. Anymore banter and surely you’d be under the table somewhere, sucking his cock just to watch his eyes roll.
“You know what, I just remembered I had something I needed to do. So I think I’ll take my leave.”
Prince Thomas shot you a withering smile, as if no words were necessary for your escape.
Rafayel sighed and stood from his seat, having realized maybe he pushed you just a bit too much.
“Do not follow me.” You warned, but he continued anyway.
“I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant to truly bother you. This teasing and joking, I like it. You are the one woman in my life who isn’t afraid to flip my own words back at me.”
You listened to him, but your face burned at how much you agreed with him. This was beyond dangerous. Any other person in the nation would have probably been okay with this. Hell, a few months ago you would have easily given into Rafayel’s charms - he was quick, smart, and was easy to get along with.
And you knew he felt that too.
But you could not feel this way.
You had someone back home. Every time you flushed at Rafayel’s words, your mind flashed back to Qi Yu waiting for you at that beach. He was the man of your dreams and your stomach churned with guilt at how much you enjoyed Prince Rafayel’s presence. Everything about him was addictive - his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he looked at you.
You turned to him and spat out. “I loathe you.”
“You loathe me?” He paused, a surprised look on his face.
“You infuriate me.” You snapped back. “Why must you always be on my mind?”
The look on his face morphed into one of a smirk, an almost knowing smile.
“Stop pushing me away when you know how right this feels. I know you feel this too. I see the way you look at me.” He said, his voice genuine and a bit exasperated.
You shook your head and prepared to leave, but he gently held your wrist to hold you in place. It was so gentle, drawing you in so quickly, you pulled your hand back quickly as if it burned.
You hadn't realized you were next to a large fountain, losing your balance as you toppled toward the water.
“Oh shit!”
Rafayel attempted to catch you, but once it was clear you were going down he flipped your positions midair, breaking your fall with his body.
Tara and Thomas rushed over as they heard the large splash, maids coming just a second behind them.
“You two…” Tara trailed off as she observed you two, hobbling out of the fountain.
A few maids rushed to hand some towels to you both. Tara stared at you both for a second more, before ushering everyone away to give you some privacy.
Rafayel took the stack of towels, guiding you out of the fountain until you stood to the side by some white benches. He rubbed you up and down with the towel. You stared at each other for a few, long seconds.
“Is this entertaining to you?”
“What? The fact that I’m constantly on your mind and yet you deny it?” He teased back.
Your frown deepened as your frustration grew. “I think about hanging you from your white cravats. Of ripping it off your neck and tying you up with it.”
His eyes narrowed. “You want to tie me up?”
“Only so I may strangle you.”
Rafayel ran a hand through his wet hair and unbuttoned his drenched shirt since he could not dry it like this. You could not help but look at his abs, a trail of veins going downward beneath his waistline. You shook your head to look away, but it was Rafayel who grabbed your hand and placed it on his bare abs like that first night.
You can’t help yourself but squeeze instinctively, enjoying the feel of his damp skin under yours. It was so fucking sexy, feeling his athletic build under your hand. And for whatever reason you could not help yourself, boldness inexplicably drawing you toward him, your hand trailing down his abs until it played at the edge of his pants.
You were both in the middle of the gardens, surely people just a few paces away.
But neither of you really cared.
Rafayel leaned forward, his movements deliberate as he unzipped his pants, his eyes never leaving yours. He guided your hand beneath the fabric and your fingers brushed against the smooth, warm skin of his lower stomach—completely hairless, you noted absently—before trailing down to the base of his cock. The moment your fingers made contact, a shiver ran through him and he crashed his lips against yours in a rough, desperate kiss.
The kiss was messy, fueled by a mix of lust and something sharper, something darker. You moaned into his mouth, your body responding instinctively as the heat between you spiraled out of control.
It wasn’t tender or sweet—it was raw, almost angry, like you were both trying to punish each other for something neither of you could name.
His hands gripped you tighter, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened and you let yourself get lost in the haze of it all, the line between desire and frustration blurring until there was nothing but the two of you, tangled together in a mess of need and heat.
You wanted to wipe that infuriating smirk off his face and you weren’t about to let him have the upper hand. Your hand shot down, gripping him hard and giving him a firm squeeze—twice—just as he leaned in to kiss you again. He broke away with a sharp inhale, his smirk faltering for just a second, and that small victory was enough to fuel you.
But he wasn’t one to back down.
The prince dropped to his knees, his hands already working to yank and tear at your skirts until they were nothing but a pile of useless fabric at your feet. His mouth was on you before you could even process what was happening, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path up your thigh. When he reached your lace panties, already soaked through—and not just from your earlier tumble into the fountain—he didn’t hesitate. He made you step out of them, his hands guiding your movements, before lifting one of your legs and draping it over his shoulder. You wobbled slightly, struggling to keep your balance on one foot, but his grip on your thigh was firm, steadying you as his lips brushed against your sensitive skin.
And then he didn’t hold back. His tongue dragged one long, torturous stripe up your center, stopping right at your clit. When he finally sucked on it, you couldn’t help the moan that escaped, your hands instinctively tangling in his hair as your knees threatened to buckle. He was relentless, and you were already teetering on the edge.
“Ahh…!”
He sucked hard, losing himself to the sweet essence of your sopping wet cunt.
You were incredulous, asking only then. “Here…? Now?!”
But Rafayel didn’t care about your half-hearted protest, your whispered reminder that you were outside, exposed, where anyone could stumble upon you. He ignored it completely, his focus entirely on you, on the way your body trembled under his touch. You could feel his smile against your skin, wicked and knowing, as he licked you clean with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made your breath hitch and your toes curl. His tongue was relentless, teasing and savoring every inch of you, until you felt that familiar coil of tension tighten low in your belly, threatening to snap.
And then it did. Your thighs shook as you came undone, your back arching as pleasure ripped through you in waves. You pulsed against his tongue, your hands gripping whatever they could find—his hair, the fabric of his shirt—anything to anchor yourself as he drew out every last shuddering breath of your release. When it was over, you were left trembling, your legs weak and your mind hazy, while he looked up at you with that infuriatingly smug grin, your arousal still glistening on his face.
You wanted to be angry, to scold him for being so reckless, so bold, but all you could do was stare, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. He had a way of making you forget everything—where you were, what you were supposed to be doing, even the guilt that usually gnawed at you.
All that mattered in that moment was him, the way he looked at you, and the undeniable truth that your body craved him in ways you couldn’t begin to understand.
Rafayel stood and smirked at you, pocketing your panties in one hand. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Fuck it.
After teasing you for so long, you wanted to see the man you hated lose it.
“I want to see you beg.” You spat at him.
You didn’t hesitate—your frustration, your desire, your need all boiled over in one reckless moment. With a rough shove, you pushed him into the grass and he landed on his back with a soft grunt, his eyes widening in surprise. You didn’t give him a chance to react, yanking his pants down in one swift motion until they pooled at his knees. His cock sprang free, hard and already leaking, the length of it hitting his stomach as it stood upright.
Your breath hitched at the sight; despite seeing his dick before, a mix of awe and hunger flooded you again as you took in just how big he was.
You didn’t waste a second. Your hand wrapped around the base, squeezing firmly, and a loud moan tore from his lips, his hips jerking upward instinctively. You leaned down, your tongue darting out to lick the swollen head, tasting the saltiness of him. His hips bucked again and you smirked around him, savoring the way he reacted to your touch. You could get a rise out of him just as much as he goaded you.
But you didn’t stop there—you sank your mouth down around him, hollowing your cheeks as you took as much of him as you could. He was so long, so thick, that your hands had to work what your mouth couldn’t reach, pumping in rhythm with your movements.
His moans grew louder, more desperate, his hands tangling in your hair as he tried to hold himself back from thrusting deeper into your mouth. The sounds he made, the way his body responded to you—it only fueled your hunger, your need to take him apart piece by piece. You worked him relentlessly, your mouth and hands moving in perfect sync, determined to make him lose control. And from the way his breath came in ragged gasps, the way his grip on your hair tightened, you knew it wouldn’t take long.
“Fuck, fuck..!” He moaned.
He started to thrust into your mouth, his grip tightening in your hair as he pushed you down further. You gagged at the sensation, but the way he was losing control—his breath hitching, his movements growing more desperate—was intoxicating. You wanted to see his pink irises roll back in pleasure, to watch him unravel completely because of you.
It was addicting, the power you had in that moment, even as the prince took what he wanted.
But then his hips stuttered and he pulled back, clearly deciding he’d had enough. Before you could react, Rafayel moved to throw you onto your back. You tried to fight him, but it was almost laughable how easily he overpowered you. He was lean but athletic, and the way he manhandled you—flipping you onto all fours with effortless strength—was infuriatingly hot.
He teased you, outlining the edge of your pussy with his bare cock. And you couldn’t help but push your hips back, trying to impale yourself on him. But Rafayel wasn’t having it. He savored the control, sinking just the tip of his cock in before stopping, leaving you trembling and begging for more.
The way he drew it out, the way he made you ache for him—it was maddening, but you couldn’t deny how much you loved it.
“Please, Rafayel. I need you now, please please…”
“Beg me more.”
“Use me! Fuck me…!”
But Rafayel teased you, his control maddeningly precise as he shallowly pushed just the tip of his cock inside you before pulling out, leaving you aching and desperate. Tears welled in your eyes, a mix of frustration and overwhelming need, but he didn’t let you dwell on it.
Instead, he shoved two fingers into your mouth, his voice low and commanding as he ordered you.
“Suck.”
You obeyed without hesitation, your body responding to his dominance as if it were second nature.
He pushed your thighs together, his cock sliding between them, the friction against your clit sending sparks of pleasure through you with every thrust. You moaned, the sound muffled around his fingers, your body trembling as you edged closer to release. Just as you were about to tip over the edge, he finally pushed inside you, filling you completely. The sensation was too much and you came hard, your body clenching around him as he groaned deeply against your ear, his own pleasure mingling with yours.
“I wasn’t going to fuck you, but you’re so damn addicting.”
Your eyes roll back as he starts to pick up speed, his thrusts becoming harder, more urgent. You just came moments ago and the sensation is almost too much—over stimulating but in the best way possible. You can’t help but love the way his thick, veiny cock feels inside you, your walls gripping him tightly as if trying to pull him even deeper. Your breasts bounce with each powerful thrust, the rhythm of your bodies slamming together sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.
But you didn’t want him to feel like he won.
“Fuck me like you mean it.” You goaded him.
Rafayel smirked at you; of course, even now breathless and tangled together, you still tried to hold onto some semblance of control, some sharp retort on the tip of your tongue. But he didn’t give you the chance. In one swift motion, he pulled you by the waist, his strength undeniable as he lifted you off the ground effortlessly. Your protests—or whatever half-formed words you’d been about to say—were swallowed by the intensity of the moment as he positioned you, his hands gripping your hips firmly.
He moved with a rhythm that left no room for thought, fucking into you with a hunger that matched your own. The sound of skin against skin, the way your body responded to every thrust—it was overwhelming, intoxicating. You tried to hold on, arms going up to at least steady on the grass, but it was impossible. The pleasure built and built until it crashed over you both at the same time, your walls clenching around him as he barely managed to pull out in time, his release spilling onto your back and ass.
For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with the weight of what had just happened. Then, with a gentleness that surprised you, Rafayel pulled you to him, using his shirt to wipe away the mess he’d made. He didn’t say anything, just cuddled you close, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt almost possessive.
And despite everything—despite the guilt, the confusion, the lingering ache in your chest—you found yourself curling into his side, your body fitting against his as if it belonged there.
It was dangerous, this closeness, this quiet intimacy. But in that moment, you let yourself have it, even if you knew it couldn’t last.
“Be my princess. I beg you.” He whispered against your skin. “In just a matter of days, I cannot be apart from you. I love you. Tell me if you love me to or if I should stop bothering you.”
You sat up abruptly, like a cold bucket of water had just been dumped over you, the realization hitting you like a punch to the gut. You didn’t want Prince Rafayel to leave nor did you want this moment to end. You wanted him to cuddle you, kiss the side of your face and bring you up to his room to continue. You wanted to wake-up next to him and kiss him awake. You wanted him to tell you about his homeland, about his dreams.
Fuck.
You were in love with Prince Rafayel.
The weight of it crashed down on you, and you fought the urge to cry, your voice trembling as you stammered, “Oh my god. I can’t believe I—”
Rafayel tilted his head, his expression unreadable but his presence steady, urging you to finish your sentence. “What?”
“I have someone I already love, and… and I’m… I’m in…” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it out loud, the words sticking in your throat like shards of glass.
“Tell me. Please, my lady.” He urged again.
Your mind panged again in pain as he referred to you by that nickname. That good awful pinch in the back of your brain, worse than a jackhammer going directly against your skull. Was it the guilt?
Why did it feel so right to be with him? Why were you doing this to both you and him?
“I’m a terrible person!” You blurted out instead, the shame overwhelming you. Before he could respond, you turned and ran, tears already streaming down your face.
You didn’t stop until you were in a carriage taking you back home, damn it all. Tara would understand when you told her later, but there was no way you could spend another second in the Palace with a man you had fallen in love with. The sobs came when you finally collapsed on your bed, raw and unfiltered, as you buried your face in your hands.
How could you have let this happen? How could you have fallen for someone else when your heart was supposed to belong to Qi Yu?
The guilt was suffocating, and the ache in your chest felt like it would never go away. You hated yourself for it, for being so weak, for letting your heart betray you like this. But even as you cried, a small, nagging part of you wondered why it all felt so right when it was so clearly wrong.
And now you had to tell Qi Yu.
It was only right.
You couldn’t keep letting the days slip by, flirting with Rafayel, kissing him, giving in to the heat between you, all while Qi Yu was out there somewhere, believing you were still his loyal lover. The guilt was eating you alive and the longer you waited, the worse it would get.
That night, you found yourself at the beach, the cool breeze doing little to soothe the storm raging inside you. Your face was stained with tears, your eyes bloodshot and swollen from crying. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore felt like a cruel mockery of the chaos in your heart. You sat there, staring out at the dark horizon, trying to gather the courage to face Qi Yu if he even showed up.
But how could you? How could you look him in the eye and admit that you’d fallen for someone else? That you’d betrayed him in the worst way possible?
The thought of hurting him made you feel sick, but the thought of continuing to lie to him was even worse.
You didn’t know how you’d find the words or how you’d survive the heartbreak you were about to cause—both his and your own. But you knew one thing for certain: you couldn’t keep living this double life. It was time to face the consequences of your choices, no matter how much it hurt.
You were so lost in your thoughts and crying that you didn’t even notice when Qi Yu emerged from the water. He swam up in a rush, his breaths coming in heavy pants, as if he’d pushed himself to his limit to reach you. The moment he saw your tear-streaked face, his expression softened and without a word, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest.
His skin was cool from the ocean, but his embrace was warm, steady, and familiar. You could feel his heart racing, matching the frantic rhythm of your own. He didn’t ask what was wrong, didn’t demand an explanation. He just held you, one hand gently cradling the back of your head while the other rubbed soothing circles on your back.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice low and reassuring. “Whatever it is, I’ve got you.”
The kindness in his voice only made the guilt twist deeper in your chest. How could he be so gentle, so understanding, when you were about to shatter his world? You wanted to stay in his arms forever, to let his presence erase the mess you’d made, but you knew you couldn’t.
“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry,” you choked out, tears streaming down your face as you repeated the words like a mantra. “I understand if you never want to see me again. I did something horrible.”
Qi Yu’s expression flickered, something unreadable in his eyes. “What is it, my love?”
You took a shaky breath, your hands trembling as you wiped at your tear-streaked face. “I did something with Prince Rafayel. I don’t know how it happened and that’s not me trying to make excuses. I’m so sorry. I understand if you can never trust me again.”
Qi Yu’s gaze didn’t waver, his voice calm but probing. “Tell me fully, my love.”
You swallowed hard, the words sticking in your throat like shards of glass. “Prince Rafayel. He’s… him and I…” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it outright, the shame and guilt overwhelming you.
Qi Yu tilted his head slightly, his expression shifting to something almost… playful? “Are you serious about him, my lady?” he asked, his lips curling into a sad pout.
“My lady…?” you repeated, confusion cutting through your tears as the nickname pierced through your mind.
Your brain was screaming at you, not just from the pain of admitting your betrayal, but from something deeper, something you couldn’t quite place. Your head throbbed, the ache sharp and insistent, as if you the final pieces of the puzzle were right there, but you weren’t allowed to put them together.
You stared at Qi Yu, your heart racing as a strange realization began to creep in. The way he looked at you, the way he spoke, the way he held himself—it was all so eerily familiar, like a reflection of someone else. But that was impossible… wasn’t it?
The headache intensified, and you winced, clutching your temples as the pieces of the puzzle seemed to hover just out of reach. Qi Yu reached out, his hand brushing against yours, and for a moment, his touch felt exactly like Rafayel’s.
“I’m sorry!” You sniffled, your voice breaking as you looked up at him more fully, your heart laid bare. “I love you both.”
The moment the words left your lips, your mind seemed to collapse in on itself. A sharp, searing pain shot through your head, and you fell to your knees, clutching your temples as the world spun around you. It was agonizing, like your brain was being torn apart and stitched back together all at once.
But then, through the haze of pain, you felt it—a familiar touch, a familiar voice. Gentle hands steadied you, and when you looked up, it was Rafayel kneeling in front of you, his expression soft and apologetic.
“My name is Rafayel.” He said, lifting one of your palms to kiss before lowering it. “And I am but a humble man who is in love with you.”
Your breath hitched, your mind struggling to process what he was saying. “You’re… you’re one and the same?” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yes, I am. And I’m sorry for the heartache I’ve caused you, my lady.”
“You—! How?!”
Your brain struggled to keep up. You stared at him, searching his face for answers, but he looked exactly the same as he always had. The same eyes, the same smile, the same presence that had drawn you to him from the very beginning.
It was all too much to take in. The man you’d fallen for, the man you’d thought was someone entirely different, was right in front of you, revealing a truth that should have been impossible. And yet, deep down, it felt right, like the missing piece finally clicking into place.
Your head still throbbed, but the pain was fading, replaced by a flood of emotions—relief, confusion, anger, and something else you couldn’t quite name. You reached out, your hand trembling as you touched his face, as if to confirm he was real.
“I’m sorry, my love.” He replied instantly, his voice firm and unwavering, leaving no room for doubt to take root. “As a mermaid, the Gods give us incredible power both in the land and sea. But one drawback is that our forms are bound to separate identities. You wouldn’t be able to recognize me no matter how hard you tried — magic would keep stopping you.”
You gasped, taking in every word.
Rafayel paused, lifting your hand to his lips and kissing it sweetly. “There is only one way to break this curse. When you admitted your love for both sides of me, you broke that part of the contract.”
“What?” You whispered, unbelieving.
He smiled softly, his eyes filled with a mix of relief and adoration. “Many claim to fall in love with the prince, but you were the only one who loved me in my true form.” He explained. “So I searched for you, day and night, to meet you as I am. But by the time I found you, we had already started our relationship together in this body.”
“I cried over you!” You exclaimed, your voice rising as the weight of everything hit you.
“I love you so much.” He said, his tone earnest and pleading. “I’m sorry. You loved me for me, not for my title or who everyone says I am. And I was so excited to make you mine.”
“I love you too, you awful jerk!” You shot back, though there was no real anger in your words—just a flood of emotions you couldn’t quite sort through.
He chuckled softly, his hands reaching for yours. “I’m sorry, please forgive me. If I could, I would’ve screamed who I was to the high heavens for you.”
You sighed, the tension in your chest easing slightly, but a creeping doubt still lingered. “I fell in love with you. It scared me how quickly I fell for you. Doesn’t that scare you?” You asked, your voice trembling. “What if you hadn’t been one and the same?”
“But Rafayel and Qi Yu are both me. Different sides of the same me. Your heart gravitated toward me both times, even if you didn’t really know it.”
His words settled over you, quieting the storm in your mind. You looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the truth in his eyes. The man you’d fallen for, the man who had captured your heart in two different ways, was standing in front of you, whole and complete.
A mermaid prince.
Who only wanted you.
You shook your head and lowered it in shame. “I’m not good enough for you.”
“My lady, my love.” He murmured against your hair, before lifting your chin to meet his gaze. His eyes were steady, unwavering, and filled with a warmth that made your heart ache. “You are everything I want. Everything I need. And your heart knew that you wanted me too. It was not a coincidence that I used the same phrases, the same mannerisms to get your mind to subconsciously remember me.”
He paused, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “Your dress for the wedding. Do you remember what colors you wanted it to be?”
Of course, you remembered.
How could you forget? It was a gradient of colors, a pattern you couldn’t get out of your mind—a blend of blue skies and rose-colored clouds.
Rafayel answered for you, his voice soft but sure. “You made your dress the color of my eyes without even noticing.”
You shook your head again, your mind racing to find more reasons, more excuses. “I’m nothing but trouble. I’m loud, unruly. I argue and debate for fun! I won’t sit and be meek and quiet. That’s not who I am. I’m sorry.”
He smiled, a small, tender curve of his lips that made your chest tighten. “Do not apologize, my love. I want a thousand fights with you over a thousand easy days with anyone else. I don’t want perfect or easy. I want you. And I want my life with you.”
His words hit you like a wave, washing away the last of your doubts. You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest, and for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you were enough.
“You’re impossible.” You whispered, your voice trembling.
“Impossibly in love with you.”
You smiled as he pulled you closer, his lips meeting yours in a kiss so tender it made your chest ache. It was sweet, unhurried, and filled with a warmth that melted away every lingering doubt. You let yourself fall into him, your body relaxing against his as the weight of relief settled over you. Finally, you could breathe. Finally, you could let go. You loved every part of him—the prince, the mermaid, the hidden pieces he’d kept locked away—just as he loved every part of you, flaws and all.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was perfect for you.
Rafayel deepened the kiss, his hands sliding to your waist as he guided you onto his lap. You straddled him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire but soft with affection.
“Be my princess.” He murmured, his voice low and husky.
“Yes.” You whispered back, your lips brushing his as you spoke.
The word was barely audible, but it carried the weight of everything you felt—every promise, every hope, every piece of your heart you were giving to him.
His lips moved against yours with a slow intensity that made your head spin. His hands roamed over your back, tracing the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist, as if he were committing every inch of you to memory. You rolled your hips against him, the friction drawing a soft, breathy moan from your lips as heat pooled low in your stomach, spreading through your veins like wildfire. His breath hitched, a low, almost imperceptible sound, and he pulled you closer, his grip tightening possessively as if he were afraid you might slip away.
Rafayel broke the kiss, his lips brushing against yours in a series of sweet, lingering pecks before he leaned back slightly to look at you. His eyes were filled with that same dark hunger that from the nights before, but there was a tenderness there too, a softness that made your chest ache. You rolled your hips again, unable to resist the way his body responded to yours and he let out a shaky breath, his hands gripping your thighs.
“Let’s... ” His voice broke off at the end, rough and strained, like he was barely holding himself together. “Let’s take things slow.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and teasing as you leaned in to nip at his bottom lip. “You’ve already been inside me and now you want to take things slow?”
He smirked, though his eyes remained serious. “That was in my human form.”
You smiled at him softly, your hands cupping his face as you reassured him. “You can’t scare me away, Rafayel. I love you. I’m a big girl. I can take whatever you want to give me.”
His expression softened, relief flickering across his features as he leaned into your touch. But then you rolled your hips again and his breath caught, his body shifting beneath you. You felt him adjust, his movements deliberate, and then—
Your eyes widened comically as two cocks, inhumanly large and thick, came into view. They pressed against your stomach, the heat of them searing even through the fabric of your clothes. You couldn’t help but stare, your mind struggling to process what you were seeing. They were… impressive, to say the least, their size unlike anything you’d ever encountered.
Rafayel watched you carefully, his gaze searching yours for any sign of hesitation or fear. When he found none, only curiosity and a hint of awe, he smirked, his hands sliding to your hips.
“Still think you can handle me, princess?” He teased, his voice low and dripping with mischief.
You swallowed hard, your heart racing, but you met his gaze with a confidence that surprised even yourself. “Try me.” You challenged, your voice steady despite the heat flooding your cheeks.
His smirk widened and he leaned in to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his hands guiding your hips as he pressed himself against you. You took the initiative, wrapping a hand around one of his shafts, your fingers not even meeting as you wrapped it around him. His hips bucked into the motion and you kept pumping him up and down.
“Wait, please.” Rafayel murmured, his voice soft as he gently pushed your hand away. His touch was tender, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and concern. “You need more prep than me.”
You nodded, your breath hitching as his fingers trailed down your body, teasing and coaxing until you were trembling beneath him. He took his time, his movements deliberate and unhurried, as if he wanted to memorize every sound you made, every shiver that ran through you.
“Rafayel…!”
“Yes, my sweet princess. Moan for me.” He begged you against your lips.
His fingers worked you open with a patience that bordered on reverence, curling and stroking until pleasure coiled tight in your core. When you finally came, your body arching against his, he kissed you through it, his lips swallowing your moans as he whispered sweet praises against your skin.
Once you’d caught your breath, he positioned himself above you, his dual cocks pressing against you in a way that made your heart race. One slid inside you, slow and steady, while the other rubbed against your stomach, leaving a trail of pre in its wake.
You whimpered, your hands gripping his shoulders. “I can take it.”
“Not yet.” He said, his voice a low rumble. “I want you to feel good. I want to savor you.”
He entered you slowly, so slowly it was almost excruciating. The pressure was overwhelming, each inch of him stretching you in ways that made your head spin. The head of his dick alone stole your breath, but after you swore every vein in his cock was so delicious. He held you down gently, his hands reassuring as he kissed you sweetly, his lips brushing against yours in a way that felt like a promise. His fingers massaged your stomach, feeling the bulge of himself inside you, and you couldn’t help but whimper at the sensation.
“Rafayel.” You gasped, your voice trembling as tears welled in your eyes. “It’s so much.”
He paused, his breath hot against your skin as he looked down at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and concern.
“You’re doing so well, my love.” He whispered, his voice soothing as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Deep breaths for me.”
You nodded, your body trembling as you tried to relax, to adjust to the overwhelming fullness. He was cock, just the one you mentally reminded yourself, was only halfway in. And yet it felt like he was everywhere, his presence consuming you in the most exquisite way.
“I’ve got you.” He murmured, his hands moving to cradle your face as he kissed you again, slow and deep. “I’ll take care of you. Always.”
Tears welled up in your eyes, spilling over as you both paused, the intensity of the moment overwhelming you. Rafayel’s hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears as he leaned in to kiss you softly, his lips gentle against yours. The kiss was reassuring, grounding, and when he pulled back, his eyes searched yours, silently asking if you were okay.
You nodded, your breath hitching as you whispered. “I’m okay.”
He smiled, his touch tender as he held you close, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He was slow as if he wanted to savor every reaction, every breath you took. His eyes never left yours, watching you with a mix of adoration and hunger, as if you were the most precious thing he’d ever held.
You could feel every inch of him, every shift and movement, and it was almost too much—the way he filled you, the way he made you feel so completely his. But as the initial intensity eased, your body began to relax, adjusting to him, and the pleasure started to build, warm and insistent.
Rafayel noticed the change in you, the way your breathing steadied and your hands gripped him tighter. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your lips, before gradually starting to move again. This time, he rolled his cock deeper, each thrust deliberate and measured, his pace still slow but with a growing intensity that made your head fall back, a soft moan escaping your lips.
“That’s it.” He murmured, his voice rough with desire but laced with tenderness. “Just like that.”
As your body responded, arching into his, he began to move faster, his rhythm steady but more urgent now. The pleasure built, wave after wave, until you were gasping, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you clung to him. He watched you, his gaze never wavering, as if he wanted to memorize every expression, every sound you made.
It was overwhelming, the way he made you feel—cherished, desired, completely undone. And as you lost yourself in him, you knew there was no one else who could ever make you feel this way. He was yours, and you were his, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.
And it was making you extremely bold.
“Fuck me like you mean it.” You goaded him, your voice low and teasing, using the exact same words you’d whispered the very first time you’d slept together.
Rafayel’s eyes darkened, a flicker of mischief and arrogance flashing across his face as he smirked. “Looks like my dirty princess can take me.” He replied, his tone dripping with playful confidence.
Before you could respond, he pulled out, leaving you aching and empty. But he didn’t leave you waiting long. His fingers found your dripping cunt, slick and desperate for him, and he teased you, spreading your wetness over your skin before sliding a finger down to your asshole. You gasped, your body arching as he pressed a finger inside, the dual sensation of his touch sending shivers through you.
“Rafayel.” You breathed, your voice trembling as he began to move, working you in tandem—cock thrusting into your cunt, a finger circling and pressing into your ass. The pleasure was overwhelming, your moans growing louder as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.
But he wasn’t done, not by a longshot. With a wicked grin, he positioned himself again, this time pressing both of his cocks against you. You shuddered, your body trembling with anticipation as he slowly, deliberately pushed inside, filling you completely. The stretch was intense, almost too much, but the way he moved, the way he watched you with such raw desire, made it impossible to resist.
“Show me how much you want it, princess. All of me.” He murmured, his voice rough and strained as he began to thrust, his pace steady but deep, each movement hitting that perfect spot inside you.
Rafayel’s hands gripped your waist firmly, lifting you effortlessly as he manhandled you obscenely up and down his cocks. Your eyes caught on the shimmering beauty of his tail, the way it moved with a fluid grace that was almost hypnotic.
But the moment he guided you down onto him, all thought of his tail vanished.
He wasn’t just thick—he was massive, and the stretch was overwhelming in the best way. You gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders for support as he filled you completely, both of his cocks pressing into you with a delicious pressure that made your head spin. He wasn’t even moving fast, but the sheer girth of him stole the breath from your lungs, leaving you lightheaded and trembling.
“Rafayel—” you whimpered, your voice breaking as he brought you down deeper, his hands controlling your body like you were weightless. You knew it was nowhere near his entire length, just enough to keep you teetering on the edge of pleasure and desperation. Each movement was deliberate, calculated to drive you wild, and it was working.
Your mind went blank, unable to focus on anything but the way he felt inside you, the way he stretched and filled you so completely. You could only imagine how you looked, drool pooling as you were fucked stupid, nothing but his name on your lips. The coil in your stomach tightened with every thrust, every shift of his hips, and you could do nothing but moan his name, over and over, like a prayer.
“Let go, my love. I’ve got you.” He murmured, his voice low and rough.
His words only made the heat in your core burn brighter, and you clung to him, your nails digging into his skin as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. He was everywhere, all at once, and you were completely at his mercy, lost in the sensation of him. The coil snapped, and you cried out, your body shuddering as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Rafayel held you through it, his movements never faltering, until you were boneless and trembling in his arms.
He kissed you then, his lips capturing yours in a way that felt like a promise, a vow, something unbreakable. His hands cradled your face, his touch gentle but firm, as if he were trying to pour every unspoken word, every hidden emotion, into that single kiss.
The world around you seemed to fade, the sounds of the waves dissolving into a distant hum as his tongue brushed against yours, deepening the connection. You could taste him, feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. He savored every second, as if to memorize the way your lips felt against his, the way you responded to him.
It was more than just a kiss—it was a moment, a culmination of everything you’d been through, everything you’d felt but hadn’t been able to say. And as he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm on your skin, you knew this was something you’d carry with you forever.
That kiss wasn’t just a kiss; it was a seal, a silent declaration that this—whatever this was—was real, and it was yours.
For a moment, you both stayed like that, suspended in the quiet aftermath, your breaths mingling as your hearts raced in unison. The air around you felt charged, electric, yet tender, as if the world had paused just for the two of you. Your bodies trembled, still humming with the echoes of what had just passed, and you clung to him, your fingers lightly tracing the lines of his shoulders as if to anchor yourself in the reality of him.
Rafayel was the first to move, pulling back just enough to look at you, his hands soft and deliberate as they brushed the stray strands of hair from your face. His touch was featherlight, almost reverent, as if you were something fragile and precious that he never wanted to let go of. He cuddled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt both possessive and protective, his warmth seeping into your skin.
His eyes met yours, and for a moment, he simply stared, his gaze dreamy and unfocused, as if he were memorizing every detail of your face—the curve of your lips, the flush on your cheeks, the way your eyes softened when you looked at him. There was a quiet wonder in his expression, a kind of awe that made your heart swell.
“I love you with all my heart.” He murmured, his voice low and husky, each word weighted with a sincerity that made your chest tighten.
You smiled, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you leaned into him, your own voice barely above a whisper. “I love you too, Rafayel.”
The words felt like a release, a final piece of the puzzle clicking into place. And as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, pulling you even closer, you knew that this—this moment, this feeling, this man—was everything you’d ever wanted.
.
.
.
.
Bonus:
The entire night of Tara and Prince Thomas’ wedding, you stayed by Prince Rafayel’s side, inseparable. The grand ballroom was alive with music and laughter, the culmination of all yours and Tara’s work these past few months. It was a relief to see everything coming together. And since you had joined, every moment felt like a dream, a whirlwind of joy and affection that you never wanted to end.
You danced to every song, your hands clasped tightly in his, your bodies moving in perfect harmony as if you’d been made to dance together. Between dances, he led you to the banquet tables, where he plucked grapes from the lavish displays and fed them to you with a playful grin.
“For my princess,” he teased, his voice warm and full of affection, and you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and carefree. The way he said it— my princess —sent a thrill through you, a promise of the future you were building together.
The nobles of your country approached throughout the night, offering their blessings and congratulations on your engagement. Their words were kind, their smiles genuine, but you barely noticed them, too caught up in the man beside you. Rafayel accepted their well-wishes with grace, his hand never leaving yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a silent reassurance.
The way he held you, the way he looked at you, made it impossible to care about the whispers or the envious glances from the other guests. The women sighed with longing, their eyes following Rafayel with a mix of admiration and jealousy, while the men watched you with a similar envy, wishing they could be the one by your side.
But none of it mattered. Not the stares, not the whispers, not the grandeur of the wedding around you. All that mattered was him—the way his hand felt in yours, the way his laughter filled your heart, the way he looked at you as if you were the only person in the room.
“I love this woman with all my heart.” Rafayel declared to your father the very same evening you realized his true identity.
Your father looked weary, the lines on his face deeper than usual as he listened to your plea. His eyes, though tired, softened as he watched you, the happiness on your face, more than he had ever seen before in your entire life. A sparkle in your eyes that was impossible to ignore. After a long, heavy silence, he finally relented, his shoulders sagging with a mix of resignation and relief.
If this was what made you happy, then he would be happy for you too.
You were immediately engaged to Prince Rafeyel, a pearl ring with diamond accents on your finger. The engagement was immediate and with it came the whirlwind of planning a royal wedding in Rafayel’s home country. And while many of your maids and servants were thrilled for you, there was an undercurrent of sadness among those who loved you most. Your family, your friends—they knew this meant you’d be leaving, moving far away to start a new life as Rafayel’s princess.
Regardless, you would choose Rafayel a hundred times over if it meant you got to be with him.
Your sister, however, was overjoyed. She hugged you tightly, her eyes shining with tears of happiness as she whispered, “You deserve this. You deserve him.” Her support meant the world to you, a reminder that even in the midst of change, some things would always remain the same. “I’m so happy for you both!”
Of course, Tara always knew you were seeing Prince Rafayel.
When she spotted that hickey on your thigh weeks ago, that’s when she knew you were serious about this mystery man. No amount of her playful nagging or not-so-subtle hints could get you to spill the beans. You were tighter-lipped than a clam at high tide. So, naturally, Tara decided to take matters into her own hands.
It was suspicious how often you would leave the house to go down to the beach for “meditation and calmness.” Yeah, she understood you were stressed, being a business owner and the maid of honor for a royal wedding wasn’t easy. But Tara wasn’t buying it for a second. She knew this was the only time you were sneaking off without anyone else around and she wasn’t about to let this golden opportunity slip by…
So she followed you.
There she was, crouched behind a bush like some kind of amateur spy, watching as you strolled up to the water’s edge. The waves crashed dramatically, because of course they did—this was your life now, apparently. Then, you did the unthinkable: you yelled a name into the wind. Tara squinted, trying to hear over the sound of the ocean, but before she could process what was happening, a mermaid —yes, a real, live, tail-flipping mermaid—popped out of the water and kissed you.
Tara froze.
Her brain short-circuited. Was she hallucinating? Had she accidentally eaten something weird at lunch? Nope. This was real.
Her older sister making out with a mermaid.
She never would’ve guessed your secret significant other was a mystical being. Sure, she’d entertained the idea that you were dating someone intriguing—maybe a brooding artist or a dashing rogue—but a mermaid ? That was next-level.
And not just any mermaid, but one Tara recognized.
As she squinted through the bushes, it hit her like a tidal wave. Rafayel. Prince Rafayel. The same guy she’d met at Prince Thomas’ fancy foreign dinner a few weeks ago. He’d been sassy, a little too blunt for royal standards, but also had a charming way of making everyone laugh while also being drawn in.
He was basically the mermaid version of you.
Tara couldn’t help but smirk as she pieced it all together. Of course you’d fall for someone who could match your wit toe-to-toe. Rafayel was the kind of guy who’d probably argue with you about the best way to eat a sandwich and then kiss you mid-debate just to shut you up. Perfect.
She was this close to jumping out of the bushes, proclaiming she solved the puzzle and demanding all the juicy details. But then she kept watching. The way you and Rafayel cuddled by the water, his tail shimmering under the moonlight, the way he kissed you like you were the only person in the world—it was so tender, so real.
This moment was too intimate, too special. She’d wait. Let you come to her when you were ready.
So she waited.
And waited.
And waited.
It was torture, honestly. Every time you mentioned you were going down to the beach, Tara had to bite her tongue to keep from blurting out, “Oh, you mean your mermaid make-out sessions?”
But she held strong, secretly proud of herself for not spilling the beans.
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take before you finally cracked and told her the truth. Until then, she’d just have to keep pretending she didn’t know your boyfriend was half fish. And maybe, just maybe, she’d start dropping hints about how much she loved seafood.
And then the two of you officially met—or at least, that’s what everyone else thought. To the untrained eye, it looked like you two couldn’t stand each other. The snarky comments, the icy glares, the way you practically hissed when you would accidentally meet up with him on Palace grounds—it was a performance worthy of an award. If the goal was to fool everyone into thinking you were mortal enemies, it was working.
But Tara? She wasn’t fooled for a second.
If anything, the way you two traded barbs was so dripping with sexual tension, it was practically a flood. Every sharp word, every heated glance—it was like watching two cats hiss at each other while secretly plotting to knock over a vase together later. Tara had to resist the urge to fan herself every time you were in the same room.
So when Tara’s maid mentioned that she’d found Prince Rafayel naked in your guest room early one morning, Tara wasn’t surprised. Not even a little. If anything, she was more hurt that you’d been sneaking around this much to keep the secret.
Still, Tara couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Here you were, pretending to despise each other in public, while behind closed doors, Rafayel was apparently making himself very comfortable in your quarters.
And then the full on verbal fight at the tea party.
Tara’s relationship with Prince Thomas was everything she’d ever wanted—sweet, gentle, and predictable. Thomas was the epitome of a gentleman, never raising his voice or stepping out of line. But watching you and Rafayel go at it? It was like something ripped straight out of one of those scandalous romance novels Tara secretly devoured.
The two of you were practically spitting fire, your voices sharp and cutting, yet somehow laced with an undercurrent of something heated. Tara couldn’t decide if she should intervene or grab popcorn. In the end, she opted to usher everyone away, giving you two the privacy to work it out.
The way your genuinely angry tone clashed with Rafayel’s goading smirk was enough to tell her this was a private matter—one that didn’t need an audience.
What she didn’t expect was for you two to take it to a whole new level, ripping the clothes off each other and getting taken. Right there. In the middle of the gardens. Among the roses and hydrangeas.
Is that what all consuming passion looked like?
The next evening, as Thomas escorted her back to her guest room and the maids had been excused for the night, Tara decided to test the waters. “Sweetheart,” she began, her voice dripping with faux innocence, “would you like to… kiss me? Out on my balcony?”
Thomas’ face turned the color of a ripe tomato, his stammering response barely coherent as he looked her up and down. Tara had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. This was her sweet, flustered puppy, after all. She knew exactly how he’d react before she even asked. But hey, kissing was just the first step in the many steamy things she’d been hearing about lately.
And, of course, Thomas was more than eager to follow her lead. As he stepped into her room, Tara couldn’t help but smile to herself.
She had you to thank for the idea.
Notes:
Hope you liked my take on Mermaid!Prince!Rafayel - he’s teasing, smug and everything this version of the reader is in love with. They’re both kinda bratty, kinda sassy, and I feel like that’s what makes them a good match. 🙂
((Imma pull some isekai magic hacks and say Tara is a secret Saintess and just knows cause she’s the main character of the webtoon lol))
Next is Zayne, who’s chapter is about halfway done :)
Chapter 3: Pirate King Sylus
Notes:
Hewwo so unfortunately Zayne’s story is a LOT longer than I thought (+ more angsty, sorry my snowman but its honestly fitting xd)
And in the middle of writing, yes STILL just writing Zayne’s story for the past month, I was like fuck that my brain is melting i need a break.
So here’s Sylus! LOL his outline and the writing was so much clear to me, I’ll be swapping Zayne and Sylus in the post order. Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Come on now, kitten. I’d do anything for that smile.”
You woke up with a gasp, bolting upright in a sea of embroidered silk sheets and sweat.
Chest heaving, you stared at the ornate ceiling above you—ivory panels with gilded edges, painted with cherubs who clearly had no idea what taxes or arranged marriages were. You wiped the cold sweat from your brow as the remnants of your dream fizzled into nothingness.
Well… almost nothingness.
Red eyes.
White hair.
And that voice—low, velvet-smooth, and so sinfully rich it probably came with a warning label. The kind of voice that could talk a priest into sin. Whatever fever dream you had just woken from, it left your heart pounding like a romantic drum solo. You exhaled and flopped back against the mountain of pillows like a dying heroine.
The lavish, unfamiliar bedroom around you was no comfort. Lace curtains fluttered in the breeze like ghostly witnesses to your existential panic, and the perfume of expensive misery lingered in the air. Your brain, still rebooting like an old computer, reminded you that you were not, in fact, in your one-bedroom apartment anymore.
Right.
Isekai’d.
You had been dropped into a melodramatic Webtoon like the universe’s worst plot twist. You were now living the life of her—the villainess. The girl destined to be publicly humiliated, cheated on, and possibly killed off.
A week ago, you'd woken up in this high-maintenance body complete with noblesse obligations and the worst timing in the universe. Just a week away from your grand wedding to Crown Prince Carter—the main male lead and walking red flag in princely packaging.
Unfortunately, this version of you—the original host—had been very committed to Carter. Dangerously obsessed. Crying-in-the-rain-while-wearing-silk-gowns level of obsessed. And your reward? Emotional neglect, political manipulation, and being cheated on with the bubbly, sunshine-blessed heroine who didn't know how mirrors worked because she was just that humble.
You never quite understood that Webtoon trope of the humble country pumpkin who had the Crown Prince fall for her. She called out the nobility for their pretentious attitudes and yet hypocritically offended them first by refusing to acknowledge etiquette. She would chastise them for the lavish lifestyles, but would then marry into royalty and enjoy that same lifestyle herself.
And yet the villainess with all the skills of a leader was cast aside, simply because she was more ambitious than a protagonist with the personality of a little girl.
God it was frustrating.
And now it was your life!
The memories of the original host came in flashes during the day. When you first met Carter, your body was unconsciously pulled to him and craved his attention. But your mind remembered his cruelty, how after your engagement you had caught Carter kissing someone else that very night. He taunted you with every cruel nickname in the book, only short of physical abuse.
No, that was your family’s job after all.
Your mind reminded you of the beating of this original body. You were a noble in name only, subject to bruises littering up and down your back as cruel maids poured ice-cold water down your body. That was only one example, but they had absolutely no love for you. They preserved your face, saying it was your most useful attribute, but your father had no problems sneering at you as you cried and begged the maids to stop whipping you.
Holy fuck.
And they called you the villainess?!
There was only one saving grace in all your dreams. For some reason, whenever this person plagued your mind, that was when the dreams felt the most vivid, but somehow fleeting the moment you woke up.
It was all because of him.
The man who appeared only in your dreams, hazy but unforgettable. Red eyes, white hair, a voice dipped in sin and garnished with danger.
You didn’t know who he was, but the difference was already laughably stark. Mysterious dream man made your knees weak with a glance. Carter made your stomach churn like you’d swallowed a bad oyster.
Which was probably why, in a moment of lucid desperation, you had already tried to call off the wedding. You had stood before your noble family, trembling and dignified, and explained in great detail why marrying Carter would be emotional suicide. He hated you, would cheat on you, and would undoubtedly find a way to get rid of you down the line!
Their response?
They called you a “dramatic little peacock.”
Your mother had gone back to polishing her gemstone fan and sneering at you. Your siblings, fuck their backstabbing souls, had already started betting on how fast your marriage would implode. And your father hadn’t even bothered feigning his disdain for you, simply saying: You are nothing but a pretty chess piece.
As for Carter?
He’d looked you up and down like you were a particularly annoying stain on his ceremonial cape and responded, “Was this a test from my mother? Do you two take me for a fool? I’m not stupid like you.”
Charming.
Truly.
You groaned into your hands and murmured to yourself. “I only played otome games and now I’m engaged to a human disaster with a crown.”
The days leading up to your wedding felt less like a celebration and more like a funeral procession—with better catering. Despite the royal palace being the definition of opulence (gold-trimmed everything, swan-shaped soaps in the bath, and more chandeliers than necessary for a single building), the looming reality cast everything in a dull, bitter light.
Your future husband-to-be didn’t even bother with the illusion of fidelity. Night after night, he disappeared into the city under the laughably transparent excuse of “military inspections.” Military inspections apparently included candlelight dinners, lipstick stains on his collar, and a very not military giggle echoing in the halls when he returned.
You doubted he could even properly wield a sword.
What was there left for you even to do? You anguished at your windowsill, sobbing as the inevitable drum of fate edged closer and closer. You heard a small sound outside your window and looked out, seeing a large black crow on the tree outside your room. It almost felt like it was looking at you.
“What should I do, Mr. Crow?” You asked nobody, eyes rubbed raw from your continuous tears. When the bird flew away, you only watched it in jealousy, wishing that could be you instead.
Wait.
You packed a bag that very night, plotted a route, even bribed a stable boy with a ruby hairpin.
But, of course, before you could execute your daring escape, the Queen somehow found out—probably the moment you begged your family to call off the wedding—and posted guards outside your room like you were a dangerous fugitive rather than a depressed bride-to-be.
You even tried poisoning yourself, but the Queen had the handsome Dr. Zayne at your service before you could do anything drastic.
“Please, help me.” You begged the doctor, the only person who looked at you like you were human. “I need to get out of here before the wedding.”
But he simply looked at you with pity in his eyes, as if he knew too that this was a fate you could not escape.
And so, the Royal Wedding came.
The wedding of the century, or so the papers said. The Crown Prince and his ‘childhood friend’— you —tying the knot in a romantic union of noble prestige and fabricated affection. There were headlines. Fireworks. A floral budget that could’ve fed an entire city, if not five major cities, for a month.
How wasteful.
You wore a gown spun from pure fantasy, white silk and delicate embroidery with a train so long you feared you’d get lost in it. Your hair was an architectural masterpiece. Your makeup was flawless. You looked like a dream.
But were you happy?
You stood at the grand altar of the Cathedral of St. Vael, open only to royal weddings, staring ahead at a sea of nobles dressed in finery and fake smiles. The air was heavy with perfume, secrets, and smug entitlement. Beside you, Carter looked bored. He hadn’t said a single word to you, instead checking the polish on his ceremonial sword like he planned to marry it instead.
The pastor went on and on about vows of everlasting love. You didn’t have to imagine the hate on Carter’s face as he droned on, he didn’t even respect you as a person!
Should you just pull a Penelope Eckhart?
Poison yourself at your own dinner event to escape this fate?
Just as your mental state turned for the worst, the massive stained-glass window above the altar shattered in a kaleidoscope of color and sound.
Gasps erupted from the crowd as shards of crimson, blue, and gold rained down like divine judgment. Three figures descended from the opening, ropes taut and movements precise. They wore crimson masks, each with a long, beaked nose, like carnival performers from someone’s fever dream.
Except one.
One was unmasked.
Your breath caught in your throat.
Red eyes. White hair. The man from your dreams. The devilishly attractive hallucination made real.
“It's Pirate King Sylus!” Someone gasped from the crowd, voice quivering with a mix of awe and fear.
Sylus.
The name of the man who haunted your dreams.
The intimidating pirate landed with the quiet, deadly grace of a predator. He unsheathed his sword in a slow, lazy motion—like he had all the time in the world and absolutely no patience for nonsense. In seconds, he dispatched the scrambling royal knights with a few elegant flourishes, each movement so smooth it was practically art.
Carter immediately screamed like a startled goose and, to your complete lack of surprise, shoved you in front of him like a human shield.
“Don’t kill me!” He shrieked, dramatically clutching at your dress like a child hiding behind their older sibling.
You would’ve rolled your eyes, but you were a little preoccupied with the very handsome, very dangerous man sauntering up to you with purpose in his steps and chaos in his wake.
He stopped in front of you, gaze locked with yours.
That facecard.
That smirk.
You felt your knees go weak and your brain politely exit the chat. And sure, he was walking at you with dangerous intent and there was no one in this entire Palace who could protect you, but he was so sexy that it hardly mattered.
Then Sylus turned toward the throne, voice ringing out clear and commanding. “How many commoners had to starve,” he started, gesturing around the lavish chamber, “just to line this room with white and gold roses?”
A hush fell over the crowd like a dropped veil.
You blinked.
He had a point.
How many millions of gold coins, taxpayer money at that, did they sink into this sham of a wedding?
Even some of the nobles looked down at their shoes, uncomfortable under the sudden weight of moral accountability. Others scoffed, pretending their diamond buttons weren’t catching the light like guilt on display.
Carter, ever the paragon of charisma, rolled his eyes and muttered. “Ugh, pirates.”
That was when Sylus slipped an arm around your waist—confident, smooth, and entirely too comfortable for someone who had just committed property damage on your behalf.
“Wha—wait, what are you doing?” You whispered, half-panicked, half-swooning.
He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear. “Sorry, Princess. This’ll make the trip a bit easier for you.”
Before you could ask what trip, he pulled out a cloth from his pocket—scented faintly of herbs and trouble—and gently pressed it to your mouth.
“Hey—mmph—!”
Everything went soft.
You vaguely felt yourself being lifted into the air, held effortlessly in Sylus’s arms as you soared upward on the same ropes his crew had descended with. Somewhere below, Carter wailed, the nobles screamed, and someone shouted, “ She’s been kidnapped! ”
Your last conscious thought before the darkness took you?
God, he smells nice…
Your eyes fluttered open to a room you didn’t recognize. Your heart jolted with a memory—him. That devilishly handsome menace with white hair and a jawline so sharp you wanted to rub your hand against it.
He had kidnapped you.
Carried you off in broad daylight like you were some kind of damsel in distress—though, to be fair, you were distressed, and also… a little flustered.
Panic tried to bubble up in your chest, but it just couldn’t get past the overwhelming meh you felt for your old life. Between your emotionally bankrupt family and Carter the Cowardly Crown Prince, being abducted by a dreamy pirate was honestly a lateral move at worst.
You rubbed at your eyes and sat up cautiously, expecting chains.
Maybe rats playing dice in the corner.
Instead, you were in what seemed like a guest room.
A surprisingly spacious one at that. The bed you were tucked into was soft, the sheets smelled faintly of salt and lavender, and everything around you was clean.
You took stock of your new surroundings: a white wooden cabinet, a matching wardrobe, and walls that, while undecorated, had been scrubbed spotless. There was no gaudy art, no looming ancestral portraits judging you from above.
And the sunlight— real sunlight—was pouring through the wide windows, warming the floor and dancing on the wood like golden waves.
You slowly stood, only to stumble a bit. Your knees wobbled and the floor beneath you felt like it had a vendetta against gravity.
You made your way—carefully—to the window and leaned against the sill for support. And promptly gasped.
Open ocean.
Endless, sparkling blue stretching in every direction. Seagulls wheeled overhead and the wind whipped at the sails of a ship so large, you could hear the ropes groaning above you.
You were on a ship. A real ship.
A pirate ship.
Your breath caught in your throat as it all clicked into place. You had been kidnapped, yes—but not by just anyone. No, you had been dramatically, theatrically abducted by none other than the Pirate King himself.
This wasn’t in the original Webtoon. You could recall that the Wedding proceeded as usual, the villainess and Carter even angrily sharing a bed during the nighttime. You dreaded every moment leading up to that scene, but now here you were on a ship headed far from the plot of the story.
You glanced down at yourself and blinked. The elaborate wedding gown—the symbol of everything awful and glittery in your new life—was gone. In its place was a simple, surprisingly comfortable outfit: a deep blue cotton dress layered over a crisp white shirt. You turned this way and that in front of the standing mirror.
Goddammit.
Should you even try to escape? Maybe get a weapon?
You exhaled, then took a step forward and once again wobbled slightly. Okay, yes, still on a ship. That wasn’t just a weird nap dream.
You crossed the room and hesitated at the door. With slow fingers, you turned the brass handle and peeked out. The hallway revealed an office, wide and sunlit, with walls lined by shelves full of scrolls and books, maps pinned with red string and notes.
It was impressive. At the far end stood a heavy oak desk facing tall windows, beyond which stretched the more endless ocean. It looked like the kind of room where serious planning happened. Pirate strategy, secret plots, maybe a bit of dramatic brooding.
There were two doors here. You leaned toward the one with faint voices behind it—quiet conversation, a laugh—and, gathering your nerve, opened it.
Immediately, two heads turned toward you. They were familiar—well, sort of. You recognized the black and red masks first. These were the same people who had crashed your wedding and gracefully repelled down toward you.
To your shock, both broke into smiles that were… friendly?
“Good morning, Princess!” The slightly taller one beamed, giving a wave like you were old friends instead of newly abducted cargo.
“You’re up earlier than the boss thought you’d be.” The other added, cradling a steaming mug of something that smelled suspiciously like cinnamon. “Head still spinning or just ready to run?”
You blinked. “Uh… neither?” Pause. “Both?”
The two pirates exchanged a knowing grin.
“Well, you're not tied up or anything.” The tall one shrugged. “That’s a good sign.”
“You were technically rescued.” The other added helpfully.
You deadpanned. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Well boss said—”
But before he could continue, the other elbowed him harshly in the stomach.
“Okay, never mind.”
You didn’t quite know how to respond to that. So instead, you asked. “Where am I right now?”
“The Onychinus , flagship of the N109 Fleet.” They said in unison, clearly rehearsed, clearly proud.
A pirate ship with a name and a PR team.
“Are there other ships in the fleet?”
One winked at you with a mischievous smile. “That’s a secret.”
Just then, footsteps from a heavy boot sounded behind you—slow, deliberate, a little too cinematic to be casual.
You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. You could feel the warmth of his gaze before he even spoke.
“Glad to see you on your feet.” Came that same deep, velvety voice that had been haunting your dreams. “I trust the accommodations aren’t too disappointing, Princess?”
You turned—and yes, there he was.
Pirate King Sylus. In daylight, he was no less stunning. He was in his full regalia, a coat he wore over his shoulders instead of looping his arms through. There were various medals and gold accents that caught the sunlight. If anything, the sun seemed to conspire with his bone-white hair and crimson gaze, casting shadows that only made him more unreasonably attractive.
This was either the start of a very complicated hostage negotiation.
Or the best decision you never got to make.
He took one long look at you before turning to the other two. “Show her around, will you?”
You couldn’t help the confused sound that came out in response. “What?”
Why was he being nice to you? You didn’t get a chance to ask, when in the next second, he turned around and went into the very room you had just exited from.
Was that his office?
Had you just fallen asleep in his bedroom???
The tall one pointed his head toward another door, “Shall we?”
You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm in this strange situation. “First thing I need to know, what are your names?
One raised their hand and you were sure if you were face-to-face with him, he’d be wearing a shit eating grin. “Luke here for ya!”
“My name is Kieran.” The other replied.
“Okay, glad to… make your acquaintance.” You settled on replying, unsure what to even say in this situation.
Luke was the first to bound ahead, dramatically flinging open the nearest door as if unveiling a grand palace. “Welcome to the Onychinus , our humble home-slash-floating fortress of morally flexible operations!”
“It’s not that humble.” Kieran said mildly, trailing behind him. “We do have a chandelier in the dining hall.”
“A gift.” Luke grinned.
“I didn’t realize gifts were non-optional.” Kieran joked.
You blinked as they stepped aside and gestured for you to follow. With only a moment’s hesitation, you did—because let’s be honest, you weren’t going to get answers by sulking in your room.
The halls were definitely not what you expected. The floors weren’t sticky wood planks or soggy ropes, but polished dark timber that gleamed under soft lantern light. The walls were lined with gold-accented detailing, elegant and clean. At one corner you passed a sitting room—with actual velvet cushions—and was that a harp?
Luke leaned in, whispering conspiratorially. “Fun fact, the crew takes turns playing terrible renditions of love songs when they’re drunk.”
“I’m usually the best at it.” Kieran added dryly, arms crossed.
“You’re also the most sober.” Luke retorted.
As they led you around the ship, you were met with a few curious glances—but none hostile. One woman scrubbing the rail looked up, grinned, and said, “Morning, Princess! Love the dress—looks like Tara did good!”
A burly man hauling crates gave you a nod. “Heard the prince cowered behind you before getting snatched.”
“I hate that guy.” You answered without hesitation. “Wish he was here so I could push him off the ship.”
“Get in line!” Luke said proudly. “I said we should’ve just grabbed him while he was right there, but protecting you was more important.”
You tilted your head in confusion, questions mounting higher and higher instead of answers on this makeshift tour. You figured that the pirates had captured you for ransom money or as a bargaining chip for something of the royal family, but they had been treating you kindly all morning. Or was this to lower your guard and reveal something?
The tour continued and there was even a small greenhouse on the deck—actual potted herbs swaying in the sea breeze. A lookout tower that doubled as an art studio. The kitchen, which Luke introduced like a game show host, boasted a full pantry and spice rack that would make your family’s chef weep from envy.
“I thought pirate ships were supposed to be… I don’t know. Moldy?” You muttered, staring in disbelief at the marble-topped counters.
Luke placed a hand over his heart. “We have standards, Princess. Plundering with flair.”
You were half-convinced you’d hallucinated the whole “wanted criminal” part. Because if this was life as a hostage, it was starting to feel suspiciously like… a vacation. With a lot of weapons.
But most importantly to you, a chance to rewrite the Webtoon for good.
Gone was Carter, the asshole you wished you had sucker punched if given a chance. You never met the female protagonist of this world and you were happy for it, sure that you would do nothing good if you saw her.
Maybe staying on this ship, at least for a few months, wouldn’t be so bad?
Luke and Kieran made sure you had a hearty breakfast—eggs, thick-cut bacon, and warm toast served neatly on a white porcelain plate that was definitely not pirate standard. You half-expected it to be served on a wooden plank with a dagger for a fork, but nope. Real silverware. Cloth napkin.
After breakfast and several rounds of cheerful banter (mostly Luke making Kieran groan audibly), the twins led you back to the large oak door you’d woken up near.
They didn’t need to say where you were, but you knew somehow that this was the Captain’s Quarters. It was dead center of the ship and had stairs leading to it to show its position.
You steeled your heart, knowing Sylus would be on the other side, and knocked.
A pause.
Then, from inside—smooth as honey, deep as thunder:
“Come in.”
You opened the door, already feeling your pulse quicken like it was running a race without your permission.
Sylus was behind the desk, lounging with the elegance of a lion sunbathing in his territory. Maps, compass tools, and some handwritten notes were spread out on the desk, but his piercing red eyes didn’t stray from you. Not even for a second. He held a black ink pen loosely in one hand.
Dangerously sexy hands, you thought as your eyes lingered on how being they were, before immediately scolding yourself.
“Captain.” You remembered at the last second to address his title before walking forward. “I’ve completed my tour with Luke and Kieran.”
“Great.” His voice alone could knock you off your axis. He gestured casually to the chair across from him. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
You bit your lip. “No.”
“No?” He raised a brow, looking almost amused.
You crossed your arms, planting your feet firmly. “I need answers. Why am I here?”
He leaned back in his chair with an ease that made you feel like you were the one overreacting. His thighs spread slightly, and unfortunately your eyes betrayed you with a quick, barely-there glance.
Judging by the knowing twitch of his lips, he saw it.
Fantastic.
“Were you aware.” He started slowly, tone sharpening just a hair. “that your so-called fiancé made plans to kill you?”
Chapter 74.
In the original webtoon, it was staged as an accident—Carter pushing the villainess off a high balcony during a heated spat. He cried at her funeral. Even got an award for grief-stricken devotion.
Asshole.
“Yes.” You answered back, the weight of it settling in your stomach.
Sylus stilled, the teasing edge vanishing from his expression. “And you were still going to marry him?”
You scoffed bitterly. “I tried to back out. My parents told me I was being dramatic. Carter didn’t even bother responding and the Queen locked me in my room to stop me from running away. Nothing but fate would have stopped that wedding.”
There was a pause. Then his voice again—quieter, but no less resolute.
“And fate has finally arrived.”
You frowned. “And what do you want from me? You know Carter wouldn’t pay a single coin for my life. So why go to the trouble of kidnapping me?”
Sylus stood, the motion smooth and deliberate. He came around the desk slowly, the space between you shrinking. Your breath caught, but you stopped yourself from unconsciously taking a step backward.
He stared deeply into your eyes and you tried to step up to it, like a silent challenge. Was he trying to recruit you onto his staff? Did you have to prove yourself for a spot here on the ship?
It felt like he was searching for something in your gaze. Recognition? Judgment? Maybe even fear? Whatever he sought, he didn’t seem to find it.
He looked away first.
“Take the next few days to get comfortable and settled. We’ll decide your tasks later.”
You glanced at the door to the bedroom you woke up in and had to ask. “Am I staying in your bedroom?”
The implication was obvious. Did he want you to warm his bed? A part of you was appalled, was the kindness simply a farce to get you to spread your legs for him? You wanted to be outraged, angry that he would take all your agency and force you on this ship.
He looked at you deadpan. “No.”
Your brain did a cartwheel. “Oh.”
Damn.
I mean…
(Goddammit, what the fuck was wrong with you? He was your kidnapper. You were not allowed to be disappointed he didn’t want to bed you like some pirate wench from a fantasy novel!
Unless…?)
You cleared your throat and tried not to combust from shame.
Sylus returned to his desk, unbothered. “The other quarters are full. I wasn’t going to leave you to sleep with the cannonballs and potatoes. You’re staying in the safest place on the ship.”
“Oh.”
He looked at you then, the sides of his lips curling in that almost smile. “I’ll see to it that the accommodations on this ship are to your liking.”
“Thank you.”
He gave a lazy wave toward the nearby doors. “Bathroom’s through there. My room’s that door. Try not to wander too far.
“Noted.”
Then, he reached into a drawer and held up a small, brass key.
“For your privacy.”
You took it, your fingers brushing his as you did.
Electricity. Instant.
You nodded, muttered a polite “thanks,” and turned to leave as calmly as possible.
The second the door shut behind you, you exhaled like you’d been holding your breath underwater for a full minute.
Why did you assume he wanted you in that way?
Why was he so... composed?
Why did that bother you?!
You were sure your face was red hot. God that was embarrassing! You had assumed that Sylus wanted you for your body, but clearly he had no interest. It was his fault for making you assume, with his sexy smoldering look. You wanted to scream, but instead walked out to the deck and attempted to let the cool air of the ocean calm you.
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(In case anyone is confused)
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The next few days you tried your best to be comfortable—well, as comfortable as one could be after getting kidnapped by a pirate ship full of disturbingly attractive people.
This was definitely the world of a Webtoon.
You chatted with the crew during meals, the mess hall always loud with laughter, card games, and the occasional arm-wrestling match that sometimes ended with someone getting flung over the bench. You were surprised by how kind everyone was, their teasing nicknames (“Princess” being the most popular) never cruel. And oddly, no one ever asked for your name.
They already knew it.
A full week passed before someone knocked on your door at what felt like an aggressively early hour.
“Morning, sleepyhead! Gotta get up!”
You groaned, blindly reaching for something to throw—your pillow was all that made the journey.
The mystery woman on the other side knocked again, undeterred. “Let’s go! I don’t have all day, and neither do your new pants!”
You dragged yourself out of bed, blinking against the light and pulling a brown sweater over your head. When you opened the door, a bubbly woman with a short, fluffy bob and a grin way too awake for this time of morning greeted you.
“Finally! Or were you planning to live in those pajamas forever?” She gave you a once-over and tutted. “Come on, lazy-butt. I’m here to take your measurements.”
You stared blankly, still booting up mentally. “…Huh?”
She clucked her tongue playfully and waved a measuring tape at you like a weapon. “For clothes! Real clothes. Pants! Boots! Maybe even a shirt that doesn’t look like it survived a shipwreck.”
“I—uh—yeah, okay.” You said dumbly, letting her in while trying to make sense of what was happening. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were waiting.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve had worse clients.” She teased, tossing her measuring kit onto the small desk. “At least you’re not a fainter. I’ve had big scary crewmen keel over the moment I mention inseam.”
You snorted. “I bet you have a whole collection of trauma stories.”
“Oh, you have no idea.” She pulled the tape taut and motioned for you to hold your arms out. “Nice to see you again, by the way. I’m Tara.”
You offered your name, finally beginning to shake off the sleep haze. “Wait—again?”
“Mmhm. I made the dresses you’ve been wearing so far. Sylus had your rough measurements but I’m a perfectionist.” She joked. “So I took the quiet route.”
You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Oh my god.”
“Oh please. I’ve dressed worse. Once had to wrestle pants onto a guy who was passed out drunk and singing opera. You were a breeze in comparison.”
The two of you chatted easily as she continued her work—jotting notes into a little notebook, pausing to squint at your shoulders, then muttering something about ‘more flexible fabric’ under her breath.
“So…” You started, as she moved to measure the length of your leg, “How did you end up on this ship? You don’t really scream ‘pirate.’”
She paused for a second, fingers curling around the measuring tape. Her smile softened a little.
“I owe my life to Sylus.”
The answer hung in the air for a moment. You opened your mouth to ask more, but she steamrolled forward with a chipper clap of her hands.
“Anyway, enough about me. You’re the one getting the VIP treatment. Speaking of, I actually brought you something!” She rummaged in her satchel before pulling out a neatly folded brown paper bag. “Sylus said you love these snacks, and I hate them. Couldn’t find a soul on this ship who liked ‘em—until now.”
You took the bag slowly, suspiciously. Inside were—your eyes widened—your favorite sea-salted peanut crisps. The exact kind you used to hide in your bedside drawer back home.
“What the hell.” You muttered, not realizing you were saying this aloud. “How did he know this?”
Tara winked. “The Captain’s got his ways.”
Okay but seriously, how the fuck did he know that? It wasn’t like it had come up in conversation to any of the Pirates here aboard the ship, even if he was spying on your interactions with his staff. There’s literally no way he would have known this tidbit of information within the last few days, it had to have been before.
Did you… know Sylus personally before?
Tara moved on cheerfully. “Anyway, I’ll be back tomorrow with your new stuff. Try not to get kidnapped again in the meantime, yeah?”
“Can’t make promises.” You muttered.
She grinned, waved, and left you standing there—half dressed, holding a snack bag from a man you barely knew, who might have somehow known your snack preferences better than your ex ever did.
The rest of the crew wasn’t any less puzzling. They treated you like one of their own, sharing jokes over meals, pulling you into games, even sneaking you the last slice of pie on occasion. But whenever Sylus came up in conversation, it was with a mixture of admiration and quiet reverence. Some called him “the Captain” like it meant something sacred. Others said nothing at all—just gave a knowing smile like they were all in on a secret you hadn’t earned yet.
The man was getting more mysterious by the day. It didn’t help that he was unfairly attractive in a sharp, carved-from-starlight sort of way. Or that he always looked like he knew something you didn’t—and probably never would. But it wasn’t just his looks. It was how he moved through the ship like he was the ship. Like every crew member was a part of him, and he took care of them accordingly.
No one worshipped him, exactly—but you were starting to understand why they might.
Tara had excitedly returned to your room just a few days later. She came armed with a wardrobe full of fresh clothes, flanked by the usual accomplices—Luke and Kieran, grumbling as they carried hangers and garment bags like overburdened pack mules. You modeled a few of them for her, changing and swirling in circles as she contemplated the designs and fits of your newest clothes.
“Behold!” she said, spreading the outfits across your bed with a flourish. “Your new identity: comfortable pirate chic.”
You tried on a few—soft, breathable shirts; fitted jackets; sturdy boots that hugged your calves in a flattering, possibly dangerous way. You twirled for Tara, who had her hands on her hips like a fashion judge at a high-stakes runway show.
“Hmm…” she said, tapping her chin. “I like it, but…”
You raised an eyebrow. “But?”
“Maybe I need a second opinion.” She flashed a wicked grin before turning dramatically toward the adjoining door—the one you knew led into Sylus’s office—and threw it open without hesitation.
“Oh, Captain!” she called, voice sing-song and entirely too smug. “Think she looks good in these?”
Your heart did a back flip, and you instinctively tried to cover yourself with your hands—even though you were fully dressed in a modest blouse and pants. Still, something about being looked at by him felt different. Exposed.
Sylus, seated behind his desk with a half-signed ledger in hand, looked up slowly. His gaze swept past Tara, past Luke and Kieran who had already taken a step back, and settled directly on you.
Then, the barest curve of his lips. “The woman makes the pants.”
“Ugh! You jerk.” Tara groaned, rolling her eyes so hard you swore she saw another dimension. “And I worked so hard on these clothes…!”
She slammed the door shut, nearly catching Kieran’s fingers in the frame. You stood frozen for a moment, your face burning. Luke whistled low beside you.
“Well,” he said, nudging your arm with a grin, “that’s the most I’ve seen him smile all month.”
“He’s probably happy that the mission is finally here.” Kieran responded back.
You turned toward them. “The mission?”
Luke opened his mouth with a theatrical gasp. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head!”
Tara shot both of them warning looks sharp enough to cut rope. They both immediately shut up, and you knew better than to press. But after that, you started to notice it—how everyone seemed just a little more focused, how conversations bounced from topic to topic the moment you walked into a room, how Sylus’s light stayed on later and later each night.
Everyone was preparing for something, something that did not include you.
Then one morning, you woke to a heavy silence. The familiar hum of voices and boots clacking against metal had vanished. You stepped into the corridor and passed a cleaning crew sweeping through the hallway, but the ship was empty. Eerily so.
Your footsteps echoed as you walked to the kitchen. There, the cook—a plump older woman who usually offered seconds before you even asked—froze when she saw you.
“Child, what are you doin’ out here?” She asked, her voice low and urgent. “You should be in your room.”
“Why? Where is everyone?”
Her face pinched with concern. “You can ask Sylus once he gets back. But for now, go on back and stay there ‘til they come get you. It’s safer.”
You nodded but didn’t turn around. Your legs carried you in the opposite direction instead—down the corridor, past the silent weapons bay, and up the steps to the bow of the ship.
This was the first time you had ever seen the ship docked. The forest beyond the ship stretched endlessly, the hull hidden beneath thick trees. You had no idea how long they had been gone. But in the distance, where the trees thinned near what looked like a settlement, you could hear it. There was chatter, like the mob of people in a marketplace.
Then a deep, thunderous boom.
Smoke plumed upward into the sky, black and billowing.
You stepped forward before you even realized it—until you heard the shouts of returning voices.
The crew was coming back.
Dozens of them poured from the trees, laughing, running, dragging heavy crates behind them. Tara appeared at the edge of the deck, her face pale the second she saw you.
“Girl, what the fuck!” she hissed. “You’re supposed to be in your room —come on, come on—”
But you didn’t move. You were too busy watching as Luke, Kieran, and a group of others started hauling treasure aboard—actual treasure. Gold, velvet-lined boxes, bags filled with what looked like expensive jewelry.
But no Sylus.
Some of the crew were reloading the cannons. Others were inspecting firearms, refilling pouches of ammunition. There was movement and noise and tension so thick it made your skin crawl.
Another gunshot cracked through the air. Then another explosion, closer this time. You flinched.
And then you saw him.
Sylus strode through the tree line, blood spattered across one sleeve, a blade strapped to his thigh. He didn’t look injured—but he looked furious. The second his eyes landed on you, he crossed the deck with lethal speed.
“What are you doing out here?” He snapped, grabbing your arm.
“I—I saw the smoke—what’s happening?”
He didn’t let go. “What pirates do best.”
Then he turned, walked you straight back to your room, and shut the door behind you.
The sound of the lock clicking into place echoed like a final sentence.
You stood there for a second in stunned silence. Then you ran to the window.
Outside, the chaos hadn’t stopped. Booms still echoed in the distance. There was shouting, orders barked, metal scraping against metal. You dropped to the floor when you heard the first shot ring out somewhere close to the hull.
Then the ship groaned—and began to move.
You stayed on the floor most of the night, sleep refusing to come.
It was only when the sunlight finally slipped through the window blinds the next day that someone knocked at your door.
“Good morning, Princess.” Tara called gently. Her voice had none of its usual mischief. “You can come out now.”
You opened the door slowly.
Tara gave you a soft smile and nodded for you to follow her to breakfast. The mess hall was busy again, but everything felt different somehow. At the front of the ship, you could see signs of damage—scorch marks, bullet holes, charred metal already under repair by the dedicated group of engineers.
You sat beside her at the table, heart still pounding from the night before.
“What… happened?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“We robbed a bank.” She said with a smile. “Big one, too.”
You stared.
You knew they were pirates.
You knew.
But this was the first time it felt real. The first time you truly realized what it meant to be part of this world. Not just stolen—claimed by it. Had you really been so delusional to think that these people would take care of you somehow without having jobs to earn the money?
Which only led back to the question…
What did Sylus want from you?
To think you were finally starting to feel comfortable and settling into an easy life aboard this ship. It was easy to laugh with them, joke around like every day was normal. But, you could now imagine, that recruiting for a Pirate crew was not easy. Perhaps this was the way that many people found themselves aboard the Onychinus.
You drifted throughout the rest of the day, absently listening to different members of the crew speak of the day before. It was exciting in a way, how they sneakily infiltrated one of the biggest banks in the country and set off bombs at the other side of town as distractions. But how many people were hurt? Did anyone die in the explosions?
Luke and Kieran had invited you to sit with them for dinner, but you plastered on a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes before walking away. How could you sit here and joke around, pretend everything was okay as if the riches of dead people weren’t in the decks below? You could feel Sylus’ eyes as it followed you out of the Mess Hall, but you knew you could not look back at him.
Admittedly, there was something about his stare that weakened your resolve. Was this pretty privilege at play? Rather, he and his crew had treated you so kindly these past few weeks, it made you forget who they were at their core.
You stayed up all night, barely able to even close your eyes while the image of Sylus in his bloodstained uniform plagued your mind. How did they decide who their targets were? Were civilians and innocent people in the fray?
These people fought and killed in their Captain’s name.
Was that going to be you soon?
The next day, there was a knock at your door.
You hesitated before answering, half-expecting Tara or one of the crew—but instead, it was Sylus.
He stood tall in the doorway, his usual dark attire replaced with a charcoal cloak draped over one shoulder. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes lingered on your face for just a beat longer than necessary. Then, wordlessly, he held out a hooded robe.
You took it slowly, your fingers brushing against his. “Are you… dropping me off somewhere?”
A hint of amusement twitched at the corner of his mouth. “No,” he said simply. “You’re coming with us.”
That wasn’t reassuring.
You dressed quickly and followed him to the main deck, where Luke joined your side with a lazy smile and a theatrical stretch.
“Don’t worry.” He said cheerfully. “You’ll blend right in.”
The ship was docked again, tucked deep within another forested cliffside. The air outside was damp with the smell of earth and moss. Dozens of crew members moved with purpose, each clad in robes identical to yours. Some pulled their hoods low; others slung bulky packs over their shoulders, and a few were hauling a small wagon loaded with heavy crates—each one sealed and suspiciously reinforced with metal clasps.
The village was small—barely more than a handful of crooked houses lining a dirt path—but as soon as Sylus stepped into the clearing, people emerged from homes and alleyways like a tide rolling in. Children ran barefoot through the dust, calling his name with glee. Women clutched shawls tighter as they came forward, hope flickering in their tired eyes.
“Your Grace! We weren’t expecting you so soon.”
Your Grace?
Sylus smiled, his hood slipping back from his white hair. “I would never neglect my people.”
You stood off to the side, stunned into silence as Luke and the rest of the crew began unloading the crates you’d seen them haul in just a few nights before. You recognized some of the bags—gold, jewelry, trinkets—but that wasn’t all.
Barrels of rice and dried meats, freshly baked bread from the cook’s own kitchen, thick coats and bundles of cloth, rolls of gauze, dried herbs, even hand-carved toys for the children. The crew moved fast, practiced, as though they’d done this a hundred times.
You watched, dazed, as a woman broke into sobs while clutching a heavy satchel of gold coins Tara had pressed into her arms. A child hugged Tara’s waist tightly, mumbling thanks.
A man approached Sylus and gripped his hands. “Without you... I don’t know how we’d make it. Those shithead nobles don’t give a damn about us.”
Sylus nodded, his voice resolute. “Then we’ll keep taking from them, until they remember who they’re supposed to serve.”
You felt like the floor had dropped beneath you. You’d spent the night before grappling with the idea that you were traveling with criminals—thieves. That they hunted and robbed the innocent. But now you saw them for who they truly were: not bandits, but liberators .
They stole from the rich and gave to the poor.
A living, breathing Robin Hood retelling.
Your gaze shifted to Sylus just as he glanced your way. He didn’t speak, but there was something in the way his eyes softened—like he knew exactly what was going through your head.
The man beside him turned to you, introducing himself as the Mayor of this town before he dropped into a light smile. “I recognize you. From the papers.”
Your stomach clenched. “You do?”
“You were engaged to marry Prince Carter.”
You scowled. “Is that all they say about me?”
The mayor’s eyes twinkled. “All that I believe.”
You nodded slowly. It was worse than you’d imagined. You hadn’t allowed yourself to really think about it before—but if you, a noblewoman, had been treated so callously by the Crown Prince himself, then how much worse was it for the common folk?
No food. No shelter. No medical care.
Carter didn’t just hurt you—him and his family hurt everyone under his rule.
“I want to see him pay.” You said at last, voice steady. “For what he did to me. For what he’s doing to all of you.”
The mayor nodded with quiet pride. Sylus gave you a look—soft, open. There was something brighter in it than you’d ever seen before. There was something clearly brewing behind those lips of him, something on the tip of his tongue that he just barely kept hidden.
Fuck, you owed Sylus an apology. Luke and Kieran too, for ignoring them yesterday. How many wrong assumptions were you going to make in a row? You should have known better, having already been subjected to the cruelty of the many nobles in the higher-ups. Someone would have to bring them to justice and it surely was not going to be your or the female protagonist, who stared goofy-eyed at that stupid Prince.
You took and deep breath and started. “Sylus—”
Tara interrupted, calling your name.
You turned toward her as she jogged over, already pulling supplies from a crate. “You up for helping us deliver these to the infirmary? They’re short-staffed.”
You didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”
She handed you a fabric mask and motioned for you to close your cloak tight around you. “It’s bad in there. Just follow my lead.”
The small village hospital was more of a converted barn, and the situation inside was worse than you could have imagined. Coughing, shivering patients lay on straw mats. Some were bundled in threadbare blankets, others with fevers so high they didn’t even stir when you walked by.
But the nurses greeted you warmly, even gratefully. You helped hand out supplies, change sheets, and feed the weak. You held the hand of an old man as he murmured thanks before falling asleep.
For the first time since being thrown into this world, you felt like your presence actually mattered.
Maybe this was what the right side of history looked like.
The crew spent the entire day in the village, their presence turning the once-quiet streets into something that almost resembled a festival. People came out of their homes as pirates and villagers mingled freely, exchanging laughter, stories, and supplies. Children darted between the legs of crew members with sticky fingers and wide smiles, clutching bits of candy or trinkets. The older villagers sat on stoops or makeshift stools, conversing warmly with the pirates as though they were old friends returning from sea.
Or maybe they were and you just didn’t know it?
There was no fear here. No hostility. Even the guards—men in polished armor bearing the crests of royal houses—greeted Pirate King Sylus with open arms. They clapped him on the shoulder and bowed slightly, not out of obligation, but genuine respect. It was surreal, seeing the symbol of rebellion so warmly embraced by those who served the crown.
You found yourself seated beside a circle of locals, some already halfway through composing songs about the “Golden Ghost” and his merry band. A bard-in-training plucked away at a handmade lute, humming lines about ships with black sails and a king with fire in his eyes and mercy in his hands. Luke had excitedly made his way over, clearing his throat as if readying to sing. You hid your smile behind an open palm, amused by their enthusiasm—and how embarrassingly catchy the tunes were.
Still, a strange weight tugged at the edges of your thoughts. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but there was something you were missing. Something just beneath the surface.
Sylus stood on the edge of the gathering, watching the merriment unfold with a rare softness on his face. But now and then—when he thought you wouldn’t notice—his eyes would drift back to you. And linger.
The sun dipped low, and as dusk painted the sky in strokes of orange and violet, a bonfire was lit in the village square. Sparks danced into the night air, and laughter rose with them. Luke and Kieran were in the thick of it, masks pushed up to reveal their identical grins as they leapt through the firelight, dancing hand-in-hand with a group of children. They spun in loose, wild circles, hair mussed, laughter uncontained.
More crew members joined the dance, some clapping, others stomping to the beat as someone took over on drums. The rhythm pulsed through the earth beneath your feet and you watched it all from your wooden bench with quiet amusement. For a group that had robbed a fortified bank days ago, they certainly knew how to throw a party.
A shadow passed over you and you looked up.
Sylus.
He held out a hand to you, his other already rolling up the sleeve of his coat, firelight glinting off the silver trim. “Dance with me.” He said simply.
You blinked at him, caught off guard. “I don’t really know how—”
“You don’t have to.” He interrupted, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I’ll lead.”
You hesitated only a moment longer before placing your hand in his. He pulled you gently to your feet and led you into the clearing, where the beat quickened and the crowd clapped in time.
The dance was fast, exuberant, the kind that left no room for self-consciousness. Yet despite the speed, you never faltered. Not because you had any particular talent for dancing—but because Sylus moved with practiced grace and complete confidence, guiding you effortlessly through the steps.
He spun you once, then twice, his hand warm at the small of your back, his grip secure but never forceful. Every time your foot threatened to land wrong, he was already there, shifting your weight, redirecting your balance, leading you without words.
Your heart beat in rhythm with the drums, with the music, with him .
The villagers whooped and clapped as you twirled past them. The fire threw golden sparks into the sky, and for a few stolen minutes, the world narrowed to just the sound of the music, the strength of his hands, and the way his gaze never left yours.
It felt like instinct. Like something your body remembered, even if your mind didn’t.
By the time the music faded and the crowd burst into applause, you were breathless, flushed, and—against your better judgment—smiling too widely to hide anymore.
Sylus gave you a slight bow, his hand lingering in yours as he placed a kiss atop your skin for just a moment longer than necessary.
“Thank you for the dance.”
“No, thank you.” You responded back, that goofy smile on your face even as he retreated.
And as you stood there in the golden wash of firelight, heart still racing, you couldn’t help but wonder:
What else had they not told you about the so-called Pirate King?
You stared across fields of daisies, sitting beneath the shade of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. The wind was soft, just enough to rustle the petals and send a few dancing down like snow. Sylus lay beside you, head nestled in your lap, eyes closed as he breathed in a slow, peaceful rhythm.
Your fingers threaded gently through his hair. It was soft beneath your touch, slightly tousled by the breeze. You hummed a lullaby—something half-forgotten, but every note came naturally. Sylus let out a contented breath as your fingertips grazed his temple, and then he shifted, nuzzling closer into your palm.
You bent down, lips brushing his forehead with the tenderness of a lover’s vow. He didn’t stir. You leaned back against the tree, eyes drifting closed, and let the warmth of the sun and his closeness lull you into stillness.
Then you woke up.
Groggy and heavy-limbed, you blinked up at the ceiling of your room aboard the Onychinus. The dream—if it was a dream—lingered in your mind too vividly. You remembered the texture of the grass, the way the wind tugged at your sleeves, the weight of Sylus’ head against your leg. Even the way your heartbeat slowed in his presence.
It felt too real.
Not just in sensation, but in emotion —like a moment you’d once lived and lost.
A memory?
You caught your reflection in the small mirror hanging by your bedside. Your face was warm, the faintest flush rising in your cheeks. You looked away, flustered, and quickly changed clothes before stepping out and heading to the bathroom. Sylus wasn’t in his office yet. You splashed cold water on your face, trying to clear your head.
Breakfast with the crew was cheerful. They were in high spirits and now that you knew them for who they truly were, the joy felt infectious. These weren’t just pirates. They were protectors. Guardians of the forgotten. You had no doubt now that their mission had stretched far beyond a single village. Dozens—no, hundreds—of places like that must have been touched by their quiet mercy.
That evening, after the sun dipped below the waves, you found yourself outside Sylus’ office. You paused, hand hovering above the door, then knocked. He opened it not long after, his usual calm demeanor wrapped around him like a second coat.
But he paused when he saw the look on your face—searching it with those sharp eyes of his before giving a small nod.
“Come on.” Sylus started softly. “Let’s take a walk.”
He led you up to the upper deck of the Onychinus , the ship creaking gently beneath your feet, the stars just beginning to pierce the sky. It was quiet here—private. Just the two of you and the wind.
“I owe you an apology.” You mustered up enough confidence and began, voice barely above the breeze.
“Oh?” He replied, eyebrows lifting faintly as he leaned against the railing beside you. His tone was warm, playful—but you knew he was listening.
“I mean… you did kidnap me, so I feel like we didn’t get off on the right foot.”
Sylus smirked, the corner of his mouth tugging upward as he folded his arms. “I wasn’t in the best position to ask nicely.”
“You made me fall asleep.”
He tilted his head, mock-considering. “And it made your travel that much more comfortable.”
You gave him a look, but your smile was tugging at the corners of your mouth now.
“But since then,” you continued, more seriously, “I’ve seen who you really are. I watched you feed the hungry. I saw how your crew looks at you—with loyalty and love. I saw how the overlooked live, because you haven’t forgotten them. The world cast them aside, but you didn’t.”
You paused, nervous.
“So… I owe you an apology. For judging you. For thinking the worst of you. You’re a good man, Sylus. And I was wrong.”
His expression softened, something quiet and unspoken flickering in his gaze.
“Accepted.” He said gently. Then added, lips twitching. “Princess.”
You glanced away, biting your lip.
“I…” You hesitated. This next part was hard to say. “If you’ll have me… I want to stay. On the Onychinus.”
He raised a brow. “Last I checked,” he said, tone teasing but laced with something warmer underneath, “kidnapped princesses don’t get to decide when they walk away.”
You let out a huff, rolling your eyes. “That’s not what I meant. I want to stay. I want to pull my weight. I want to help.”
You stepped a little closer now, earnestness blooming in your chest. “I want to join the crew.”
Sylus watched you for a long moment. His gaze flicked over your face, measuring every word you hadn’t said yet. Then he stepped forward, slowly, until the gap between you closed. He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His hand lingered just for a second longer than it needed to.
“If you’re staying,” he murmured, voice low and serious now, “you don’t get to be a bystander. You’ll train. You’ll learn to fight. And you’ll follow my orders.”
You nodded quickly, breath catching slightly at how close he was now. “Okay.”
He smiled, that soft, rare one—the kind he never wore for anyone but you.
“Welcome aboard, crewmate.”
Your heart fluttered, and you flushed despite yourself, heat bloomed on your cheeks. You tried—really tried—to shove the feeling down, to look anywhere but directly into his gaze. But it was impossible with his full attention fixed solely on you.
There was always something different in his eyes when he looked at you. This wasn’t the first time you would see his usual crimson gaze, so often sharp and unreadable, soften the moment it looked with yours. The intensity was still there—but wrapped in something warmer. Something tender. Affection bloomed across his expression like sunlight filtering through clouds.
He looked at you like you were something precious.
And without meaning to, you leaned into him—just a little. Drawn in by that quiet gravity only Sylus seemed to possess. His presence was magnetic, grounding. Like he wasn’t just the center of the ship, but the center of your world too.
Neither of you spoke. You simply stood together in the hush of the evening, the wind playing with your hair, the stars beginning to scatter across the twilight sky. Below, the ocean stretched endlessly—dark and deep and calm, the way your heart felt beside him.
You and Sylus had parted quietly, sharing only a nod outside his office. Still, your heart hadn’t calmed since then. Even as you slipped into your sleepwear and snuggled beneath the blankets, your chest ached with a strange warmth that refused to fade.
Your dreams that night were scattered—red eyes and platinum hair, a golden crown gleaming.
Morning came with a sleepy golden hue spilling in from your windows. You rubbed your eyes just as a sharp knock echoed against your cabin door. You expected Tara, her usual brand of mischief, but this time bright and earlier than you were used to.
You opened the door mid-yawn.
And froze.
Sylus.
You yelped and promptly slammed the door shut in a very dignified, very comedic fashion.
"One second!" You called out in a panic, scrambling to yank on your day clothes. Your shirt went on backwards at first and you nearly tripped putting on your boots.
When you reopened the door, Sylus had the decency to be looking away, arms crossed, that usual calm posture of his ever-present—though the light pink on his cheeks betrayed him. You weren’t sure whether to be flattered or flustered.
“I, uh… ready.” You mumbled.
He gave a subtle nod, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Thought I’d give you a head start on your training.”
You followed him up the winding stairs to the upper deck, the breeze growing stronger as the ship rocked gently beneath your feet. The early sun painted everything in shades of peach and gold, and for a moment you forgot to be nervous.
Waiting for you on the deck was a small target pinned to a barrel, and next to it: a pistol.
You blinked. “You’re letting me shoot a gun?”
“Under supervision.” He replied dryly. “I’m not that reckless.”
He walked you through the basics—where to grip, how to align your arms, how not to let your wrist snap back and break your nose. You listened intently, hands slightly trembling at first, but his calm guidance grounded you. The first few shots were just so you would get used to the sound and the recoil, but Sylus was patient as he walked you through.
“You’re stiff.” He said at one point not unkindly, stepping behind you. “Relax your shoulders.”
Your breath caught as his hands brushed over your arms, gently adjusting your posture. His voice was right by your ear.
“Now try again.”
You aimed carefully… and missed the target entirely.
“...That was just practice.” You amended.
“Sure it was.” Sylus replied with an amused smile.
By the seventh attempt, you grazed the edge of the target. Luke had been passing by at that moment, cheering with arms in the air before he went about his day. By the fifteenth, you actually hit closer to the center ring.
You turned toward him with a triumphant grin. “Not bad for a noble.”
“You sure you haven’t handled one before?” He teased, arms crossing again. “Could’ve fooled me.”
You beamed at the rare praise.
Just then, a voice called out from below deck.
“Training dummy!” Tara yelled, her head popping up over the rail. “Heard I’ve got orders to beat some muscle memory into you.”
You blinked. “What now?”
Tara grinned far too widely. “Get your ass down here, Princess.”
Sylus gave you a mock-sympathetic shrug. “You wanted to be a member of the crew.”
“Thank you for taking my request seriously.” You said with a quiet smile, before handing the pistol back. “Any last advice?”
He tilted his head, gaze warm. “Don’t hold back. Tara won’t.”
You followed behind the brunette, tying your hair back as you walked. Members of the crew waved and greeted you with morning salutations, to which you eagerly gave back. Tara led you to the center of a cleared space below deck. There was a mat, undoubtedly to cushion someone’s fall when they were knocked on their ass.
Tara was thorough as she helped you fix your form when it came to throwing a punch, emphasizing the need for a strong foundation even if you were hit hard. Her words were easy to follow and even better as she demonstrated, a kick and punch here and there and showing how to really put your weight behind it.
Of course, applying it to real practice…
A quick sweep of her leg and you were flat on your back before your brain could catch up.
“Ow.”
She offered you her hand with a smile, “Get up.”
You did. Again.
And again.
And again.
Tara was fast, strong, and relentless—but not cruel. With every knockdown, she explained the movement, corrected your stance and showed you how to roll with the impact. Your body ached, but you were starting to anticipate her next move. You even managed to dodge one of her swipes.
“Good.”
“But not great?” You quipped back.
She offered a smile before putting a hand on your shoulder. “Better.”
By the end of the session, your lungs burned, your body was sore, and sweat clung to your skin—but you were smiling.
You were stronger than you’d been yesterday. And tomorrow, you’d be stronger still.
Every day after that was similar to the last, waking up early and training with Sylus for target practice. You realized soon after that he was really taking your request seriously, personally training you and waking up early before his day usually started. As the Captain he already slept late drawing up plans and taking care of his people, it was endearing to think he was willing to wake up earlier just for you.
Tara was also a kind and patient teacher, walking you through steps and helping you up every time you failed. Sometimes she would employ Luke as your sparring partner as she watched. She said it was much more common for them to encounter guards and men generally larger than the average woman, you needed to be prepared.
You wondered if it was proximity to Sylus that stirred these dreams into being. Ever since you began spending more time with him—his presence lingering close like the hush before a storm—your nights had taken on a different kind of rhythm. He haunted your sleep in ways that left you flushed and breathless by morning.
Most dreams faded by the time the sun touched the horizon, slipping through your fingers like sand. But the feeling lingered. The burn of his touch, the warmth of his gaze, the way your heart stuttered as if it remembered something your mind had yet to recall.
Sometimes, though, the dreams weren’t just dreams. They were too vivid, too real . Like memories dredged up from the ocean floor of a life you had no recollection of living. You would rush to your bedside notebook, jotting down every single detail you could recall before it escaped your grasp.
And tonight was one of those.
You stood—or rather, hovered like a ghost—watching a much younger version of yourself seated beside a boy on the wide, cool marble steps of an elegant terrace. Before you stretched an endless sea of daisies, the very same view from your dream a few nights before. In your lap, a tiny gray kitten purred, barely bigger than your hands, nuzzling into your palm as you idly scratched its forehead.
The boy beside you was unmistakable.
Even young, Sylus had those sharp, burning red eyes—but there was something softer about him here. Less guarded. His hair was shorter, tousled, and his smile came more easily. He watched you with a mix of fondness and teasing exasperation.
“Must you take in every stray you find?” He asked, resting his arms casually on his knees as he leaned a little closer.
You looked up from the kitten with a wry smile. “Can’t help myself, can I?” Your tone was light, but your voice carried something older—sadness, maybe, or knowing. “Lonely souls find each other.”
Young Sylus’s expression shifted, warmth replacing the teasing. “Maybe you’re more like them than you think.”
You tilted your head, eyebrow raised. “Yeah? In what way?”
Instead of answering immediately, he rose to his feet and stepped in front of you, a shadow falling across your lap as he leaned down. “You’re adorable like one, Kitten.”
“Nope. That’s not catching on. Uh-uh.” You shook your head with a fierce blush, but your smile betrayed you.
He grinned, clearly delighted by your reaction. “Why not, Kitten?” He pressed, leaning closer still, invading your space with a boyish boldness.
You gave him a gentle push to the chest, trying and failing to keep him at bay. “Don’t call me that—”
But he only leaned in more, undeterred. “Why are you so adorable?”
His voice was softer now, almost reverent, as he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Then, with no hesitation, he leaned down and kissed you.
It wasn’t shy or hesitant—it was hungry and certain. His lips moved against yours like he’d done it a thousand times and would do it a thousand more. One hand braced on the step above your shoulder, his body leaned over yours, pressing closer as your own hands found the fabric of his shirt.
You matched his energy, the dream-you melting into the kiss, sighing against his mouth. The kitten in your lap mewled softly, unnoticed, before curling up and drifting to sleep beside you.
As your mouths moved together, the world faded around you. The daisies. The marble. Even the sky blurred—until all that remained was the echo of your moan and the warmth of his lips.
And then—
You awoke.
Heart pounding. Lips tingling. The phantom weight of his hand still curled behind your ear.
You reached for your notebook in the dark and scribbled it all down—every detail, every word—desperate not to let it slip away. Because deep down, you weren’t sure it wasn’t a memory.
The sea was calm that evening, but your nerves were anything but.
You stood alone near the ship’s edge, the Onychinus gently swaying beneath your feet as the horizon burned gold and amber. The wind was cool, brushing strands of hair against your cheek, and the rhythmic crash of waves far below did little to soothe the anxious twist in your stomach.
Tomorrow was your first official raid.
Not a chaotic spectacle like the bank infiltration—this one was meant to be quiet. Precise. Silent in the way only shadows could be. The target: a nobleman’s estate notorious for exploiting the nearby village, hoarding food while the people starved, smuggling medicine to sell on the black market. You’d seen the reports that Sylus somehow procured. This was the kind of man your father would’ve brushed shoulders with at court.
And now you were part of a team sent to dismantle his little empire.
You, Tara, Luke, and Kieran.
Your fingers curled tighter around the railing. You weren’t just nervous—you were terrified.
For one, you had approached Tara wondering if you were even ready for the field after only just a few weeks of training. But she had waved your fears away, saying that those stupid nobles were hardly better than newborn deer learning how to walk.
“Besides, you’re not alone.” She put her hands on your shoulders, confident as she reassured you. “You’ve got one of the best teams the Onychinus can provide.”
But the stakes weren’t abstract for someone like you. If you were caught, there would be no salvaging it. You heard in-between traveling to villages that Carter personally led a smear campaign against Sylus, claiming that he had stolen the love of his life on his very wedding day. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what the palace would say if news broke that the missing princess was willingly aiding a band of pirates in raiding noble estates.
If you failed and the Queen got her hands on you?
You could only hope for an end as swift as death.
Breathing in that same salty air, you swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to breathe slowly.
“You planning on jumping in?” A voice drawled behind you, low and familiar.
You turned to find Sylus approaching, hands tucked into his coat pockets, the setting sun gilding his silver hair in a halo of firelight. He stopped beside you, eyes scanning your face before shifting toward the sea. His presence was like a warm cloak thrown over your shoulders—heavy, comforting, and just the tiniest bit suffocating from how unbelievably sexy he was.
“Just thinking.” You murmured, turning your gaze back to the horizon. “Tomorrow feels… big.”
“It is.” He replied simply, leaning his elbows on the railing. “But not bigger than you can handle.”
You exhaled a soft, humorless laugh. “You sound very sure of that.”
“I am.” He glanced sideways, red eyes catching the last light of day. “You’ve trained hard. You’re smart. You’ve got Tara watching your back. And the twins? There’s no one I trust more.”
You gave a half-smile at that, but the weight in your chest didn’t budge.
“I just… I don’t want to mess it up,” you admitted quietly. “If I get caught… it won’t just ruin the mission. It could cause a political disaster. I could bring danger to all of you. And—” You stopped, biting your lip. “And I don’t want to disappoint you.”
Sylus was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice had dropped lower, softer, touched with something vulnerable.
“You could never disappoint me.”
You turned to look at him fully then, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t smirking.
He meant it.
“There are risks,” he continued, straightening up beside you. “There always are. But you’re not going in alone. You’re not expected to be perfect. Just stay sharp, stay close, and remember—you chose this. You’re not some puppet being led around. You’re a part of this crew.”
You stared at him, the wind pulling at your clothes, the weight in your chest easing just enough to let a breath pass through.
“Thank you.” You said, the words small but genuine. “I said this before, but thank you for taking me seriously. You didn’t just plug me in the storage room or the cleaning crew.”
“You said you wanted revenge against that coward of a Prince.” He answered simply, as if you hadn’t requested to be in the thick of danger. “We’ll get there.”
You smiled as he spoke. Speaking to Sylus was overwhelming, he was confident and strong in every way you were not. But he was also kind, willing to actually listen instead of simply hearing the requests of his people. You didn’t miss the way the corner of his mouth tugged upward.
Then—just when the moment started to feel too raw, too real—he tilted his head slightly and added, “Besides, I can’t have my newest crewmate crying before her first big mission. That would ruin morale.”
You blinked, then scoffed. “I wasn’t crying!”
“Yet.” His smirk deepened, finally reappearing in full. “But I was prepared to offer my shoulder, if necessary. Or a dramatic monologue. I have options.”
You elbowed him in the side, rolling your eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here you are.” He said, voice smooth as velvet. “Volunteering for raids and staring dreamily out to sea, like a true pirate.”
You shook your head, smiling now despite yourself. And for the first time since you’d learned of the mission, the tension in your chest loosened.
Because somehow, with just a few words and that maddening smile, Sylus had made you feel steady again. Grounded.
Ready.
Your nerves were on edge the moment the Onychinus dropped anchor behind the thick veil of fog. The moon hung high, half-shrouded in mist, casting silver beams between the trees like ghostly fingers. The air was damp and cool, laced with the scent of moss and pine, and every rustle of leaves made your heart skip. It was just past midnight, water lapping against the side of the hull.
As you adjusted the straps of your pack and stepped off the ramp, Sylus was there waiting, arms crossed casually—but his eyes were anything but. They tracked your every move, burning red and unreadable in the moonlight.
He didn’t say anything, not at first. Just gave a small nod, a subtle lift of two fingers in a wordless gesture of faith. You offered a tense smile, trying to calm the frantic flutter in your chest, and started walking. You didn’t dare look back more than once.
But you knew he stood there long after you disappeared into the trees.
The journey through the forest was a quiet one. Uneasy. Tara led the way with sharp eyes and a blade at her back, all business. Luke and Kieran, usually the first to crack jokes or bicker about something trivial, were both uncharacteristically silent. There was a weight in the air that left no room for laughter.
You felt it too—every step closer to the estate made your palms sweat and your heartbeat louder.
It wasn’t long before the towering stone walls loomed in the distance, half-eclipsed by ivy and moonlight. The estate was massive, secluded, and surrounded by luxury even in the dead of night. There were too many windows. Too many balconies. But the intel had been thorough.
Tara motioned for the group to stop. She peered around the tree line, eyes narrowing as she timed the patrol against her watch.
“Four guards. One loops back every three-hundred seconds. There’s a gap—thirty seconds max.” She whispered.
Your throat felt dry, but you nodded. You had trained for this. You could do this.
Slipping through the shadows, the four of you moved like wraiths. You followed the curve of the wall, boots barely making a sound in the damp grass. The moment the guards turned, you and Luke darted across the yard, breath held tight in your chest.
An open window—a gift from the gods or maybe just a careless servant—became your entrance. You hoisted yourself up with practiced ease and slipped inside, landing on the plush carpet of a lavish hallway that stank of opulence.
Gold filigree lined the walls. Velvet curtains draped tall windows. Chandeliers hung overhead, glittering even in the dark.
You wanted to gag.
This place was an insult. You’d passed crumbling villages, watched kids digging through waste for scraps of food. And yet here sat entire halls decked in gold, untouched, unnecessary, a shrine to unchecked greed.
Luke gave a low whistle beside you but kept moving. You both crept down the corridor, hugging the shadows. You counted every step. Every breath. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears.
Footsteps echoed down the hall—two guards, rounding the corner.
You had seconds.
Without a word, you stepped forward with Luke in perfect tandem. One guard turned, surprised—too slow. You struck fast and clean, just as you’d been taught. A sharp blow to the temple. A knee to the gut. Luke caught the second, wrapping an arm around his neck and dragging him to the floor silently.
The guards crumpled, unconscious.
Tara was there a second later, slipping past you with lockpicks already in hand. She knelt beside the ornate door and got to work, fingers flying. You stood at the threshold, chest rising and falling, your body humming with adrenaline.
“Almost there.” She muttered, voice tight with focus. The lock clicked open.
Inside, Kieran was already moving, sweeping the room with precision. He and Luke started pulling small chests from the walls, slipping gold, gemstones, and thick pouches of coin into their packs. One opened a cabinet lined with fine wines—likely worth a fortune—and took only what would fit.
You kept watch at the door, eyes flicking between shadows and the sound of boots.
Your hands were clammy. But your stance was steady.
When it was done, there were no words. Just nods. The four of you slipped back out the way you came, ghosts in the dark.
By the time you returned to the tree line, your pack was heavy with treasure and your chest lighter than it had been in days. You had done it. No alarms. No screams. No blood spilled.
Just four shadows in the night, robbing a corrupt noble blind.
And as you made your way back toward the ship—your fingers brushing against the edge of a gold-dipped dagger tucked safely in your belt—you couldn’t help but feel a spark of something dangerous, something exhilarating.
You were starting to understand why they did this.
The moment your boots hit the deck of the Onychinus , a breath escaped your lungs—a deep, grounding exhale that seemed to carry the weight of the raid with it. The familiar creak of the ship beneath your feet and the distant lull of ocean waves were more comforting than you could’ve imagined. You were safe.
Home, in a way.
Before you even had time to take another breath, Luke’s voice rang out beside you. “Not bad for a first job!” He beamed, the first words he had said in a while, clapping a hand on your back hard enough to jostle you forward a step.
He passed his pack off to a waiting crew member with a wink, undoubtedly taking stock of your newfound treasure. “Try not to let it go to your head, though. Kieran’s still salty I knocked out more guards than he did.”
“I am not.” Kieran replied evenly, already shedding his black scarf and gloves with the casual precision of someone who had done this a hundred times. “We were supposed to be quiet. You almost elbowed a vase.”
“It didn’t break!” Luke protested with a grin. “It wobbled. That’s different.”
Tara rolled her eyes but gave you a rare, approving nod. “Good work. That guy you took down was easily twice your size. Your footwork’s improving.”
You blinked, surprised—and a little proud. “Thanks. I have really good teachers.”
As the crew moved around you, unloading gear and quietly breaking down from the operation, your gaze drifted to the upper deck—and there he was.
Sylus.
He stood exactly as he had when you left: arms crossed, crimson eyes steady. His coat shifted slightly in the breeze, but otherwise he looked frozen in time. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve sworn he hadn’t moved all night.
When your eyes met his, something subtle passed between you—something warm and grounding. No words. Just a look.
Then he gave a slight nod and turned to gesture to the crew. A few of them moved immediately to start the undocking process, the ship gently rocking as ropes were loosened and orders passed.
When Sylus descended to your little group, he turned to you personally. “Feeling better?”
You couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips. “Exhilarated.”
“Good,” he said, voice low and earnest. “You handled yourself well tonight.”
You were caught for a second in the gravity of that praise—how serious he sounded, how much weight it carried coming from him.
“There were three other people on that mission y’know.” Tara murmured just loud enough for you all to hear, a teasing smile on her face as she crossed her arms.
Sylus regarded her flatly, but still didn’t give the woman praise. Luke feigned a hurt look, a hand on his chest as he dramatically sighed. Before you could respond, someone called his name from across the ship.
“We’ll talk later.” He added, already moving toward the voice but pausing long enough to glance over his shoulder. “Get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow. Heading into Doverely to offload part of the haul.”
And then he was gone—vanishing into the chaos of the deck like a shadow, leaving you standing there with your heart still pounding, not just from the raid, but from him.
The sea wind tugged at your clothes. Your body ached from tension and adrenaline. But still, you smiled.
You had survived your first raid.
And somewhere deep in your bones, you knew this was only the beginning.
Doverely was just as rundown and forgotten as the last village you’d visited, maybe even more so. But unlike the landlocked settlements that took hours of hard trekking to reach, Doverely had the sea. The ship coasted in just as the pale morning light began to warm the horizon, the salty breeze filling your lungs as the Onychinus approached the battered wooden docks.
It was a port town, yes—but even with that advantage, its buildings leaned tiredly against one another like old men weathered by too many storms. Roofs were patched with tarps and netting, children walked barefoot across cracked stone streets, and the market square—just beyond the docks—was a sad skeleton of what it might have once been, with more empty stalls than full ones.
Yet, as soon as the Onychinus came into view, a wave of movement rolled through the harbor. Dockworkers perked up from their slouched rest, faces lighting up as they waved down the crew. Several of the town’s guards—less soldiers and more desperate men in mismatched gear—hurried forward without hesitation, securing ropes and helping tie the ship to the dock. No weapons drawn. No suspicion. Only hope.
The name Onychinus was whispered like a blessing.
You descended with the others, the familiar creak of the gangplank under your boots. Civilians began to gather—men and women, old and young, pressing near the ramp as crates of food, clothing, and coin were unloaded. The scent of sea salt mingled with the warmth of fresh bread, and eyes once dulled by hardship now glimmered.
Tara directed two younger boys as they took bundles of fabric to a woman who seemed to be organizing the line. Kieran knelt beside an elderly man to help secure a sack of grain to his wheelbarrow. Beside you, Luke flirted shamelessly with a baker’s daughter as he handed her a box of wrapped dried meats.
The gratitude was overwhelming. Raw. Tangible.
“Your Grace! We thank the heavens for your generosity!” A woman cried, clutching her worn shawl to her chest as Kieran passed her a carefully packed basket of food.
There it was again.
Your Grace.
The words rang with reverence—filled with respect, but a title nonetheless.
There was more to Sylus than you knew currently and you felt oddly desperate to know more.
Sylus stood tall at the base of the ship’s ramp, his presence unmistakable. He gave the woman a slight nod, the barest dip of his head that somehow felt like a promise. He wasn’t what you’d call humble. There was a quiet power about him—an awareness that he commanded the fiercest ship on the sea that you doubted even the Royal Navy could challenge. But there was something else, too. Something beneath the surface of those sharp red eyes.
A gentleness.
Strength that didn’t need to roar to be heard.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of relief efforts. Barrels were rolled, sacks hoisted, tools distributed. Doverely gave what it could in return—warm smiles, thanks, and a few fresh-caught fish.
By nightfall, the town had transformed. The local tavern—once somber and dim—was packed to its walls with crew and civilians alike. Music and laughter echoed through its rafters as Luke stood atop a table, arm slung around a local bard as they belted out a shanty together, each trying to outdo the other in enthusiasm.
The scent of spiced stew wafted from the kitchen. Tankards clinked, and boots thudded against worn floors. You sat near at a round table filled with other crew-members, warm from drink but warmer still from the joy surrounding you.
The tavern’s owner—a round man with calloused hands and kind eyes—had offered to feed the crew for free, gratitude thick in his voice.
Sylus, of course, had nodded in quiet acceptance, thanking him without fanfare. But as the man turned to check on his staff, you caught the subtle flick of Sylus’s wrist. He leaned over the counter and placed a pouch heavy of gold behind the barrels.
No one else saw it.
No one but you.
He didn’t need credit. Didn’t wait for thanks. He just moved silently through the world, doing more than people ever realized.
You smiled into your drink, heart full.
This pirate crew, this ship, had saved a dying town today. And their captain… was the kind of man people chose to follow.
And you were proud to be one of them.
Sylus settled into the empty seat at your side, the worn wood creaking slightly beneath his weight. You had wondered earlier why Kieran had saved this seat at the round table and figured it was for Luke, but perhaps you were wrong to assume.
The delusional part of your brain screamed that Sylus could have sat anywhere. There were plenty of seats still unclaimed by the crew who hadn’t yet filtered in—but no, he’d chosen this one.
Next to you.
Tara sat across from you, draped lazily across the seat with her legs crossed beneath the table and a pint of amber ale cradled between her hands. Kieran was beside her, mirroring Sylus’s quiet attentiveness but with a softer smile, eyes twinkling as he watched Luke entertain a growing crowd in the center of the tavern with a dramatic retelling of the raid—complete with flourishes and exaggerated heroics.
Tara drawled, tipping her mug slightly in your direction, “Not bad for a first raid, rookie. You only almost fell off the roof once.”
You gave her a mock glare, nudging her foot under the table. “I didn’t fall. I slipped. Slight difference.”
“She was good.” Kieran added warmly, lifting his glass. “Quick, precise. Better instincts than most new blood.”
Sylus nodded beside you, just once. “Told you she’d handle it.”
Your breath caught a little at the weight of his words.
He believed in you.
You blushed as you and Sylus looked at one another. Tara caught the look easily, eyes going between the both of you as Kieran folded his arms.
“Hmmm.” She noted to herself. “Anyway, new table rule. No raid talk. Tonight’s about enjoying ale, music, and watching Luke fall off the stage.”
“But you’re the one who brought it up.” Kieran murmured under his breath, but she waved him away. “He’s getting dangerously close to that edge.”
You laughed, turning slightly toward the other twin. “Is he always like that after a successful drop?”
Sylus tilted his head, lips quirking. “Only when he’s convinced a bard’s after his job.”
“I’d pay to see them do a duet.” You said.
“Save your money.” Tara joked.
“You should have seen him and another bard in Valmere. Sang in higher and higher tones like they were in a verbal jousting match.” Kieran said, deadpan. “The tavern burned down two nights later. Unrelated, they claim.”
Tara gasped in mock horror. “You take that back. That performance was art.”
“Art shouldn’t come with splinters in your ears.”
“Alright, alright.” Sylus interjected, the edge of laughter in his voice now. “Let’s call it a charged duet.”
You turned toward him just in time for his arm to casually shift behind you, resting along the back of your chair. Not quite touching you—but his presence radiated warmth. A protective, deliberate sort of nearness. Your words stuck in your throat for a second longer than necessary.
Tara noticed again.
Mischief danced across her eyes like sunlight on water. She took a slow sip of her drink, the corner of her mouth twitching like she was trying to suppress a grin.
Sylus didn’t notice—or if he did, he chose not to acknowledge it. His fingers drummed idly against the back of your chair, lazy and thoughtless in appearance but somehow perfectly timed. Deliberate.
“You planning to write poetry about her next?” Tara leaned toward her Captain until only he could hear.
Sylus looked unfazed, eyes still on you as you observed Luke. “Depends. You offering to recite it?”
“You know.” She mused, tapping her chin with exaggerated thought. “I always imagined the cold, brooding Captain Sylus wouldn’t be the type to ever get attached.”
“And I always imagined you’d run out of things to say eventually.” Sylus raised a brow, replying dryly.
A nerve broke out on Tara’s head, annoyance palpable on her face as her teasing smile was suddenly very tight. Sylus, on the other hand, looked amused with a light smile of his own.
You could not help but smile too, eyes crinkling as the warmth of the room—and the people around you—sank in fully. You hadn’t expected to feel at home so quickly, but sitting here with them, you felt like you belonged in a way you hadn’t in a long time.
Tara leaned back in her seat and threw her hands up in exasperation. “Fine, fine! I’ll leave you alone, Your Highness. ”
Kieran and her laugh lightly to themselves, the atmosphere light even though it only made you more confused.
Your brows drew together. “Your Highness? ”
Tara froze.
Kieran inhaled too sharply, sputtered into his drink, then immediately launched into damage control.
“She means—uh— highness like—like a joke.” He said, waving a hand and speaking quicker than usual. “You know, he’s high and mighty and brooding. Big scary captain, rules the seas, yadda yadda.”
“Exactly!” Tara added quickly, her voice a little too bright. “Just, you know, teasing. Nickname. Ha ha.”
You looked between them, suspicion curling low in your stomach. Their smiles were a touch too wide. Their laughter, a bit too forced.
Sylus didn’t say anything. His expression had gone unreadably neutral, but you caught the sharp, glacial look he shot Tara. She shrank back into her seat slightly.
“Hey!” Luke called from across the tavern, apparently finished with his dramatic reenactment. “There’s still a few songs left in me tonight—what do you say, gorgeous? Care to dance?”
You blinked, startled by the sudden invitation, but before you could answer, Kieran stood up and began encouraging you to go. “Go on, have fun. Luke’s just drunk enough to only step on your feet half the time.”
Their attempts at redirection were obvious.
You rose slowly, but your gaze lingered on Sylus.
He still hadn’t said a word. The arm behind your chair was gone now, replaced by that calm, unreadable mask. And yet—beneath all the teasing and merriment—something told you Tara hadn’t been joking.
Your Highness.
What exactly were you missing about him?
You weren’t an idiot. All the references— Your Grace , the way he carried himself, the quiet deference even hardened pirates showed him—none of it was just for show. And then there was tonight. Tara’s slip. The way her face had gone pale, the way Kieran had scrambled to brush it off like it was nothing. Like you were the one who’d imagined it.
Back aboard the Onychinus , the revelry faded into silence. Crew members retreated to their bunks, laughter replaced by the soft groaning of ship wood and waves gently slapping the hull. But your thoughts didn’t still.
Back in your quarters, the low lantern glow couldn’t keep the restlessness at bay. You sat on the edge of the bed, elbow on your knee, thumb pressed to your lips as you stared at the floor.
Who was Sylus, really?
You replayed every moment you’d seen him—every act of silent leadership, every calculated order, every gentle deflection. There was reverence in how the others spoke of him. A loyalty you hadn’t seen even in the best captains or commanders back home. He wasn’t just respected—he was followed .
Saved their lives, they said.
But how?
He didn’t talk about his past. Hell, he barely talked at all unless it was necessary. And you’d accepted that at first—chalked it up to him being guarded or private. Maybe even brooding. But now the dots were connecting themselves without your permission.
Was he a noble or even a member of the royal family? Even if that were so, you were engaged to marry the Crown Prince of all of Linkon. Someone should have mentioned him along the way. Someone would have, if he truly belonged to the same bloodline as the crown you were meant to marry into.
You sighed and rubbed your temple, but your thoughts continued to run without stopping. They chased each other like a storm at sea, fast and violent and never settling. So you gave up resisting them. You tucked yourself into bed, your body tired but your mind still clinging to one final image before sleep took you: Sylus, standing beside you in the moonlight on the deck. His posture solid, his eyes like firelight in the dark.
Red eyes.
You couldn’t stop thinking about them.
They weren’t just rare—they were haunting. And beautiful. And familiar in a way that scared you.
Your consciousness shifted before you realized you were dreaming.
The air was warm with the smell of grilled meats and sugar candies and the sound of bells and laughter filled your ears. You blinked slowly, taking in your surroundings with a strange sort of comfort. You were standing in a cobblestone marketplace, colorful lanterns hanging from strings above your head and swaying with the breeze. Festival banners waved gently from every stall. Children in festival masks ran through the streets with ribbons trailing behind them.
It looked almost exactly like Doverely.
Except… it wasn’t.
Something was different. Like the edges of the world had been smoothed out by memory.
You turned your head, and there he was.
Sylus—again in his young form. A boy just on the edge of manhood, with a mischievous smile and windswept hair. The red in his eyes sparkled with reflected light from the fireworks beginning to burst in the sky.
Before you could question anything, you were running after him, weaving through the crowd until the two of you reached the end of the pier. The wooden dock stretched far into the dark water, lit only by flickering torches and the cascading colors of fireworks above.
You sat together with your legs dangling over the edge, shoes kicking gently at the air above the tide.
There was no need for words for a while. You just… watched. Each firework lit the sky in pinks, blues, and silvers, their reflections dancing on the water. The breeze curled around you both like silk, salty and soft.
You leaned your head against his shoulder without thinking. He leaned into you too, your bodies falling into a rhythm you didn’t know you remembered.
“I wish I didn’t have my entire life planned out for me.” You said quietly, your voice hushed and heavy with truth.
Sylus turned his head toward you. “What would you do if you had a choice?”
You paused, imagining it—tasting the idea like sugar on your tongue. “I’d want to be at the beach.” You said with a wistful smile. “Or better yet, I’d want the freedom to see every beach in the world. Feel every kind of sand, swim in every sea.”
He let out a soft chuckle. “Okay, kitten. It’s a deal.”
You blinked at him. “What?”
“Let’s travel the world together.” He said simply. So certainly.
The finality in his tone struck you like a bell. It wasn’t a request or even a dream. It was a promise.
You turned toward him, your heart caught somewhere in your throat. He leaned into you slowly, almost reverently, as if afraid the moment might shatter if he moved too fast. His lips pressed gently against your temple, warm and steady, lingering just long enough to make your breath catch. You closed your eyes at the contact, the intimacy of it grounding you in the dream more than anything else.
Then he shifted, his mouth brushing lower until it found the bridge of your nose. He kissed you there, softly—light as a feather, yet deliberate. The sensation made you giggle, a quiet, surprised sound escaping from your throat as the ticklish warmth of his breath fanned across your skin.
"That tickles." You whispered, voice colored with amusement.
His crimson eyes gleamed, watching you with a look you couldn’t quite place—part amusement, part affection, and something deeper… something that sent heat blooming across your cheeks. Before you could lean back, before you could ask what that look meant, he cupped your jaw gently with one hand and tilted your face toward him.
Then he kissed you.
Not shyly. Not like a boy who wasn’t sure.
He kissed you like someone who had every intention of kissing you more and more.
His lips met yours with a quiet certainty, as if he wanted to memorize every second of it. And though it was a dream, it felt startlingly real—the pressure of his mouth, the way your breath mingled, the taste of sugar and summer and longing. The world around you stilled, the fireworks above bursting in slow motion, fading to embers against the vast, quiet sky.
And in that moment, you forgot the questions, the titles, the truths you hadn’t yet uncovered.
There was only him.
Only Sylus.
And the way he kissed you like you already belonged to each other.
The Grand Duke’s business estate loomed like a mausoleum dedicated to power—cold gray stone polished to a mirror sheen, lanterns burning through the night like accusing eyes. It stood nestled in the corner of the inner city square, shrouded in crimson military banners that draped from balconies like bloodstains. The place was a fortress in everything but name, its perimeter crawling with guards, each one alert as if protecting a vault of gold.
But it wasn’t gold you were here for.
It was proof.
Sylus received a missive about their corruption dealings—money laundering, bribery, black market trade.
The crew couldn’t move in blind. You needed confirmation—evidence. And so, three teams were dispatched under the cover of nightfall. Yours was the smallest: just you, Kieran, and Luke, tasked with infiltrating the northern wing and extracting any documentation buried in the assistant’s private office.
Hours before, Sylus had pulled you aside, something unreadable behind his eyes as he handed you a pistol.
“You might need this.” He murmured, closing the gun into your hands.
The touch of his fingers against yours made your throat dry. You muttered a stiff thanks, unable to meet his gaze. You hadn’t been able to face him all day—not after the dream.
You screamed into your pillow just the morning before as you recalled your scandalous dream. It was hard to even face Sylus in his office, the memory of it haunting you. You didn’t need to write it down, every detail was burned into your skull with abashed shame.
The dream hadn’t ended at just kissing.
Sure, Dream Sylus had kissed you with the passion of a man starved, pushing you to lay on your back as he sucked splotches into the skin of your neck. But he kept going further and you allowed him with open arms. You remembered the weight of him, the way your bodies moved in rhythm, every brush of skin setting you ablaze.
There’s no fucking way you had a wet dream about your Captain before a mission.
“We’ll reconvene back on the ship, do not stop otherwise.” Sylus had commanded, bringing you out of your thoughts, turning to you. “Luke and Kieran will sweep the ledgers and file drawers. Keep a lookout and, if you can, go for the safe.”
Luke gave you a wink, trying to lighten the tension. “We’ll be in and out. Easy.”
You nodded and slipped through the terrace doors like a shadow, heart pounding against your ribs.
The estate’s halls stretched long and silent, their marble floors glowing silver beneath the moonlight. Your boots made barely a whisper as you crept between carved columns, slipping into alcoves whenever flickering lantern light announced a guard’s approach.
Kieran and Luke disappeared ahead, their footfalls ghosts in the quiet. You traced their path from a distance, eyes darting between statues and sharp turns. That’s when you heard it.
A voice.
Deep. Clipped. Commanding.
The Grand Duke.
He wasn’t supposed to be here.
You froze mid-step, heart thudding like a drum. Then came the sharp cadence of boots and a sudden sweep of light as a pair of guards rounded the corridor. You didn’t even have time to think before a firm hand clutched your wrist and yanked you sideways into a nearby maintenance closet.
The door clicked shut behind you with a muffled slam, the darkness swallowing you whole.
You opened your mouth to whisper—but stopped when you felt it. A body pressed flush against yours. Taller. Warm. Unmistakable.
Sylus.
Your back hit the wall hard, knocking the breath from your lungs. He’d come with the third team—he was supposed to be heading toward the Grand Duke’s office in the east wing. What the hell was he doing here?
“What are—” you began, but your voice died in your throat.
He was close.
So close.
You could feel the heat rolling off him, his breath mingling with yours. The scent of ash, leather, and something unmistakably Sylus filled your lungs, and suddenly every memory of your dream came roaring back. It would only take a slight movement to connect your lips together and you willed yourself not to lose yourself in the moment.
“Don’t. Move.” His voice was low, a growl more than a whisper.
And of course, you squirmed, spine aching from the angle, but he shifted in tandem—pressing in harder. Trapping you. God, if you lacked anymore self-control you could easily roll your hips against his. It was already rubbed against you, just clothing separating your skin from touching. His head dipped, lips brushing the hollow of your throat.
He let out a rough exhale, his head dipping down until his lips nearly touched your collarbone. “Gods, Princess.” He muttered against your neck, breath fanning over your skin. “Quit moving. Do you want me to lose my mind?”
Your breath hitched. Every nerve in your body lit up, your thoughts unraveling. His mouth hovered a breath from your skin. His hand grazed your waist, grounding but possessive. You could feel him— all of him—and it took everything in you not to lean forward, not to give in to the heat spreading through your veins.
You fixed your posture, accidentally dragging your chest against his as you leaned upward. You felt more than heard a responding groan, making you move more in your panic and accidentally rub your hips against his. Sylus’ tightened his grip around your hips, instinctively rolling his hips in response and making you moan low.
His eyes widened at the sound and he placed a palm over your mouth. You forced your eyes shut, unable to hold onto your sanity with him looking so sexy.
“Fuck…”
You could barely hear him whisper, his baritone voice enough to make your back arch instinctively. His breath came out in pants and it was almost exhilarating to think you could make this perfect man just as flustered as he made you. You shifted again and felt something hard pressing against your stomach, blushing the moment you did.
It didn’t help that Sylus refused to look away from you. His gaze set you aflame on its own and you could not help but appreciate the feel of his hard length.
“Please, sweetie.” He whispered. “I can’t take it.”
You frowned, genuinely not trying to do this on purpose. But even his voice had your arching into him, as if inviting him to lose control. Sylus leaned forward, attaching his lips to the skin of your collarbone and biting. It was affectionate but a warning.
Stay quiet, it said.
Of course, that only made you worse.
You jumped in response, chest heaving into him and Sylus threw caution to the wind, his pained expression giving way to a smirk as he thrusted once against your tummy. He had one hand around your waist, keeping your body against him, and another covering your mouth.
Goddamnit, this position was so fucking hot, if not for the danger.
“Don’t hold back.” You couldn’t help yourself from saying.
You rubbed against each other like two horny teenagers. Sylus pulled your top down, breasts spilling into the cold open air. You gasped as he leaned forward, taking one nub in his mouth and sucking. You exclaimed loudly behind his palm, rubbing yourself even deeper against his undeniably large cock.
You moaned as he licked your sensitive nipple, moving to the next with the same care. Your eyes rolled heavenward and you knew he loved the control he had over your reactions. You rubbed against one another for a few more minutes, a heat pooling in your lower area even as Sylus backed off.
Despite that fervent passion, your Captain was sweet as he kissed the side of your face, gently brushing your hair to the side and lingering.
“You little minx.” He whispered. “This isn’t over.”
You nodded dumbly, your mind a puddle as Sylus attempted to gather himself back to normal. He closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the wall and willed himself to calm down. Outside, the guards passed, their voices fading.
Still, Sylus didn’t move.
His forehead came to rest on your shoulder, his chest rising and falling with each slow breath. Your pulse raced in your ears.
Holy shit.
What did you just do?! On one of the biggest missions of your career? Dear god, you rutted against Sylus while he sucked on your titties. It was obvious you were the weaker of the two, self control out the window the moment he spoke. If you were wearing a skirt, you didn’t doubt that you would’ve rubbed yourself fully against this cock.
“We should go.” He breathed, barely audible.
You lingered for a beat longer, wishing you could continue but knowing this was literally the worst place possible. You then pulled back, meeting his heated molten gaze in the dark. Your face was probably beat red, only a light dusting of pink on his cheeks.
Holy shit x 2!!!!
There was no ignoring the sexual tension anymore. Sure, you could get away with longing looks and teasing banter. But how could you ever face him again after rutting on his pants like a dog in heat? It was not like you wanted to go back either. There was this strange draw about Sylus, whether it was his handsome demeanor or his secret kindness.
You wanted him.
“Yeah.” You said hoarsely. “We should.”
Sylus looked back and forth before exiting first, fixing his pants as you followed a step behind. There were no words needed to lock the fuck back into the mission.
You were able to retrace your steps, catching up to Luke and Kieran who were raiding the empty office. They looked at you for a moment, your disheveled shirt and your flushed face, but said nothing as they continued looking about.
Luke crouched over drawers, Kieran flipping through folders. You willed yourself to focus, forcing your body to cool. Good god, Sylus was so fucking sexy it was impossible to just be normal. What was going to happen when you got back to the ship?
You knew what you wanted to happen.
Hell, you were sure the moment you two were alone you were going to jump his bones and ride him until the sun rose tomorrow. Would he be willing to that idea?
Holy fuck you were whipped.
Lock in, stupid bitch! You yelled at yourself internally. It took everything in you to push thoughts of Sylus aside and focus on the mission.
For some reason, there wasn’t a single safe in this entire room. You doubted that fact and scanned every corner for a secret compartment. You felt along the large oak desk in the center of the room and felt no hidden buttons. There was no obvious safe and you had a tight window of time.
You felt along the floorboards, noting a strange scuff beneath a bookshelf—too frequent, too deliberate.
You quietly motioned for Luke to join you and he followed wordlessly, pushing the bookcase with you as it revealed a hidden hallway.
Kieran shook his head not to investigate, but Luke nodded his head and you decided you should as well. After all, you were looking for the Duke’s corruption. And whatever he was hiding in some creepy halls, this was probably prime real estate for that.
The hallway smelled of mildew and rot, torchlight flickering off the damp stone walls. The three of you walked in a group, watching all sides to protect one another from surprise attacks. You kicked open the wooden door and nearly staggered back at what you saw.
Four children.
Thin.
Shackled.
Eyes wide with terror.
The walls were lined with weird test-tubes and cabinets of strange substances. Your intel hadn’t said anything about slaves or even worse, children. Were they being experimented on?
“Gods.” You whispered, rushing in. “We’re getting you out of here.”
“No, don’t touch me! Please!” One of them screamed as you walked closer.
You raised your arms to be disarming, apologizing quickly as you worked on the chains.
“Don’t! He’ll beat you too if he finds out.” Another cried out.
You only kept apologizing as you opened the metal cuffs. The children clung to your legs immediately, shivering but with silent cries and wailing.
“It’s going to be okay.” You kept a lone tone, so as not to frighten them.
One of the older children eyed you suspiciously, keeping a hand on the others as she watched over.
What had they suffered? What did that fucking disgusting Duke done to these children?
Kieran found a service corridor and approached the children carefully. “We’re going to get you out of here. Please, follow me.”
You looked back and Luke was stuffing as much paperwork and loose files he could get his hands on into his pack. Smart, he was gathering every bit of evidence you could from this room.
But a shout went up in the distance.
Then boots.
You turned sharply, pulling the smallest child behind you just as three guards lunged out from the hall you came from.
A gunshot split the air, glass shattering behind you as strange liquid splashed across the stone. Luckily they had missed, but there was no way they were going to let any of you out alive.
Not with evidence of their cruelty in your hands.
You raised your gun, the very same Sylus gave you a few hours ago, and shot—your pistol’s echo deafening in the corridor. A guard dropped, crumpling mid-run toward you and causing the other to hesitate. You spun on the second, slamming your elbow into his throat before landing a clean punch to the third’s temple. He collapsed like a sack of flour, groaning as he hit the stone floor.
Your hands trembled as the adrenaline spiked. Luke and Kieran had grabbed a child in both hands, dragging them since it would be quicker to run with them in hand. You ran just a step behind them, gun raised as you covered their behind out of the estate.
The gardens were bustling with activity and it was clear that one of your groups had been caught, since other guards were running in the upper corridor above you.
There was a shout above you and you couldn’t help but look. It was the Grand Duke himself, emerging on one end of the hall and pointing at the group of Pirates.
“Traitorous bastard.” He spat, eyes bulging. “You wretched swine! You were never a prince of mine!”
You followed his eye-line, looking at the group across from him. Tara had a gun raised and pointed, but the Duke was pointing at one person alone.
Sylus.
Kieran yanked your arm to get your attention, to run faster since they gathered all they could from the estate.
You didn’t stop until the Onychinus came into view. Until the ramp closed behind you. Until the children were safe in the crew’s arms, being fed and cleaned and wept over.
The moment the crew laid eyes on the children, their fury was palpable—quiet, grim, and sharp enough to cut steel. No one spoke, not at first. They didn’t have to. Some fell to their knees, carefully gathering the children into their arms, whispering reassurances through clenched jaws. Others barked orders for food, for blankets, for medical kits. The cook threw open the pantry doors, already preparing easy broth for them to digest. Someone else was ripping cloth into bandages.
You stood in the middle of it all, useless. Numb. One of the children had clung to your leg as movement from all sides seem to close in on them.
You dropped to your knees to address him at eye-level. “It’s going to be okay. I promise. We’re here to help.”
“That’s what everyone says.” His voice was low as he whispered back.
Your heart broke at his response and it must have been obvious on your face. The boy’s lip wavered as he held back a sob.
“I’m so sorry. Please, trust us. You’ll never have to see those people again.” You whispered back, your earnest request reaching his heart and receiving a hesitant nod in response.
The young boy followed another crew-member, looking back at you twice as you waved at him. Of course, the crew-member immediately tried talking to him and making him feel comfortable. He was going to be in good hands from now on.
Your hands were still trembling from the fight. You could still feel the recoil of the pistol, the way that guard’s body jerked mid-step and crumpled like a dropped puppet. You turned and walked away before anyone could ask you anything.
Your legs moved on instinct, taking you to your quarters like they knew the path better than your mind did. You shut the door behind you, but didn’t lock it. Couldn’t. You didn’t even change out of your clothes. The smell of smoke, metal, and sweat clung to them. The blood—was it yours? theirs?—was drying on your sleeve.
You sat on the edge of your cot, still and hollow, listening.
Footsteps echoed through the ship. Boots hit the metal ramp. Voices called out names—roll call, confirmation. One by one, the teams returned. Every knock of a heel sent your heart into your throat. You didn’t breathe until you heard someone shout:
“He’s here! Sylus is back!”
You shot to your feet, rushing to the window just in time to see his white hair, tousled and unmistakable, bobbing as he climbed aboard. Dirt smeared his cheek, a cut ran along his arm, but he was walking—alive. Whole. Breathing.
Your knees nearly gave out.
Engines hummed to life. The ship began to move, pulling away from the Grand Duke’s estate and whatever horrors were still buried in its foundations. And yet, even as safety wrapped itself around you like a blanket, your ears rang with silence. The only thing you could hear was the pounding in your chest.
You had taken a life tonight.
You could still feel the weight of the gun in your hand.
There was no doubt that your actions were appropriate for the situation. You doubted the guards would let you live, if not they would imprison you and make you suffer a worse fate for being a traitor to the Royal Family.
But that hadn’t lessened the weight in your chest.
You watched the light flicker on and off in the office next to you. You were grappling with your thoughts for so long, Sylus had returned back and retreated to his room.
You tried your best to be silent, closing the doors behind you as you retreated to the top deck. Crewmembers nodded at you, the weight of the raid today heavy.
It couldn’t have been easy—for anyone. The escape, the chaos, the burden of what they witnessed and endured. It was nothing like the jubilant aftermath of past missions, where stolen riches and adrenaline made hearts lighter. No, this was something else entirely. They hadn’t stolen treasure. They had rescued children—slave children—who had been tortured, experimented on, treated like less than animals.
You leaned against the cool, metal railing, letting the salt-kissed wind brush over your skin as the ocean stretched infinitely in front of you. The stars above blinked with indifference, and the soft churn of waves was the only thing grounding your thoughts.
Your mind looped with flashes of pain, of the scream that child let out when you first touched him—because he thought you were another scientist. Your hands tightened on the railing.
A quiet voice broke through your fog.
“Not able to sleep?”
You turned, startled. Sylus stood behind you, his white hair tousled from the sea breeze, a dark robe draped loosely over his frame. The top was open slightly, revealing a defined chest and the faint glint of a scar over his ribs. You forced your eyes up, away from the temptation, though it felt impossible not to notice the sheer heat radiating from him.
“No, I can’t.” You admitted, your voice low.
He stepped closer, his tone softer than usual. “Kieran told me what you saw. I’m glad you brought them back here.”
“I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.”
That was a loaded statement and both of you knew that. Sylus paused for a long moment, before hitting the nail on the head. “Was that your first time killing someone?
“Yes.” You nodded, voice nearly whispering. “But it didn’t feel real. At the time, it was instinct. I didn’t think—I just knew those guards wouldn’t hesitate to do worse to me. Or to the children. But now... I keep seeing his face. And I can’t—”
Your voice cracked and your throat tightened with the tears you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel. Sylus reached for you, placing a hand on your shoulder before pulling you into his chest. You didn’t resist. You let yourself melt into his warmth.
“It’s okay.” He murmured.
“I killed someone.” You repeated.
You needed to say it aloud, to believe it.
Sylus held you firmer, his voice firm and unwavering. “You protected those children. You saved them from a lifetime of pain. They get to sleep in real beds tonight. Because of you.”
“I know.” You nodded, still struggling to keep calm. “I know that.”
“But it doesn’t make it easier.” He finished the sentence for you.
You nodded against his chest and he only held you closer. He would understand, even if it felt like you were being a big baby in this dangerous lifestyle.
You closed your eyes as you listened to his heartbeat. It was steady, like an anchor in the chaos. Your breathing slowed. The tears that had threatened the edges of your vision began to subside. He could feel your heartbeat calm down as he rubbed circles on your back.
“By the way…” Sylus’s voice shifted, a teasing note lacing it. “That knockout punch was impressive.”
You blinked. “Huh?”
“From what I heard.” He said with a slight smirk, getting your mind off of things. “You knocked out one of the Grand Duke’s guards.”
“The kitten has claws.” You joked, echoing the nickname you often heard from his lips.
But the second they left your mouth, you felt it—a shift. Sylus’ arms, which had been comfortably wrapped around you, suddenly tensed. He gently pushed you off his chest, just far enough to look into your eyes. There was something haunted in his gaze. Something shocked. His stare locked with yours, wide and searching, as if trying to confirm whether he’d truly heard what you just said.
That nickname. You weren’t supposed to know it.
You realized it instantly. That was the name he used for you in your dreams—those same dreams that felt too vivid to be imagined. Your heart stuttered in your chest. Were they truly dreams? Or memories?
Were you even ready to unpack something like that right now?
He already had a question on his lips. “Do you—”
“Wait. Please.” You cut in, desperate, breathless. Your hand reached for his wrist, grounding yourself. “Don’t ask me that. Not yet.”
Sylus paused instantly. The tension in his face melted into concern, his voice soft. “Is something wrong?”
“I have a question first. Something I need to understand before anything else.” Your voice trembled like a whisper on glass. “Why… did the Grand Duke call you a prince?”
Sylus blinked, clearly caught off guard. He stepped back slowly, putting distance between you for the first time that night. He leaned against the railing, the moonlight casting sharp shadows across his face. He looked up at the silvered sky and sighed.
“Perhaps we should take this somewhere private?”
You nodded, your stomach twisting as you led him silently back into the dim hallway and toward his office. The door clicked shut behind you, and Sylus gestured for you to take the guest chair facing his desk. He pulled his own chair closer, turning it to face you completely.
Then he explained.
“I am Sylus, Captain of the Onychinus and former Crown Prince of Linkon.”
You sat straighter, paying rapt attention to his explanation.
“My father, the late King, remarried long ago.” Sylus continued, his tone sharp with old bitterness. “She was cunning, cruel—an evil hag I refuse to acknowledge even as my step-mother. Eventually, she bore a son. Carter.”
Your eyes widened. “The same Carter…?”
He nodded. “Yes. The one who nearly made you his wife.”
A deep chill sank into your bones.
“My father never legitimized Carter. He refused to name him heir. That only fanned the flames of her fury. When he died, everything changed. She manipulated the court, aligned with the most corrupt nobles, and turned the palace into her own warfront. She declared me a threat to her son’s rule and sentenced me—and anyone loyal to me—to death.”
The pieces began to fall into place.
“That’s why the crew follows you so fiercely. You saved them.”
Sylus shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “No. They saved me. They smuggled me out the night before the execution. Put me on a ship—this ship—and helped me vanish. Since then, we’ve spent years undermining her power, crippling the nobles who once raised their glasses to me in public and then signed my death behind closed doors.”
“Is that our end goal? To take back Linkon?”
You could see he lingered on your use of the word ‘our.’ His goals were yours now too. And it warmed his chest to think that.
“Yes. But she’s buried deep, her roots poisoned everything from the throne to the farmland. I don’t doubt that I am the richest man on the entire sea and it still wouldn’t be enough. We’d need an army. A revolution.”
You leaned back in the chair, letting it all settle in your mind. The webtoon you had fallen into never told this story. After all, the female protagonist ends up with Carter in the end! It never hinted at a displaced prince or a kingdom in turmoil.
Or perhaps, was that not the true ending?
“Has your opinion of me changed?” Sylus asked, voice soft but direct, drawing you back to the moment.
“What? No. Not at all. If anything…”
His expression soured just slightly, as if worried for your response. “Yes?”
You hesitated, then leaned forward, reaching for his hand. “If anything, I’m angry for you. This isn’t justice. What happened to you—it wasn’t fair. My hatred for Carter burns brighter now, knowing he’s a puppet for something much worse.”
Your hand covered his, grounding him. “I’m with you, Sylus. I want to help you reclaim what’s rightfully yours.”
Something in him shifted.
Gratitude? Relief?
Love?
“Thank you.” He whispered, voice almost lost in the space between you. But then Sylus moved, standing and lowering himself onto one knee before you. “Do you… remember me?”
Your breath caught. Of course he’d been anxiously waiting to hear the answer to that question. The nickname. The familiarity in your gaze. He was probably watching for any flicker of recognition you could give him these past few months and one finally slipped through.
“Sylus, I have to tell you the truth.” You put a hand on his cheek. “I’m not who I say I am, at least not completely. My memory is fragmented, I don’t remember much of my childhood. Hell, the time before I was engaged to Carter feels like a haze. But I have constant, vivid dreams. And they’re all about you.”
He stood, concern written all over his face. “Dreams?”
“In these dreams I only see you.”
“How?”
“They feel more like memories than dreams. Like fragments of something real. I can still feel them when I wake up, honestly. Hold on.” You stood and went back to your room, retrieving your dream journal where you tried to detail every memory. Returning, you placed it gently in his hands.. “I dream of us in a million different ways—under a cherry blossom tree in a field of daisies, lazing around a grand staircase, or even watching fireworks together.”
Sylus’s fingers brushed over the pages, eyes scanning quickly, flicking from one passage to the next. You moved beside him, leaning over his shoulder to see where his gaze had settled.
Your soul left your body.
Oh my god.
Oh my god!
The serious air changed at that moment and you rushed to grab the notebook from his hands.
“Oh my god—no, no, no!” You lunged forward and tried to snatch the journal, mortified. “You don’t need to read everything ! That one was a little… private.”
Dear god, he was reading the passage about how you kissed in the field. How he laid you out on the grass and ripped open your shirt, laying claim to skin as red splotches were left in his wake. How the stakes raised as he tore at the reminders of your outfit, kissing further and further down.
His smirk could cut glass. He raised the journal just out of your reach. “You mean the one where I kissed you breathless in a field and left a trail of love bites down your chest?”
You turned crimson. “ Sylus! ”
“These aren’t just dreams.” He said, serious now. “These are memories.”
You blushed, trying to stay focused. “Were we… together?”
“Yes.” he said simply, stepping closer. He cupped your chin gently, tilting your face up. “It started in the Capital. You and I met in the marketplace, by chance while I was running from assassins. I never told you my real name, only a fake one for safety. But we kept meeting. Again and again. For years.”
“I’m sorry.” You couldn’t help but say.
“Don’t apologize.”
His face was already full of love.
And while you wanted to love him back, you knew you weren’t quite ready to match his intensity, and a part of you broke at that thought.
The original owner of this body… she would never know how much Sylus loved her.
He continued. “I already knew you didn’t remember me. I’m sorry for the secrecy, but I did not want to overwhelm you.”
“How did you know I lost my memory?”
“We’ve met again before. After our meetings had come to a stop years later, at a banquet held at the Palace. But it was clear you didn’t recognize me. And it wasn’t long after that, that I was exiled from the country.”
“You had more important things going on.” You answered for him. “But thank you for coming back for me. From saving me from marrying that idiot.”
Sylus leaned toward you, nose bumping against yours as he whispered. “What did they do to you that made you lose your memory?”
“I don’t know. Has your opinion of me changed?” You asked, repeating the same question he asked you earlier.
He didn’t answer with words.
Sylus shook his head as he leaned forward, connecting your lips in an electric shock that made your toes curl.
The kind of kiss that stole your breath and sent your heart into freefall. You moaned against his mouth, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck. One of his hands cradled the back of your head, the other anchored you by the waist, pulling you flush to him.
He hoisted you up, gripping your thighs as he carried you toward the adjoining room. Your eyes darted briefly, catching sight of his bedroom. Sylus didn’t pause for distractions. His lips trailed hungrily across yours, eliciting a soft moan as you surrendered to the moment. You parted your lips, welcoming his tongue as it slid inside, exploring with a delicious urgency.
His hand crept beneath the front of your shirt, fingers grazing and squeezing your breast lightly, sending a fresh wave of warmth through you.
“Fits in my hand perfectly.”
You moaned loudly—it was highly unfair that he used his deep voice to be so teasing. Every low note that passed his lips had you arching.
“More, Sylus.” You whispered, breathless.
He chuckled softly, amusement and tenderness gleaming in his eyes. “Not yet.”
You whined softly and he silenced you with another kiss, slower this time. More reverent. As if he were rediscovering a treasure long lost to time.
He continued. “I know you’re not ready yet.”
You smiled to yourself, Sylus knew you better than your own mind. Sure, you wanted him now, but that was born more out of passion than love. And he wanted to savor you with all the love in his heart. It would take time, but it was clear he would be willing to wait until you were sure you loved him too.
Eventually, the fervor faded, and he pulled you to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around you. You snuggled into the curve of his body, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your ear.
And just like that, with the scent of him surrounding you and the warmth of his arms keeping the world at bay…
You drifted to sleep.
Now that you finally knew what you were fighting for— who you were fighting for—your resolve felt sharper than ever. The fear didn’t disappear, but it changed. Became something you could carry, mold, wield. And over the next few months, you fought alongside Sylus with unwavering determination as a proud member of the Onychinus.
Every skirmish, every infiltration, every brush with danger on the estates of corrupt nobles only honed your reflexes and tightened your aim. You trained with the pistol until it felt like an extension of your hand, your body moving instinctively when threats came too close.
The crew of the Onychinus became a family you’d bleed for and you watched as the revolution began to swell from sparks to flame. One estate at a time, Sylus dismantled the old guard. Local officials who’d once turned their faces away now bowed their heads with respect—offering safe docking ports, intelligence leaks, even whispers of support from cities you’d never heard of.
The high nobles hated him. With every victory, their sneers grew colder, their bounties larger.
But the people…
The people adored him.
He was their prince—not by blood alone, but by the way he spoke to them, the way he listened. How he looked a farmer in the eye with the same intensity as a councilman. You saw it in their faces, in the trembling hands that reached for him, in the hope they dared to carry again.
He loved his people.
And they loved him right back.
After that night, when everything was laid bare between you—the dreams, the memories, the quiet truths you hadn’t realized you’d been starving to speak—your relationship changed. Not in a dramatic, fireworks-in-the-sky kind of way. But in the gentle closeness of two people who knew exactly where the other would be.
A hand brushing yours as he passed. A look that lasted a second longer than necessary. A smile that softened when he thought you weren’t looking.
It wasn’t anything loud.
Well to most people.
Tara, of course, noticed immediately.
She had knocked on your door one morning to reschedule your training session, only to nearly drop her clipboard when you came walking out of the bedroom across from yours.
She blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then: “ No way. ”
You froze mid-step. “Good morning to you too…”
Sylus appeared behind you shirtless—completely unbothered, his usual smirk in place as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple.
Tara’s jaw dropped.
“Oh my god. ” Tara smiled at you before suddenly slapping her forehead. “Ugh, do me a favor and don’t tell Kieran.”
“What? Why?”
“If he finds out, I owe him a hundred gold pieces.”
Your jaw dropped. “You bet on us?!”
“Of course I did. Pirate, duh!” Tara exclaimed.
Sylus chuckled. “And you bet against me?”
“Come on.” Tara scoffed. “After that whole closet incident, I thought for sure you were a lost cause.”
You gasped. “You know about—?!”
“Knew? Girl.” She snorted. “Who do you think your boy came crawling to for advice on how to make you swoon?” She threw on a dramatic falsetto, mimicking Sylus with wild hand gestures. “‘Oh she’s so perfect and cute and she smells like honey and starlight—what do I do?!’”
“You’re dismissed.” Sylus commanded.
“Yeah, yeah.” Tara waved him away as she exited.
You looked at him, a teasing word on the tip of your tongue. But you never got the chance, Sylus silencing you with his tongue on yours. First, with a kiss—his tongue sweeping against yours with slow, confident purpose—and then later, with a kiss to your chest, his mouth trailing lower, and lower, leaving no room for witty retorts.
Not that you were complaining.
Of course, Kieran and Luke found out almost immediately.
You barely even said a word before they knew —just one look across the Mess Hall was enough. You and Sylus had taken your usual seats side by side, not doing anything out of the ordinary. No stolen kisses. No whispered flirting. Just proximity.
But apparently, that was all it took.
Luke squinted at the two of you suspiciously, then raised a brow with a smug grin slowly spreading across his face. Kieran, the slightly calmer twin, just looked at Sylus for a second, then gave a barely-there smirk and returned to eating. It was equal parts terrifying and impressive how fast they caught on.
Still, despite the teasing, not much had changed outwardly. Your relationship wasn’t a whirlwind of drama or spectacle. It was slow-burn warmth. Something private and steady, like a candle lit below deck—soft, hidden from view, but never in danger of going out.
You stayed in the Captain’s quarters, wrapped up in Sylus’ arms each night, tangled in bedsheets that smelled like sea salt and him. He had a habit of peppering your skin with lazy kisses—on your shoulder, your collarbone, the edge of your jaw—like it was a ritual neither of you wanted to break.
You hadn’t gone all the way yet.
It wasn’t nerves or fear, not really. You knew he loved you, if your memories from your dreams were anything to go by.
It was that you weren’t quite there. Not yet.
You had memories of him, dreams soaked in longing from another lifetime where the two of you had loved each other fully. But now? Now you were still learning him. The way he snored quietly when he was too tired to pretend he didn’t. The way he always rolled toward you in his sleep. The way he let you go at your own pace—even when his desire for you crackled under his skin.
He loved you with his whole heart. You could see it, feel it in the way he looked at you like you hung the stars.
And though your heart hadn’t caught up just yet, you were getting there. Bit by bit, moment by moment. He was probably the most absurdly attractive man you’d ever laid eyes on, but it wasn’t just that. It was his depth, his patience, the softness he offered you when the world outside was all fire and blades. And so you let yourself take the time you needed.
Sylus didn’t mind. You could tell.
All he really wanted was for you to be by his side.
And so you fought with him—as a loyal supporter, a growing partner, and a lover for him to rely on.
In those quiet months and stolen hours, you learned more about him than you ever could’ve guessed. That beneath the cold, terrifying exterior of a rebel prince was someone far gentler than you imagined. Sylus had a depth of compassion you’d rarely seen in this world or the last. His intimidating looks were nothing compared to the strength and sincerity of his heart.
He was kind. He was infuriatingly handsome. He was devastatingly sexy.
He was… all of it, in one maddeningly irresistible package.
You could almost physically feel yourself falling more and more in love with him.
Not just in the swoon-over-his-smirk kind of way. No, this was the kind of slow, bone-deep falling that crept up on you day by day.
Every night, he’d tuck you into his bed, kissing your temple before curling around you protectively. And every morning, even though he rose hours before you, you’d wake to find a red rose left in the space where he had slept. Always fresh. Always perfect. You didn’t know where he kept finding them, but you didn’t ask.
You just smiled sleepily and placed each one in the small vase you kept on the windowsill.
Even when you were apart, whether on missions or somewhere else on the ship, you felt him. That little tug at the back of your mind, the weight of his awareness reaching out to you like a tether. You didn’t know if it was magic, or instinct, or simply the bond growing stronger between you—but you knew when he was near. And he always was.
One of his finest qualities, though, was something you’d never expected: his command.
Sylus was a born leader.
To think—a single ship of so-called pirates managing to shake the foundations of an entire kingdom. But it wasn’t luck. It wasn’t chaos.
It was him.
He commanded the Onychinus with grace and an unshakable resolve. He knew every inch of the ship, every crew member’s strength, every possible maneuver. He planned with the sharpness of a tactician and the heart of someone who knew exactly what kind of world he wanted to build.
The nobles didn’t stand a chance.
Most of the commanders who opposed him were nothing more than polished cowards—placed in power not by merit, but by the whims of a cruel and crumbling monarchy. You’d seen it yourself. The way they fumbled, their troops scattered, their strategies laughable. It was no wonder Sylus cut through them like silk.
The Queen had built her court on rot.
But the Onychinus ? The Onychinus had a real king at its helm.
And every day, you felt more and more certain:
You would follow him to the end.
Your raids were getting bolder and bolder. Not just small-scale skirmishes anymore—these were full-blown, scorched-earth operations robbing Nobles blind. Entire estates of high-ranking nobles were crumbling under Sylus’ relentless advance. The Marquis. The Duke. Even the old Counts who had once laughed his ass out of court—none of them were safe from the Captain of the Onychinus and his crew of fiercely loyal pirates.
You were moving fast. Too fast for the bloated aristocracy to keep up. One week they’d be drinking wine in their gilded halls and the next they were scrambling in their underclothes as you stormed their gates and redistributed their wealth to the people they’d stolen it from.
What made it even more unstoppable was the growing tide of support from the common folk. They didn’t just whisper Sylus’ name anymore. They shouted it. Painted it on alley walls. Carved it into trees.
They helped hide your crew members, smuggled you through city gates, even planted explosives to blow apart enemy storehouses or lured guards away with fake distress calls. Sometimes you didn’t even have to lift your pistol—they’d already done the job for you.
And yesterday? Yesterday had been your most daring feat yet.
The Linkon Treasury.
A veritable fortress of stone, steel, and enchanted locks. The Queen had kept a large portion of her war funds there—rations, gold, and trade seals that could fund half a war if handled properly. It should’ve been impossible to raid.
But Sylus made the impossible feel routine.
The plan had gone off without a hitch. The distraction. The breach. The timing. All perfect. You watched Sylus lead the charge himself, his coat flaring behind him like the wings of a fallen angel. It was one of those moments that made your heart stutter in your chest—not just because he was gorgeous, but because he was the revolution incarnate. A living, breathing symbol of everything the people needed.
After the raid, he’d done what he always did—split the spoils.
A portion of the stolen gold was immediately distributed to nearby villages, tossed into the hands of crying mothers, grateful farmers, and smiling children who had never held a full coin in their lives. The rest? Tucked away in a safehouse owned by one of the noble families who secretly sided with the rebellion.
Sylus wasn’t just tearing things down.
He was preparing to build .
It had been several hard weeks in a row—fighting, negotiating, attending secret meetings with rebels and mayors and lords who had grown tired of bowing to a blood-soaked crown. And each time you helped liberate a town, the same thing would happen: the mayor would take Sylus’ hand, kiss the royal signet ring he kept hidden beneath his glove, and swear allegiance to the rightful heir.
Some of the villagers were growing restless. Impatient. Hungry for the grand finale.
“Why wait?” They would ask. “The Queen is weak compared to you. You could take the capital now.”
And Sylus—ever calm, ever controlled—would look them in the eye, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “Not yet. We strike when the flame is hottest. And when we do, there will be no going back.”
Gods, the man could talk.
He was the type of leader people would die for. And if you were being honest, you probably would too.
But for all his strength and clarity, even Sylus couldn’t shield you from the exhaustion. By the time you got back to the Onychinus , your limbs felt like water and your mind was buzzing with too many thoughts. You barely made it up the stairs to his quarters, armor half-undone, boots still on.
Eventually, the comforting weight of sleep began to lift, and you stirred in Sylus’ bed, groggy but surprisingly well-rested. The hum of the ship was familiar beneath you, a quiet thrum through the metal and wood of the Onychinus . For a blissful moment, you just lay there, tangled in the sheets, warm from the place where he must’ve sat beside you.
But the ache of dried sweat and battle grime was enough to finally get you moving. You stretched, limbs stiff but relaxed, and padded toward the bathroom to rinse off the last few days of chaos.
Except—you froze at the threshold of the door.
Because just as you reached for the handle, the door to the adjoining bedroom creaked open.
And there he was.
Sylus. Fresh out of the shower. Damp hair swept back from his face, rivulets of water still trailing down his broad chest. A towel hung dangerously low around his hips, droplets dripping from his collarbone, rolling down sculpted abs, tracing the lines of muscle like something out of a fever dream.
Your brain short-circuited.
Your mouth may have been open. You couldn't say for sure.
He caught your staring immediately. Of course he did. The smirk that curled onto his lips was absolutely unfair—equal parts devilish and triumphant, like he’d just caught you red-handed stealing a treasure chest.
“Like what you see, sweetie?” He purred.
The words were low and husky, soaked in teasing affection and something darker, heavier, lingering beneath.
Before you could respond—before your brain could even form a full sentence—he was walking toward you, the air around him still warm from the steam. The heat of his skin radiated with every step, close enough to make your breath catch.
Good god, even with the material of a cotton towel you could see the outline of his thick cock.
He leaned forward, grabbing your chin. “My eyes are up here.”
There was not a doubt in your mind that he was confident about his body. There was hardly anything he needed to do to make you blush, but the deep baritone voice in your ear only heightened your arousal.
But you knew he would never push you beyond some light teasing and kisses. He was respectful of your boundaries and you knew if you wanted this to go further, you would have to make the first move.
So, of course, your patience snapped.
You grasped Sylus by the shoulders, pulling yourself upward as you claimed his mouth in a searing kiss. Your lips moved urgently against his, pouring all your pent-up longing into the passionate embrace. He groaned into your mouth, an arm instinctively wrapping around your waist to crush your bodies together.
Emboldened, you slid a hand between your bodies to palm the growing bulge straining against the towel. Sylus hissed in pleasure, his hips bucking into your touch. With a swift tug, you yanked the towel away, freeing his hardened cock.
It slapped against his stomach proudly and your mouth nearly watered just at the sight of it. It was pink at the tip, one long vein on the underside.
“You don’t have to do this, kitten.” Sylus said, even though his voice was dripping with lust.
It only made him that much more endearing.
With new confidence, you were barely able to wrap your one hand around his throbbing shaft, giving it a test stroke with a purposeful squeeze at the end.
Sylus' breath hitched, his head falling back as he let out a guttural moan. Emboldened by his reaction, you leaned back down on your knees, one of his hands carding through your hair as you maintained eye contact. You flicked your tongue teasingly over the swollen head of his cock.
Sylus's grip on your head tightened, both hands finding purchase there as his fingers dug into your flesh as he watched with hooded eyes.
“My beautiful kitten..." He rasped, his voice audibly strained.
It was almost empowering to know how much strength you had over him. It only took a few movements to make him flush with desire, rocking his hips in your direction.
He truly did love you.
You smiled before taking him into your mouth slowly, lips stretching around his girth as you lowered yourself inch by agonizing inch.
Sylus cursed under his breath, using every bit of self control he had from squeezing your head too much. You bottomed out at the base and swallowed, earning you a loud moan from the Captain.
You pumped him in your mouth a few times before Sylus started to take charge. He guided you through the movement, setting a steady pace as he thrusted shallowly into your warm, wet mouth. The obscene sound of your suckling filled the quiet room, mingling with Sylus' labored breathing and guttural moans of pleasure.
This was a man revered like a King, strong and silent and wanted by men and women alike. And here he was, getting lost to the feeling of your mouth alone. He loved you for who you were and this only made him more enamored with every inch of you. It felt empowering, somehow. To know that you had Sylus wrapped around your finger just as much as he had you.
He was lost in the incredible sensation of your mouth around him, the heat and pressure exquisite, when suddenly you pulled back. Sylus was about to ask if you were okay, but you hollowed your throat and shoved him deep down your throat.
“You… minx!” He barely choked out.
You swallowed a few more times before pulling off his cock. “Fuck my mouth, my love.”
You watched his dick twitch at the nickname. In a fit of need, Sylus hauled you by the waist until you sat on the edge of the bed more fully. You waited with anticipation as he raised his leg to rest on the bed, very clearly a new angle to get deeper down your throat. You opened your mouth in want, Sylus staring down at you with every bit of lust and love in his expression. You wanted this so badly, wanted to fuck your mouth like a hot hole that belonged to him.
Sylus gripped your chin tightly, holding your head in place as he slowly enclosed his dick between your. He was still being somewhat careful, so you squeezed his hips to bring him in deeper. His balls slapped lewdly against your chin with each vigorous thrust, the obscene sound mixing with your muffled moans. Drool leaked from the corners of your stretched lips as he fucked your face with single-minded intensity, chasing his release.
"Fuck." He grunted, his grip on your chin tightening as his thrusts grew more erratic. “Do you love my cock, kitten?”
You opened your mouth to lick at him lazily. “I love you.”
That hit a chord with Sylus, his eyes widening before shoved himself deeper down your throat. His eyes rolled back as you hummed around his cock, vibrating your hot channel around him as he lost all pace.
"Your mouth feels too fucking good. I'm going to... I'm going to..." His words dissolved into a guttural moan as he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he came hard down your throat.
You swallowed convulsively, feeling his hot seed slide down your throat in thick, creamy ropes. Sylus shuddered and twitched above you, riding out the waves of his intense climax.
Before you could catch your breath, Sylus was hauling you up the bed by your waist, your head falling back against the pillow. He wasted no time in spreading your thighs wide, exposing your glistening, needy sex to his hungry gaze.
"Sylus!" you gasped out, your voice hoarse from the force of his earlier thrusts.
Sylus didn't respond, too consumed by his own hunger to speak and need to pleasure you to speak. He dove between your thighs, burying his face in your dripping folds as his one hand exposed your swollen sex. His tongue delved deep, stroking along your inner walls, savoring your essence like a man starved.
"Oh god, Sylus!" You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him against you. Your hips undulated, grinding your aching pussy against his mouth, seeking more of that exquisite pleasure.
Sylus groaned against your flesh, the vibrations sending want through your core. He lapped at you greedily, his tongue flicking out to tease your swollen clit. Two fingers plunged into your tight channel, pumping in and out, matching the relentless rhythm of his licks. He kissed your pussy with a fervor usually reserved for a lover's lips, worshipping your most intimate places. His free hand slid up your body to palm your breast, kneading the soft flesh, rolling your nipple between his fingers.
"Sylus, please!" You begged, your voice breaking on a moan.
You were lost for words, your mind hazing with the intensity of the sensations he was forcing from your lips. Sylus seemed to understand your desperate pleas, even if no words were spoken. He doubled his efforts, his fingers pumping faster, his tongue flicking harder against your swollen clit. He could feel your walls starting to flutter around his invading digits, your body tensing as your climax approached.
"Come for me, Kitten." Sylus commanded, his voice muffled against your sex. "I want to taste your pleasure, feel you come undone on my tongue."
His words, combined with the relentless assault on your most sensitive spots, pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, your inner muscles clamping down on Sylus's fingers, drenching his chin and cheeks with your release. Sylus didn't let up, continuing to lap at your quivering sex, helping you ride out the intense waves of your climax. His fingers slowed their movements, now gently stroking your inner walls, coaxing out every last aftershock.
As your breathing began to slow, Sylus kissed his way up your body, his lips glistening with your juices. He paused to lave at your breasts, suckling and teasing your at your stiff peaks, before continuing his journey north. Sylus's lips finally reached yours and he captured them in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on his mouth, the tangy essence of your shared passion igniting a fresh wave of desire within you. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss as your tongues tangled and danced.
"Sylus." You murmured against his lips, your voice soft and sated. "That was... incredible. I've never felt anything like that before."
Sylus smiled, his eyes soft with love and satisfaction. "I'm glad, my love. Seeing you come apart in my arms, feeling you surrender to the pleasure... it's the most beautiful thing in the world."
He rolled onto his side, gathering you close, your bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces. His hand stroked along your back, tracing the curve of your spine, as he pressed tender kisses to your hair, your temple, your cheek.
"Rest now." Sylus whispered, his voice low and soothing. "Let me hold you, let me cherish you. I promise to earn your love, your trust, your passion."
"I already... love you." You whispered back, face flushing.
Sylus kissed the side of your head. "You don't have to say that just because I do."
"I really do. And I'll prove it, every day, supporting you by your side."
"Silly girl." He smiled at you, giant hands caressing the skin of your arm. "I've already made that promise, to you."
As the raids grew in scope and the danger escalated, a different kind of energy began to buzz through the Onychinus . Anticipation. A sharp sense of purpose that vibrated through the crew like the low hum of a brewing storm.
You were so close now.
The revolution—the mission that had once felt like a vague hope, a distant dream wrapped in desperation—was finally within reach. It no longer felt like a fantasy you clung to at night. It was real. Tangible. The finish line was in sight, and all you had to do was run through the fire to get there.
You learned more about the rest of your crew, why they had personal convictions about fighting.
Tara, for instance, had always carried herself with pride and edge—but now you learned why. She was the daughter of the Royal Seamstress, a woman executed for standing up to the corrupt Queen. Most thought her dead too. But Tara had survived and she wore her vengeance like a second skin, laced into every stitch of her uniform.
The ship’s baker and the head chef—who you once assumed were just particularly patriotic cooks—had also served in the Palace kitchens. Back then, they weren’t just culinary artists; they were food testers, secretly sworn in their hearts to protect Prince Sylus from poison, tasting every bite before it reached his lips.
It was no wonder they still watched him with such reverence.
One thing was clear: everyone aboard this ship had once been part of the old world. And now, they all fought to build a better one.
Home. That was the word that kept floating around. They all wanted to go home—not just to the place, but to the feeling. To a kingdom ruled by justice, not cruelty. To a monarchy restored to honor.
Sylus spent long hours locked in the strategy room, charts and maps spread across the table like pieces of an elaborate puzzle. Missives came by the hour—pledges from governors, village militias, retired generals, and even a few defecting soldiers. Small armies, scattered across the region, were ready to rise at his word.
He wasn’t recognized by the court. He wasn’t in any line of succession they acknowledged.
But none of that mattered.
He had the people.
He was their prince—every farmer, baker, and orphaned child knew it in their bones. The Crown had abandoned them, but Sylus had not. And that was all they needed.
In the days leading up to the final assault, you could see the weight of it all bearing down on him. The pressure. The stakes. The knowledge that so many lives depended on his success.
And, quietly, you noticed something else too—how often his hands found yours. How his gaze lingered on you when he thought you weren’t looking. How he kissed you deeper each time, like trying to memorize the shape of your lips, the taste of your breath, in case something pulled you away again.
He was pent up—not just from the stress of war, but from finally letting himself feel everything again. You reminded him—over and over—that you loved him now. Even without your memories of childhood, you knew him now, had seen the man he’d become, and had fallen in love all the same. Your bond wasn’t forged in the past; it was built every day in battle plans, whispered secrets, stolen kisses behind bulkheads.
And gods, were you addicted to kissing him.
It didn’t matter how tired you were, how bruised or bloodied you came back—if Sylus was nearby, you were kissing him. He’d press you against a wall, grin into your mouth, tug you close until the only thing you could taste was him.
Not to mention you were absolutely addicted to kissing him. (And absolutely choking on his thick cock.)
Never before had you really thought that a man’s manhood could be beautiful, but Sylus was the exception.
His hot rod would slap against your face, precum dripping as you salivated over every delicious vein. You would surprise him as you made an effort to tease him, but of course he would always get you back, if not immediately.
You flushed at the memory of a few days ago. You were both enjoying a quiet night, standing out by the railing and staring out to the endless ocean. He was positioned behind you, his musky scent and warmth enveloping you in his reassuring embrace.
You looked up at him and smiled, warming from the endearing look he shot you before kissing your forehead gently. You rolled your hips backwards, rubbing your butt against his front and watched his warm eyes widen in surprise.
He leaned down and whispered in your ear. “Careful kitten, we’re still out there.”
Sylus attempted to move your body further from his, to give a little space. But you refused to budge, rolling against him again and hearing his delicious moan in response.
You whispered back. “I want you everywhere.”
His voice dropped lower somehow. “Everywhere?
You gasped as he pushed your skirts to the side, calling your bluff as his large fingers touched your bare skin. It traveled to your inner thigh, making your knees shake in anticipation.
He asked, rubbing two fingers against the already damp cloth of your underwear. “Even here?”
“Especially there.” You moaned, attempting to turn around and kiss him.
But Sylus held you facing forward, pushing you closer to the railing and trapping you in between him and the railing. You flushed as he rubbed his dick against your ass in tandem to his fingers rubbing you. You held an open palm to your mouth, stopping the sounds from escaping you.
You felt his hard length rub against the curve of your ass, rutting against you as he pushed aside your panties and pumped two fingers to the knuckles inside you. You were weak to him, moaning loudly and making Sylus hiss. His other hand wrapped around your neck, before he shoved two fingers into your mouth and pressed down on your tongue. All it took was a few passionate movements, his cock against your ass until you’re both cumming together.
God, you were both insatiable.
Whether it was the stress or just the insane amount of sexual tension, you were quick to latch your mouth onto his the moment you had a private moment alone. Whether you were getting on your knees for him underneath his desk, spreading your legs for him in his bed wearing nothing but his Captain’s coat, or even better, when you were out on the land and gave into your passions, up against some random tree in the moonlight. You were not joking when you said you wanted him all the time.
Each memory was something new you savored.
Today’s mission had felt routine—just a standard supply run with Tara to a sleepy coastal town. You’d assumed the Onychinus had docked here for a weapons drop and intelligence exchange, and you were more than happy to stretch your legs after days spent aboard the ship. The air was brisk with sea salt, and the markets were alive with fishermen bartering and smiths hammering away at steel.
But when you returned to the office onboard—you found someone you did not recognize already inside.
He stood by the large windows, bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. At first glance, you thought it was Sylus. He had the same snow-white hair, the same effortless poise. But the moment he turned, you saw the differences. He had white hair, but boyish charm to him. His light blue eyes were soft, but commanding in a way that was different from your lover.
Tara immediately bowed her head. “Your Highness.”
You mirrored her motion, instinct taking over even as your eyes flicked between him and Sylus—who stood beside the table covered in maps and scrolls, arms crossed and expression unreadable.
Tara delivered her report quickly, the cadence of her voice efficient and clipped. Weapons secured. Locals still loyal. Minor rumors about a Linkon scout nearby, but nothing confirmed. As she spoke, you could feel the stranger’s gaze resting on you.
He wasn’t listening to Tara.
He was watching you .
And when silence settled back into the room, it was he who spoke first. “I see you two have reconciled.”
You turned to him slowly, caught off-guard by the familiarity in his tone. He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching in something like amusement.
“Do you not recognize me?”
Your brows furrowed, the words catching in your throat. There was something about him that tickled the edge of memory—a flash of color, laughter in the summer, a golden ballroom and—
“She has lost most of her memory.” Sylus said, stepping in. “We believe she may have undergone the same experimentation we discovered in the slave camps. Memory damage is extensive.”
The stranger’s face dimmed for a moment, sympathy blooming in his gaze. “That’s unfortunate.” He extended a hand toward you, not forcefully, but with noble etiquette. “Crown Prince Xavier of Philos. The last time I saw you was at your wedding.”
You took his hand automatically, unsure how to feel as his fingers closed over yours. “Pleasure to meet you again.”
His smile didn’t fade, but his eyes lingered on you for just a beat longer before he turned back to Sylus, the softness falling away as he spoke like a soldier again. “We will be there. Be safe until then.”
With that, he swept out of the room, the long tails of his coat catching the breeze. Outside, you caught a glimpse of red and black masks—Luke and Kieran, ever-watchful, flanking the Crown Prince with a casual alertness that belied their usual banter.
Tara let out a low whistle. “An alliance with your former rival?”
Sylus didn’t look up from the war table. “We were rivals only in title, Princes of neighboring nations with little interest in bloodshed. Xavier values peace and prosperity as I do.”
There was a pause. Then Tara nodded, accepting it with the same pragmatism she applied to everything.
You, however, were still caught in that strange moment—his words replaying in your mind. He was at your almost wedding to Carter.
But there was no time to dwell.
More allies were arriving. More letters were sent. Across the lands, banners rose not just in support of Sylus, but of the cause he carried. The Pirate Prince—once a shadow of rebellion—had become a symbol of unity.
Truly, this Pirate crew had been at it for years, chipping away at Linkon and gaining the trust of many peoples from across the lands.
Philos had been the most vocal. Their parliament had voted nearly unanimously to see Sylus restored. The Queen's warmongering had cost thousands of lives along their borders, skirmishes with no rhyme or reason. And with Crown Prince Xavier standing in full support of Sylus, there was no more room for neutrality.
Lumeria sent not only weapons, but a flirty champion of a warrior—a masked sentinel who boarded the Onychinus with nothing more than chained daggers and a promise to defend the ship should the Royal Navy retaliate. Apparently the same man had annoyed the hell out of Tara before he jumped in the water, patrolling from what he claimed was his best terrain.
Skyhaven, as always, stood as one of Sylus’ most loyal allies. They had suffered more than most, their airborne cities constantly harassed by the Queen’s greed for their rare technology. Of course, they took down any of her efforts with ease, but it still was a waste of both time and resources.
Even inside the Palace itself, the roots of rebellion had grown deep. You learned that one of the Queen’s most trusted royal physicians had been Sylus’ eyes and ears for years. That same man had crafted the emergency plans that could have extracted you during your wedding—plans that extended into the alphabet multiple times over. It was almost absurd to imagine that such devotion had been blooming behind enemy lines for this long, but Sylus had always been a man others would gladly bleed for.
The night before the final storm, the Onychinus bobbed gently in the calm bay just beyond Linkon’s capital. The sky was quiet, stars hanging heavy in the stillness. The crew was alive with purpose, moving across the deck, loading arms, double-checking supplies. From your window, you watched torchlight dance from the decks of the arriving ships. It wasn’t a navy—it was a mosaic of revolution.
That night, sleep evaded you.
You paced. You checked and rechecked your weaponry. Your boots. The backup blade strapped beneath your vest. You weren’t nervous—not exactly. You trusted yourself. But you felt the pressure of the moment, of history pressing on your shoulders.
Sylus had roused the crew with a speech, earning cheers that this mess would finally be over. You watched as he boarded other ally ships, different emblems and even country flags hanging in the wind as your small army amassed in size. Undoubtedly, he was the Commander of this operation.
You could tell Sylus had been less than comfortable all evening, his brow furrowed as he leaned over the final maps and missives. Of course, this was still Sylus, confident in almost all that he did. Seeing everyone here, the weight of so many people’s lives on his shoulders would have been overwhelming for anyone else.
But not Sylus.
A few days before, you approached him quietly, letting your hand come to rest gently on his cheek.
“I love you.” You said softly. “This is your fight, your battle. Put me where you have to, to get the job done.”
You knew for a fact that he did not doubt your abilities, but it was still that small fear, that chance that something could happen that could make him hesitate.
The safest place was at his side, but you were both aware that as the Commander, he would have to be the person to slay the Queen. He would have to fight through to the center of the Palace, facing every sort of elite soldier and knight she could muster.
This fight was not about you and you wanted him to know that you knew that. This was a fight of a lifetime, meant to end tyranny and completely wipe out that witches’ blood from royal lines. He needed his full attention on the fight, even if that meant you had to take a step back for him to focus.
“Thank you.” He leaned into your palm. “But I know this is all of our fights. You’ll get your chance to take down Carter.”
You were placed on the secondary strike team, following directly behind Sylus’ vanguard.
The sun had yet to rise as all ships prepared to leave the bay. You could virtually smell the gunpowder, the quiet before the storm clinging to your skin like a second layer of armor. You stood near the bow of the Onychinus , your weapon loaded, your fingers twitching against the trigger guard. Beside you, the rest of the crew had gathered in tight formation, shields gleaming in the rising sunlight, faces grim with determination.
The moment the Onychinus slipped out of the bay, every allied ship surged forward in formation—sails snapping in the wind, hulls cutting through the waves like sharpened blades. From the deck, you could hear the thunder of boots, the creak of weapon belts, and the steely resolve in every breath drawn. This wasn’t just an army. This was the reckoning.
As soon as the hull scraped against the Capital’s sand-covered coast, the crew leapt into motion.
“Ramps!” Someone barked out.
Wooden planks were hurled down from the ship’s edge, crashing into the beach below with thuds. The moment they landed, the front line stormed forward, raising their reinforced steel shields with practiced precision. You followed just behind them, gun raised, heart pounding, every step sending gravel crunching beneath your boots.
The moment the Onychinus hit sand, the unloading crew threw out ramps and the crew stormed the beach. Those on the other ships followed, their weapons in hand. The front line of the Onychinus was holding metal shields and you had your gun raised in case any guard decided to fight.
From the surrounding ships, more soldiers poured onto the beach like a tidal wave of fury—every one of them bore the look of someone with nothing left to lose and everything left to fight for.
The first line of royal guards patrolling the port town barely managed to form up before they caught sight of your forces—and turned tail like frightened dogs. It would’ve been funny if it weren’t so tragic. These were the Queen’s last defenders?
All of them were corrupt, not a single one loyal to their country.
“They’re not soldiers.” Muttered Kieran as he kept pace beside you. “They’re scavengers.”
Explosions cracked through the early light like thunder. You flinched instinctively as heat from a detonation rolled across the field. The main cobblestone path that led to the Palace was now scorched black, split and crumbled from the inside out. The wrought iron gates that had once stood proud and impenetrable were little more than twisted metal—blasted open from within.
Smoke curled from all directions—north, south, east, west. It was as if every Palace gate had been hit simultaneously. In the distance, you caught the sight of another force storming the Eastern wing of the palace grounds—Philos troops moving like a silent wave through the rubble.
Your unit pushed forward in a sprint. The Onychinus ’ heavy cannons had been wheeled onto the field by the engineers, already locking targets onto the looming guard towers.
“Light it!” Someone yelled.
A heartbeat later, the cannons roared. A shock-wave trembled through the earth beneath you as ball after ball crashed into the towers, reducing them to flaming ruins before the Queen’s snipers even had a chance to sight their scopes. Shrapnel rained down, forcing you to duck and shield your head, but you didn’t stop moving.
You surged with the group toward the Palace entrance, boots hammering against scorched stone. The rhythm of war drums, clanging metal, and shouted commands filled your ears as adrenaline burned away the last traces of fear.
As Sylus raised a hand to signal the next charge—likely to blow the Palace doors straight off their hinges—the towering double doors creaked open from the inside.
You all froze, weapons drawn.
And then a familiar figure stepped into view.
“Saved you a cannon,” said Prince Xavier with a wry smile, his silver hair swept back and a wickedly sharp sword resting across his shoulder.
His armor looked untouched, not a single scratch on him, and he looked far too smug for someone who’d just carved his way into the Queen’s front parlor.
“We’re not broke!” Luke exclaimed with a hand on his hip.
Xavier only smirked as he stepped aside, revealing the blackened remains of two guards still twitching from the blast near the door.
“No, but I’ve always been faster.”
If not for the weight of the moment, you swore Sylus would’ve snapped—just the tiniest tic at the corner of his eye, the kind that usually preceded an unamused sigh. But now wasn’t the time to trade barbs with Xavier.
With an exaggerated eye-roll and a muttered “Show-off” from Tara, your Captain pressed forward, the Philos battalion slipping seamlessly into your ranks like a blade finding its sheath.
The Palace interior, once the epitome of luxury, was stripped of its majesty now. Tapestries were torn down, blood streaked across marble tiles, and echoes of shouted orders rebounded through the broken halls. The guards that remained—likely handpicked by the Queen herself—were dispatched with precision. Your unit didn’t falter. These were men and women trained in the dark, sharpened by exile and betrayal.
And many of them had once called this gilded cage home.
They didn’t need orders. They remembered. Secret doorways behind paintings. Trap hallways that looped in circles. Guard rotations that hadn’t changed in years.
“This palace was never yours!” Tara screamed, all the anger in her heart on display as you all ran through the shattered corridor. “It was ours before that wench ever wore the crown.”
At the final barrier—the towering obsidian doors of the throne room—Luke and Kieran planted dual cannons, primed and lit them in flawless sync. You braced yourself. The thunder of the explosion cracked the very walls, smoke and splinters flying in every direction.
And then, silence. That breathless moment before the reckoning as you all awaited Sylus’ orders.
The army pushed in.
The throne room was vast—an echoing cathedral of velvet red and gold accents, high domed ceilings and glass windows depicting a falsified history. Now, it was a battlefield. Half a dozen elite soldiers stood in formation, guns aimed squarely at the doorway.
At the center of the room sat the Queen upon her obsidian throne, draped in white and crimson robes, fingers clenching the ends of her gilded armrests like she could will the enemy away with hatred alone.
“Surrender, you fool. You will not win today.” The Queen demanded, looking directly at Sylus.
Sylus stepped forward, his blade glinting under the stained-glass sunlight. He didn’t flinch. “You won’t live to see another day.”
How the fuck would you get out of this?
As tension reached its snapping point, Xavier raised his blade high—and it glowed . Not just with steel, but with blinding, magical radiance, a searing white light that burst outward in a wave.
You hit the ground in a practiced dive, hands over your ears as shots fired. It was deafening and chaotic, but as you peered through the haze not a single ally had fallen. Tara, calm and collected, was already firing into the room. Her bullets hit true. You heard the screams and the sickening thuds as soldiers fell in waves.
The light faded as Xavier lowered his sword, revealing the result.
The Queen’s guard was decimated—bodies crumpled and bleeding, some groaning in pain, others already gone. Xavier’s blade still shimmered faintly in his hand, but much less than before. Across the room, Sylus stalked forward with unrelenting purpose as the Queen shouted vile curses at him.
“I should have killed you when I had the chance!”
That’s when you saw him.
Carter.
The spineless traitor. The coward. The man who betrayed you, humiliated you, and laughed while you suffered. He was attempting to vanish behind one of the enormous velvet curtains, eyes wild with terror.
You didn’t hesitate.
“Asshole!” You shouted, your voice cutting through the noise.
Tara blinked before grinning sharply and falling in behind you without a word.
Carter yelped as he scrambled backward, tripping over the curtain’s hem. “W-Wait! I was cruel, yes—but I was blinded by love! I was a fool! Please, I’m sorry! Don’t kill me!”
Your blood boiled. You didn’t want an apology.
You wanted justice.
You closed the distance and grabbed his arm, twisting it viciously. He shrieked as you yanked him out of hiding, then slammed him to the polished marble with a brutal thud that echoed through the chamber. The curtain snapped loose, fluttering to the ground as if giving up the lie.
He groaned in pain, but you weren’t done.
You raised your fist and brought it down clean across his face. One hit. That’s all it took. He crumpled with a breathy whimper, unconscious.
Behind you, Prince Xavier gave a sharp exhale, his mouth twitching somewhere between a smirk and concern.
“Remind me never to get on your bad side.” He joked, even now.
You straightened slowly, shoulders tight with adrenaline, lungs dragging in scorched air. Your chest heaved in sharp, shallow bursts as you tried to ground yourself, the world still ringing faintly from the aftermath of gunfire and magic. You had won against Carter, had finally exacted your revenge, but it still wasn’t over.
You turned your gaze toward the far end of the throne room—toward him.
Sylus stood only a few paces from the Queen, and in that moment, he looked like a storm given human form. Not just fury. Purpose. His shoulders were square, one hand tight around the hilt of his blade, the other twitching faintly, like a crackle of lightning waiting to burst. His blade glinted in the fractured light streaming from shattered windows, as if the steel itself had absorbed the fire in his soul.
The Queen rose slightly from her throne, posture stiff despite her every last ally falling before her. Her lips curled with disdain. Even as she stood at the edge of her downfall, her arrogance refused to falter.
“You brute,” she spat, voice shrill and jagged. “You will never—”
But she didn’t finish.
Sylus moved like a shadow cleaved from the very floor beneath him. Two clean slashes—one across her torso, another across her neck—so fast the air seemed to snap in their wake. The Queen staggered back, crimson gushing from the wound at her throat, her face twisting in pure disbelief.
Even now… even now , as she fell to her knees, she glared at him with unrelenting hatred. Her fingers clawed weakly at the gash at her neck. She bared her teeth like an animal. She tried to spit at his boots.
Sylus didn’t flinch. His grip shifted, flipping his blade in his hand, and with a merciless swing of the hilt, he struck her across the face. The crack of the impact echoed like thunder across the ruined chamber.
The Queen collapsed sideways, one trembling arm propping her up, her eyes still open—wide with rage, and maybe even fear. Her blood was pooling fast now, staining her robes, running over the edge of her pristine dais like a grotesque waterfall.
Sylus stepped over her crumpled form.
You could see his jaw tighten—see the way his chest rose with each heavy breath. This wasn’t triumph. Not yet. It was the final moment before judgment, and he was the blade of it.
He looked down at her—not with pity, not even hate anymore.
Just finality.
“This,” he said quietly, his voice cutting through the silence with razor precision, “is for everyone you wronged. For the people who love this country.”
His blade rose, steady, sure. The Queen blinked slowly, the light already dimming in her eyes.
“And for me,” Sylus finished, “the last face you’ll ever see.”
You didn’t look away.
You couldn’t.
This was the moment you had waited for. All of you. Every soldier in the room, every crew-member who had bled for this cause. Every orphan, every exile, every name crossed out from the Queen’s history books.
You watched as Sylus raised his sword and brought it down in one clean arc.
The Queen’s head separated from her body with surgical precision, rolling slightly before lolling to the side. Her eyes remained open, but they saw nothing.
For a beat, the entire world was silent.
Then—cheers.
Deafening, thunderous roars of victory. The sound broke through the throne room like a tidal wave, crashing against stone and soul alike. Soldiers clapped comrades on the back with unrestrained laughter, some crying openly, others shouting the names of the fallen to the heavens, honoring every sacrifice that brought them here.
Tara fell to her knees, her weapon clattering beside her. Her hands covered her face as silent tears spilled down her cheeks—tears not of grief, but of something far heavier: release. She was sobbing and smiling all at once, her shoulders shaking as Prince Xavier stepped forward and began to clap. Not for the bloodshed. But for the end of it.
Luke and Kieran were locked in a long, fierce embrace—silent for once. No jokes, no winks, no smug grins. Just the two of them, trembling in each other’s arms, as if letting go might make it all fade.
And Sylus… Sylus hadn’t moved.
He stood where he was, still staring at her severed head, eyes unreadable, expression blank. It was as though the storm inside him had finally broken—but left nothing in its wake. His sword hung limp at his side, the tip resting against the blood-slick floor.
This moment—this—was what they bled for. What they fought for. What they lived for.
And now, it was finally here.
You stepped forward, the room roaring around you like a world set free, but Sylus existed in silence. A ghost between seconds. You reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch, but his body was taut, frozen in some space between battle and breath.
Gently, you reached up, brushing your fingers against his jaw, turning his face toward you. For a heartbeat, he resisted. But then his eyes met yours.
And the hardness in him broke.
His gaze softened—not with weakness, but with something more profound. A quiet realization. A weight leaving the body, leaving the soul. You saw the war recede from him like a tide drawn back to sea.
“You did it.” You said, your voice soft but steady. “It’s finally over.”
He didn’t speak at first. He just looked at you, and in that look was everything: pain, exhaustion, wonder. Relief. And something unspoken that had waited years to be felt.
Finally, he said—low and certain:
“She is no more.”
And the words didn’t feel like vengeance.
They felt like freedom.
But also something else—something deeper.
The air around you felt changed, almost foreign. Like stepping outside after the rain, the world washed clean, yet still drenched in the memory of the storm. It was the end of a tyrant—but the beginning of something greater. A flood after a long drought. A breath taken after years of suffocating silence.
It was a moment to rejoice, yes—but also to reckon.
Although she was nothing but a corpse, her damage remained. The kingdom outside these crumbling Palace walls was broken—cracked by corruption, starved by greed, scarred by war. Families needed healing. Cities needed rebuilding. And the people of Linkon would need a reason to believe again.
This was not the end.
It was the first step.
The weight, long chained to every heart in that room, began to lift. And for the first time in a lifetime…
You all breathed easy.
Not because the work was done.
But because hope was finally being realized.
“The information you requested, Your Highness.”
You looked up slowly from the desk—the King's desk, though it still felt strange to call it that. Sylus’ desk now. Heavy and ornate, carved with the symbols of generations before, but it bore new weight in the hands of someone who had fought, not inherited, his crown.
Dr. Zayne stood before you, pristine in his white coat, the dossier in his gloved hands. He wore his mask of a plain doctor well, but now you knew that he was one of Sylus’ best spies. A physician by trade, he had been Sylus’ eyes and ears long before anyone had noticed the tides turning.
It felt almost absurd, remembering the man who once checked your vitals during your short and miserable stint as Carter’s fiancée. At the time, he had seemed nothing more than a court physician—distant, clinical even as you begged him to get you out of that marriage.
Now, the puzzle pieces had snapped into place. He’d worn his mask well.
“Thank you, Zayne.” Sylus responded, gesturing for him to place the documents on the desk. His bow was short, but his eyes lingered on the new King a moment longer, the kind of loyalty that didn’t need words exchanged.
The list he delivered was long—names of nobles who had once thrived under the Queen’s corruption. Landowners, military officers, merchants, and enablers. People who let the slave trade flourish, who fed lies to the people, who siphoned wealth from the veins of the poor. Zayne had watched them all as he gained the trust of that corrupt Queen.
And now, one by one, they would fall.
Sylus hadn’t needed the Queen’s throne to know how to rule—he already had a kingdom of information. From patrol routes to smuggling lanes, from secret dungeons to sealed court records, Zayne had managed to pass everything along to the cities where the Onychinus would dock. That was how they always seemed one step ahead.
Prince Xavier and his army had handled what little resistance remained. The Loyalist forces crumbled swiftly—many gave up when they realized the Queen was dead, their morale shattered. Xavier kept his soldiers on the outskirts, only intervening where necessary. He made no claim to Linkon’s throne, nor did he push for influence. His loyalty remained where it had always been: with the people and with his equal, Sylus.
Back at the Palace, the transformation had already begun.
The once garish halls—dripping in gold leaf, laced with portraits of sneering nobles and vain monarchs—had been gutted. The statues were melted down, their plaques tossed into the furnace. In their place bloomed gardens, wide and fragrant, curated by the engineers and groundskeepers of the crew. Nature reclaimed what vanity had stolen.
For the first time, the Palace didn't feel like a prison of power.
It felt like a home.
That very first night, Sylus took his place on the throne. Not as a conqueror—but as a King reborn.
The audience hall was dim, lit only by the soft glow of torches. The silence was reverent as one by one, members of his crew— ex -crew now—stepped forward. Many had not bowed in decades. But tonight, they did. They knelt not out of obligation, but out of something more rare: belief.
He was one of them. He always had been. That would never change. But now, he was also the one who would carry the weight they no longer had to bear.
And in return, he gave them everything.
His first decree restored titles stripped away in the Queen’s purges. The lands that were stolen returned. Estates rebuilt. Names once erased from history written anew in the royal record.
You stood off to the side, watching as Tara’s name was called, then Kieran’s, then Luke’s. Your heart ached with pride. These were your people. They had once fought for survival, now they were being honored for rebuilding a kingdom.
Not everyone earned a second chance.
You thought briefly of your parents—imprisoned in the dark cells beneath the Palace they once fawned over. Their desperation had reached you through a trembling messenger, asking for mercy, for freedom, for you .
You had looked him in the eye and said, simply, “They’re already dead to me.”
It wasn’t vengeance.
It was just… release.
What surprised you most was the people.
You had braced for fear. For skepticism. But when the black and red banner of Sylus’ family line was raised—an embroidered crow guarding its perch like a sentinel—the city just outside the Palace erupted into cheers. Bells rang. Markets reopened. Children ran down streets barefoot with ribbons in their hands.
The people remembered.
They hadn’t forgotten his bloodline after all.
And now, with the Queen gone and the rightful emblem flying, they finally had something to believe in.
The day of the coronation dawned bright, the skies painted in hues of gold and indigo, as if the very heavens had decided to bear witness. The bells of Linkon rang from every district, the sound echoing like a heartbeat through the hills and across the harbor. People emerged from their homes in waves, crowding along the royal boulevard, climbing rooftops, balconies, lampposts—anywhere that might offer a view of the procession.
The wide red carpet unfurled like a ribbon of blood and hope stretching toward the Palace gates. And upon it, the newly anointed nobles— your people—marched with pride.
There was Tara, resplendent in a coat stitched with her family's restored crest: a silver compass overlaying a star. Behind her came others: sailors, engineers, scouts, and saboteurs—all cleaned and dressed in fine formal regalia, their family sigils gleaming in the sunlight. The ex-crew of the Onychinus , once branded criminals, now champions of the crown.
And you, somewhere near the front, caught the cheers.
You expected silence when you passed, or perhaps whispers. Instead, the crowd roared.
They called to you—not with your birth name or the shame of your house, but with something new, something earned.
“Pirate Princess!”
“Long live the crow’s flame!”
“Bless the lady of the sea!”
You felt your throat tighten, breath caught in your chest. You had been cast aside, used, and nearly broken under your family’s name—but here, now, you were being reborn. Not in spite of your past.
Because you survived it.
The crowds lined either side of the carpet, flowers in hand, tears in their eyes. They clapped and called every name they remembered. For the first time, Linkon was alive with joy, not fear.
And at the end of it all—he stood.
Sylus.
Cloaked in a deep black cape lined with royal red, he stood tall beneath the white marble arch of the Palace gates. His armor was polished to a mirror shine, though you knew every scratch beneath it. He had not replaced it with new steel. He wore the same breastplate he had fought in. That was his message.
He had earned this.
On either side of him stood Luke and Kieran, the new Commanders of the Royal Guard. They held banners in their gloved hands—one in black, one in red—each bearing the emblem of Sylus’ family.
The roar of the crowd became something alive, something monstrous and beautiful. It shook the very windows of the Palace. People chanted the King’s name— his real name —over and over as he walked slowly up the final steps to the throne dais.
“Long live, King Sylus!”
“King Sylus the Trueborn!”
The coronation itself was ancient and brief. A priest of the Old Faith recited the oaths in a voice trembling with awe, barely audible over the celebration beyond the walls. Sylus knelt, and a ceremonial blade—once used by his father—was touched to both of his shoulders. He did not flinch. He rose, strong and calm, and the moment the golden crown was placed upon his brow, the entire city erupted.
He turned toward the many peoples, lifted his father’s blade high into the air. Its point caught the sunlight and split it into gold sparks.
“I pledge myself to the people.” He said, voice like thunder across the terrace. “To the ones who bled, and the ones who rose. To the free, and to the forgotten. To Linkon, now and forever.”
The answer was not words, but sound—pure, deafening sound. Cheers. Cries. Stomping feet and slamming fists. The city raged with hope.
You stood at the edge of the stage, eyes stinging. The wind pulled at your cloak, and for a moment, you closed your eyes and let it wash over you.
It’s really happening, you thought.
You had been on this journey for months, but how many years had the crew suffered through? The early years—where food and supplies were scarce. How many treasured loved ones were killed in action?
The tyrant was dead. The people had chosen their King. And the world, finally, had begun to heal.
Prince Xavier stayed just long enough to see it through—Sylus’ crown officially placed, his throne officially claimed, and his legacy officially written. He had smiled the whole time, clapped during the vows, and raised a glass with genuine pride. And then, as quietly as he had arrived, Xavier left the next morning with the remaining guards at his side, promising to return if summoned.
That night, however, was not for quiet departures. It was for celebration.
The Palace, now purged of its ghosts and glittering with restored grandeur, was alive with music. Gold-leafed columns gleamed under candlelight. Flowers spilled from vases like waterfalls. The great hall had been transformed into something from a myth—part royal banquet, part fairy tale.
You stood near the edge of the ballroom floor, watching noblewomen and former pirates intermingle, laughing, dancing, drinking to excess. The Onychinus crew had been thoroughly scrubbed and outfitted in new finery—though some, like Luke, had stubbornly kept their boots and fingerless gloves, claiming that style mattered more than polish.
Then, the music shifted—softened—and the doors at the end of the hall opened once again.
Sylus entered, crowned and radiant.
He wore a fitted black suit, touched in crimson embroidery that curled like smoke at the collar and cuffs. His cape had been replaced with a formal coat trimmed with silver. The newest piece to his ensemble was the glittering golden crown atop his head. And as soon as he stepped through the threshold, the room quieted.
He came straight toward you.
Without breaking eye contact, Sylus extended a gloved hand. “May I have this dance?”
You barely had time to respond before he was pulling you forward, his hand sliding around your waist like it belonged there. The musicians picked up, violins and soft drums lacing through the air as the two of you stepped into the center of the ballroom.
And then—you danced.
Perfectly. Like you had done it a thousand times before, even though this was your first ever dance as a noble. That memory in the village, well that was closer to your heart.
Each step, each turn, each breath between movements—it all fell into place like clockwork because of the man who led you. The crowd around you disappeared. There were only two of you on that polished marble floor.
“I didn’t expect for you to lead me so fluidly in a stuffy dance like this.” You teased, breathless, as he dipped you slightly.
He grinned, lips barely brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re always trying to lead in the bedroom. Let me have this one.”
You flushed and resisted the urge to slap at his shoulder. Of course he would tease you while almost every eye in the nation was watching you!
You barely got your bearings back, quipping back at him. “Just this once?”
“No promises.” He murmured, spinning you back into his chest. “But I am the King now. I think that earns me a little sway.”
You let out a soft laugh, eyes sparkling as you leaned in closer. “Is that how this is going to be now? You flash a crown and expect me to swoon?”
“We both know that I don’t need a crown to make you swoon.” He whispered, voice low and thick with amusement.
You laughed again, brighter this time, as he twirled you through a wide arc, the fabric of your dress fanning around you like sea foam on the tide.
The room erupted into applause as you finished the final step, Sylus pulling you close, one hand resting over your heart. The music ended, but the moment didn’t.
“I’m not dancing with anyone else tonight,” he said softly, so only you could hear. “Let them ask. I already got what I want.”
And he meant it.
Throughout the rest of the night, noblewomen tried to approach, emissaries smiled and hinted at turns, but Sylus waved them all off with polite shrugs and sharp charm. He kept close to your side, sipping wine, making biting jokes, watching the flames of the chandelier glint in your hair.
You danced three more times. Just the two of you. He spun you into laughter. You teased him into flushed ears.
It was indulgent. Joyous. For once, without fear or battle or sacrifice.
And you let yourself enjoy every second of it.
Because after everything, you deserved a night where the world could wait.
It was almost overwhelming—no, it was overwhelming—how much needed to be done. Entire towns had gone dry from neglect, their wells empty, their markets barren, their people gaunt and wary from years of being ignored. And now that you were no longer pirates, but something far more legitimate, everything had to be done by the book. No more raids. No more fast-and-dirty justice.
Unfortunately.
It took time—so much time —to draft decrees, get council approval, coordinate relief efforts, and legally seize noble treasuries that had long been stuffed with ill-gotten gold. No wonder Sylus had once preferred the straightforward approach of robbing them blind. It was cleaner, quicker, and—frankly—more satisfying. Still, to everyone's benefit, most of the worst offenders had already been “lightened” of their riches back when the Onychinus docked on their shores.
A month after your coup-d'etat were the official public executions of the high-ranking corrupt nobles.
You sat next to Kieran on the execution stage, the crowd stretching like a sea. Sylus stood before them all, voice sharp and unwavering as he read off a list of crimes that seemed to go on forever: grand corruption, conspiracy, treason, human trafficking, embezzlement, orchestrated famine, war crimes. Apparently, the nobles had turned on one another at the end, squealing like pigs in a burning barn, each hoping their betrayal would buy them mercy.
Of course, they underestimated Sylus’ hate and resolve.
When the time came for Carter’s sentencing, Sylus offered you the blade. A personal gesture. One last gift.
But you shook your head.
“That task,” you said, voice cool and even, “belongs to you. He was the Crown Prince. It’s only fitting the real king ends that farce.”
Sylus nodded once. No theatrics. No gloating.
And Carter? Even to his final breath, he was a coward. Sniveling, shaking, begging for his life like he hadn’t siphoned gold and destroyed hundreds. You didn’t even flinch as the sword came down.
You scanned the crowd once more, just to see— her. The “protagonist.” The sweet-faced traitor who once smiled from the front row at your wedding, even as she carried on her affair with your fiancé behind your back. But now, there was no sign of her.
After that, Sylus all but vanished into his work.
Every hour of his day was filled: reworking laws, rebuilding cities, granting pardons, rejecting bribes, fielding complaints, and brokering peace between nobles and commoners alike. You didn’t want to distract him—not when he was doing so much good—but you missed him dearly.
You waited for him each evening in the King’s chambers—lavish and sprawling, with velvet-lined lounges and a fireplace that never burned out. A far cry from the Onychinus , where his Captain’s quarters was a simple room connected to his office.
And yet…
The first time you saw him in full royal regalia, it stopped your heart.
He looked so extremely sexy in his royal attire.
His usual hair was still styled in that roguish push-back, a stubborn refusal to be completely polished. But the rest of him? An utter problem . His black royal coat was embroidered with ruby-red thread, edged in gold filigree that shimmered like flame. His medals gleamed, draped perfectly over his chest—your chest, technically, given how much time he spent pressed against you that night.
You half wanted to drag him into the nearest hallway and hide him from the world—just so no one else could look.
That night, you led him into your shared bedroom like a woman on a mission, fingers curling into the fabric over his shoulder as you leaned up and kissed the line of his throat. You took your time unfastening each piece—button, buckle, pin—treating each removal like a ceremony of its own. Sylus laughed softly, letting you enjoy your moment.
“Am I being undressed,” he murmured, “or knighted into something far more dangerous?”
You smirked against his skin. “Yes.”
After that, he started wearing the uniform more often than was strictly necessary.
Still, the days were long without him. You understood— of course you did. He wasn’t just your Sylus anymore. He was the King. The people’s prince. The man who had burned down an empire just to build a better one in its place.
And the people loved him for it.
Because he loved them.
Because he saw them. Every hour he spent sleepless at his desk or walking war-torn streets was for them. You were proud of him. Unbelievably so.
But on the quietest nights, when the wind rustled through the curtains and the sea called from the far horizon, you remembered the Onychinus. The simple rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. The creak of the ship. The way he whispered your name like it was a promise.
Those nights felt far away now.
It was pure luck—divine intervention, maybe—that your schedule actually aligned with anyone’s from the old crew. Everyone was busy now, scattered across the kingdom in positions of power, repairing what had once been broken. And you were proud of them. Of all of you. But still, it was lonely sometimes. You missed the chaos. The laughter. The nonsense that could erupt from a single badly told joke.
So you started hosting tea.
Nothing grand—just a table under the sky, outside the Palace walls, tucked into the rows and rows of daises that you had once only dreamed about. A soft breeze, warm sunlight, and tiny cakes so pretty you almost didn’t want to eat them. Almost.
You left the invitation open, always hoping someone would come.
One afternoon, luck struck again.
Tara arrived first, kicking off her boots before even sitting down. “I swear, if I have to sit through one more merchant dispute about oxen rights, I will commit a petty crime just to get arrested and avoid the next meeting.”
Luke followed with flair, tossing a bouquet of wildflowers into your lap. “For the Pirate Princess,” he grinned. “Because nothing says ‘conqueror of nations’ like dainty petals and overly sweet tea.”
Kieran came last, quiet as always, offering a nod in place of a hello before sitting beside you. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in days.
“Let me guess.” You reached across the white tablecloth to pour Kieran a cup of tea, steam curling from the porcelain. “Your region’s noble houses are still trying to get you to marry their daughters—with promises of sheep and land?”
Kieran didn’t even blink as he accepted the cup. “They’ve moved on to poetry.”
Tara choked on her tea.
Kieran lifted the cup, calm as ever. “Bad poetry. One of them rhymed ‘devotion’ with ‘locomotion.’ I’m not sure if I’m being courted or challenged to a duel by metaphor.”
Luke leaned back in his chair, cackling. “Gods, I told you to fake your death. Would’ve saved you half the paperwork and all the love letters.”
Kieran sipped. “And leave you to handle the trade routes?” He arched a brow. “Please.”
You grinned behind your cup. “I’d pay money to hear you recite one of those poems.”
“I burned them,” Kieran said flatly. “All of them. Even the one with pressed lavender.”
That broke all of you. The table erupted with laughter so loud a pair of palace guards turned to glance your way. Tara actually had to wipe a tear from her eye. For a few perfect hours, the four of you just were. No titles. No responsibilities. Just pirates, reunited.
“For a second,” she wheezed, “I missed the days when our only problems were storms and angry sea beasts.”
“You mean like when you barked half your orders hungover?” You shot back, teasing.
Tara squinted at you like she was about to lob her spoon. “Excuse you. I was efficient.”
“You were drooling into the map.” Luke snorted. “I remember because it smudged the ink and if not for boss we would have sailed two days in the wrong direction.”
“Oh, that wasn’t her fault.” You interjected brightly. “That was me. I had the map upside down.”
“You what? ” Tara groaned.
“I was testing you!”
“No.” Luke said, laughing too hard now. “You were adamant that we’d found a floating city in the sky.”
You raised a dignified eyebrow. “And we did find something, didn’t we?”
“We found a thundercloud.” Kieran said dryly, “And almost got struck by lightning.”
You threw up your hands. “Okay, in my defense, that cloud looked like it had a face.”
Luke wiped a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle another laugh. “Gods, I missed this.”
“Me too.” Tara said quietly, eyes a little softer now.
You leaned back in your chair, letting the breeze roll through your hair, the air filled with the scent of daises and sunlight and sugar. You looked around at the three of them, your heart full in a way it hadn’t been in a long time.
How quickly life had changed—you never expected everything to be so final. Of course you knew you were not going to be pirates forever. After all, Linkon needed Sylus to be it’s King.
But you also missed sleeping under the same sky with your brothers-in-arms. You missed waking up to Tara banging on your door, demanding you wake up and join her and see how beautiful the sunrise was. You’d grovel for a second before joining with a smile, joining her and the dozens of other crewmates pointing at the cotton candy sky.
When was the last time you had even seen Tara?
For a few perfect hours, you were just pirates again—messy, chaotic, ridiculous pirates who loved each other more than gold. One by one, you all rose, drifting toward the cherry blossom tree at the center of the daisy field. The horizon was lit like a dream, endless and open. You stood at the front, eyes lost in the vastness of it all.
The sky had already begun its descent into fire, warm oranges fading into blushing pinks, then deep violets kissed with the first hints of stars.
You didn’t notice the shuffle of boots behind you.
Didn’t notice the quiet hush that fell when the laughter stilled.
Didn’t notice that the other three were slowly backing away.
Until the air shifted.
You turned—and your breath caught in your throat.
There he was.
Sylus, on one knee, the last light of sunset gilding his silhouette like a painting. He was dressed in a simple white tunic and black coat with golden trim, his usual swagger replaced by something earnest and reverent. In his hand was a ring—bold and beautiful, with a ruby the color of firelight and memory.
“I’ve waited,” Sylus said softly, voice carrying in the hush. “For the perfect moment. But I realized… we never really needed one. Because every moment with you already is.”
Your hands flew to your mouth, tears springing before you could stop them.
“This was my father’s ring.” he continued, eyes locked on yours. “The one he gave to my mother before their official engagement, the one he gave to her out of love. I’ve had it hidden away for years as one of my last treasurers from them. I kept it, thinking maybe one day, I’d meet someone like her. Someone strong. Brave. Beautiful. Someone who wouldn’t flinch at the storm—who was the storm.”
He looked up at you, eyes fierce and tender all at once.
“You’re all that. And more. You’ve been my compass when I was lost, my sword when I was cornered, and the home I never thought I’d ever find again. So here I am—your king, your pirate idiot in love—asking you…”
He held up the ring.
“Marry me?”
You didn’t speak.
You launched yourself at him.
Sylus grunted as you tackled him into the daises, both of you falling in a flurry of limbs and flowers and laughter. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him as though the world would vanish if you stopped.
“Yes!” You gasped between kisses. “Yes, yes, yes !”
You kissed him, full and hard, both of you grinning like fools.
Behind you, there was loud cheering—Luke’s unmistakable whistle, Tara’s shout of “FINALLY!” and Kieran’s amused clap. One by one, they turned and disappeared into the evening light to give you some much deserved privacy, leaving you tangled with Sylus in a sea of golden daises, hearts full and lips pressed together beneath the blooming stars.
You lay there tangled in Sylus’ arms, surrounded by flowers and laughter and the first stars twinkling above.
Your noses brushed. His breath mingled with yours, warm and reverent. “I remember this place. We’ve taken naps together here before.”
“This is where I knew I loved you the first time. When I fell asleep in your lap, when I watched the wind play with your hair. I didn’t want to move. Didn’t want the world to take me away from you." He said, voice low, almost like he was confessing a sacred truth. "The second time was after the bank raid. When you apologized to me. You didn't know anything about who I really was, your sudden kidnapper and infamous Pirate King. But you were willing to even after the whole world had turned their back on me. Now I want to make new memories with you, starting right here."
You smiled softly, your forehead pressed to his. “And this is where we’ll always be. Where we’ll grow old together.”
His fingers curled against your back. “I love you.”
“I love you,” you echoed, breath catching.
He looked at you then, truly looked at you—the way he always did, like you were the only person in the universe who ever mattered.
“I love you.” he whispered again, more fiercely now, each word a vow. “I love you like I need you to live. Like every breath I take without you hurts. You’re the pulse in my chest, the lighthouse at sea.”
His eyes searched yours, voice growing steadier despite the trembling emotion beneath.
“I used to think I was strong on my own. That I had to be. But then you came into my life—stubborn and bold and you—and I realized what strength really was. It’s waking up and knowing someone sees every scar and stays. It’s holding your hand in silence and knowing we’re saying everything. It’s wanting to fight for a future—not just for my people, but for us.”
His thumb traced the edge of your cheek, and his voice dropped to something rougher, more vulnerable.
“You’re the only place I’ve ever felt at peace. And now I want to build a world with you. One filled with laughter and tea and your smile. One where we fall asleep beneath this tree with aching bones and wrinkles and still too much love.”
Tears stung your eyes. You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t need to.
Because he kissed you again—slow and infinite—and you knew this wasn’t a dream.
This was home.
You melted into Sylus' embrace as his lips met yours, the tender kiss igniting a spark deep within you. His hands, once gently cupping your face, began to roam your curves with growing fervor. You could feel the passion building as your lips met over and over again.
Sylus' kisses grew more insistent, more demanding, as he explored your mouth with his tongue. You matched him with equal enthusiasm, your fingers tangling in his silver hair, pulling him closer. The world around you faded away, the distant sounds of the Palace replaced by the pounding of your own heart and the rasp of your mingled breaths.
Without breaking the kiss, Sylus' hands slid down to your hips, gripping them tightly as he pressed your body against the rough bark of the tree. You gasped into his mouth, feeling the hard length of him through the fabric of his jeans. Emboldened, you rolled your hips against his, seeking more of that delicious friction.
“I love you so much, my King.”
Sylus moaned at your use of his title, fingers flying to the back of your dress to untie your corset. He must have gotten too impatient, ripping the fabric loose until breasts spilled free. He took a moment to admire them, his eyes darkening before lowering his head to capture one hardened peek in his mouth. You cried out, arching your back as he suckled and teased the sensitive peak, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.
Your own hands worked to undo the many buttons of his royal attire. You were desperate to feel him, all of him. Sylus helped you, lifting his hips so you could tug at his trousers and throwing his jacket to the side without a care. You scrambled to see him and nearly salivated as his erection sprang free, long and hard and perfect. You wrapped your hand around him, stroking his length as he continued his assault on your breasts.
"Kitten." Sylus groaned against your skin, his voice rough with desire. "I want to treasure you.”
He gazed up at you with a look of pure adoration, his eyes shining with the depth of his love and desire. Sylus pushed off your hand and eased your back against the soft grass beneath the cherry blossom tree, the petals fluttering around you like a pink snowfall.
Your king leaned in, pushing aside your clothes as he pressed a tender kiss to your stomach, your hip, your inner thigh, trailing lower and lower until he was nestled between your legs.
He looked up at you one more time, his gaze smoldering, before he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue along your slick folds. You gasped, your back arching off the ground as jolts of pleasure shot through you. Sylus groaned, the vibrations only adding to the intense sensation.
He licked you slowly, savoring your taste, worshipping your most intimate places with a fervor that stole your breath. His tongue delved between your folds, stroking your inner walls, before focusing on that sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your sex.
Sylus licked and suckled your clit with a passion that bordered on reverence, determined to bring you to the heights of ecstasy. He alternated between broad, flat strokes of his tongue and targeted flicks against the sensitive bud, each movement sending shock-waves of pleasure coursing through your veins.
His hands gripped your thighs, spreading your legs wider, giving him better access to your dripping core. He plunged his tongue deep inside you, fucking you with it, his nose pressed against your clit. The combination of sensations was almost too much to bear, and you could feel your climax building rapidly.
"Sylus!” You gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him against you. "Don't stop, please don't stop." Your hips rubbed against his face, seeking more of that exquisite pleasure.
He obliged, doubling his efforts, his tongue moving at a frenzied pace. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps, your chest heaving as the coil of tension in your core wound tighter and tighter. And then, with a final flick of his tongue against your clit, you shattered.
Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your inner walls clamping down on Sylus' invading tongue. Your orgasm overwhelmed you, your body convulsing with the force of it. You cried out Sylus' name, the sound echoing through the quiet park as wave after wave of pure bliss consumed you. Your fingers tightened their grip in Sylus' hair, holding him in place as your hips bucked and writhed against his mouth.
Sylus didn't pull away, instead continuing to lap at your quivering sex, helping you ride out the aftershocks of your intense climax. His touch was barely gentler as he fingered you, fingers to the knuckles burying themselves inside you.
It was only when you twitched at the uncomfortable moment that Sylus slowed down. He crawled up your body, his eyes filled with a mix of love and male satisfaction. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears of joy that had slipped down your cheeks.
"My love." He murmured, his voice low and sexy. "Watching you is the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed. I love you so much, my heart, my everything."
He leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, loving kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, the flavor of your passion.
You grabbed his chin in response. “You better fuck me right now or I swear I will end you.”
Sylus grinned at your commanding words, his eyes flashing with renewed desire and a hint of mischief. "As you wish, my love."
He raised your thighs, pushing them back towards your chest as he positioned himself at your entrance. You could feel the thick head of his erection prodding your slick folds, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.
With a swift, powerful thrust of his hips, Sylus entered you, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. You gasped, your back arching off the ground as he stretched and filled you completely. He paused for a moment, allowing you both to savor the exquisite sensation of being so intimately connected. Every vein and movement caused you to moan, only filling Sylus with more and more satisfaction.
Then, he began to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside you, before surging forward again, claiming you with deep, purposeful strokes. The new angle allowed him to hit that special spot deep within you with every thrust, sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine.
Sylus set a relentless pace, his body slapping against yours with each powerful drive of his hips. The obscene sound of skin against skin with your mingled moans.
"Kitten, you feel incredible," Sylus grunted, his voice strained with the effort of his vigorous lovemaking. "So tight, so perfect. Like you were made only for me."
He leaned down, capturing one of your hardened nipples in his mouth. He suckled and flicked the sensitive bud, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red lines in their wake as you clung to him, urging him on.
Sylus responded with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his pelvis against yours. The pressure against your clit combined with the deep strokes within you had you seeing stars. Your inner walls fluttered around his pistoning length, gripping him like a velvet vise.
"Come for me." Sylus commanded, his voice a low, seductive growl against your skin. "I want to feel you come undone around my cock. I want to milk you over and over.”
Sylus' words, dripping with raw, primal desire, pushed you closer to the edge. Your body responded instinctively to his dominant command, the coil of tension in your core winding tighter and tighter with each powerful thrust.
"Yes, Sylus!" You cried out, your voice echoing through the park. "Make me yours!" Your hips surged to meet his, matching his fervor, desperate to take him as deep as physically possible.
Sylus groaned, a guttural sound of pure male satisfaction. He could feel your walls starting to flutter around his length, your body teetering on the brink of ecstasy. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, his thick cock pulsing as he found his release.
Sylus roared, his hot seed erupting deep within you. The sensation of his essence filling you, marking you from the inside, was the final push you needed. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your inner walls clamping down around him, milking every last drop of his release.
You clung to each other, riding out the aftershocks of your shared passion. Sylus' weight pressed against you as he kissed the side of your face. Your bones were heavy as Sylus absently raised you by the back of your knee until it rested on his shoulder.
You barely had a second to think before he started thrusting again.
You gasped, your eyes widening in surprise and pleasure as Sylus began to move inside you once more. You could feel your shared essence sloshing inside you, spilling onto the grass beneath you, but he was already hardening again, his desire for you insatiable.
"Ah!” You moaned aloud. “Of course you’d be insatiable.”
Sylus grinned at you, his eyes glinting with mischief and unbridled lust. "Only for you, kitten.”
He punctuated his words with a particularly deep thrust, grinding his pelvis against yours. The new angle, with your knee raised and resting on his shoulder, allowed him to reach even deeper depths inside you.
You cried out, your head falling back as the pleasure overwhelmed you. Sylus took advantage of your exposed throat, trailing open-mouthed kisses and nips along the column of your neck. His hands roamed your curves, caressing and squeezing, as if he couldn't get enough of the feel of your skin under his fingertips.
You moaned beneath him endlessly, even as he took you over and over. You cried out as he slammed you against the tree, as he ate you out as you sat on his face, as he made you sit on his dick and slowly thrusted up into you.
“Sy—Sylus!!!” You moaned absently.
“Scream my name, my love.”
“Holy shit I can’t take anymore—!”
“Then why are you gripping me so tightly, hm?” He goaded you. “If you want me to stop, then tell me.”
Your face flushed as you grabbed him by the back of his neck. “Fuck me like you mean it, my King.”
It was so easy to rise him to the challenge. Even though he knew what you were doing, knew that you were only trying to goad him, Sylus smirked and gripped your hips tighter.
“That would be my pleasure.”
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Bonus:
Tales of woe could be heard from all the members of the Onochinyus—
Of course, they were happy that their captain had found his lifelong missing love. How many times had they caught him on the deck, staring wistfully into the sunset all alone? How many times had the crew broken out into song and dance, only for Sylus to stand by himself in a corner somewhere. And while many would invite the Captain to join them, he would simply wave them away, content to watch his crew have a jolly night.
It was only when you were finally aboard the ship, with a guarded yet curious gaze, did they realize how much Sylus had cut out for him. It looked like no path in his life would ever be easy, but at least he had people who truly loved him surrounding the secret Prince.
Many gold coins were passed around as you kissed under the stars—young and old alike cheering silently as the Captain finally sealed the deal. It was only right that he finally received love, after giving so much of himself to his people.
But did you two have to be so freaky?
Dear god, it was like the floodgates had opened the moment you two were finally on the same page.
Kieran was the first victim, looking for Sylus to pass on a message from Prince Xavier.
He spied the two of you on the top deck, embraced in one another. Sylus was behind you as it looked like the two of you were gazing out to the sunset. But as he got closer, Kieran unfortunately heard your hurried breaths and the sudden movement of clothes. On closer inspection, he noticed quickly how you were wrapping a hand behind you, disappearing at Sylus’ front.
Kieran promptly turned tail and walked away.
Next was Tara, who knocked on the office door with urgent news from their usual spy in the capital. It was definitely an emergency-level worth of information and, acting quickly, she had burst in the room without listening for Sylus’ usual greeting. It was suspicious that the captain was so flushed and had labored breathing, but Tara figured that she had caught him at a bad time. It was doubly suspicious that Sylus had deigned to stay seated behind his desk.
At first, Tara decided to ignore his current state and focus hard on the message that she was now passing on secondhand. But there was no way she could ignore it as his breathing got more labored and suddenly he was gripping his desk with unnecessary tension.
She almost threw up in her mouth when she looked down, at the gap between the bottom of the desk and the floor, and saw the edges of familiar female shoes poking out.
(The moment she left the room, Sylus forced you deeper around his dick. You were the one who insisted on hiding under his desk even as his subordinate entered. He would have preferred to shove you in this room to continue this later, but you were so stubborn. He had you choking and gurgling on every inch as he fucked your mouth like a wet hole, a punishment of sorts. Of course, from the way you flushed and enthusiastically swallowed around him, it seemed his rough behavior was more like a prize.)
The worst was Luke, who had been the seemingly the only person to not have caught the captain and his misses.
The new Commander of the Royal Guard thought he would get away scot-free after the crew had successfully overthrew the Queen. No longer were they all confined to living under the same roof, or rather, sails every night. Kieran and Tara had been unable to look either of you in the eye the same way again and for some reason, Luke thought if that ever happened to him, well he would just perish on the spot.
In his brain, you loved each other, sure. But sex? Nu-uh. Didn't exist.
How could that be? Luke watched Sylus guide you around the ballroom, both of you looking absolutely radiant on this fine night. After Sylus' proposal, he wasted no time in planning your wedding, taking place even before the year was up. Even as advisors and the new council had demanded they waited, Sylus simply waved them away and said he was barely withstanding a day more not being married to the love of his life.
Sylus deserved the world and more. From his kingdom to having his long-lost love back, it was like everything had fallen into place and the book was shut on the exciting adventure.
Once everyone had parted ways to their estates, Luke chalked himself up to being lucky.
Of course, he was wrong.
It was by chance that he was walking through this particular section of the Palace-it was your personal area set only for the Queen. There would be guards and maids, but there was an unusual correspondence coming from Prince Rafayel's wife in the Southern Isles. Of course they were on good-terms with their neighboring kingdom-it was just a safety precaution and he wanted to be present when you did eventually open it.
And so it was just his luck, that while he was quickly passing, did he glance out the window.
The statues to fake accomplishments had long been torn down, a beautiful garden in its place. It was fully decorated with rows of perennials and marble accents. And in the center of it all, a cherry blossom tree with a wooden swing hanging from the thickest branch. And a new addition at the center, you and Sylus bent over a rock accent, no care in the world as the new King relentlessly thrusted into you from behind.
Luke paused before dropping to the ground like he had been shot.
There was nothing in the world that could take away that terrible sight. Even as he forcibly shut his eyes, his brain ruthlessly flashed it like the worst photograph presentation on the planet. Even now, with the Onychinus retired and safely docked at the port, there was no stopping their Captain from surprising them. He wanted to wash his eyes with bleach and stare directly into a puppies' eyes for at least a month.
Bleh.
At least there would be no issue about producing heirs.
Notes:
And here’s Sylus! My main inspiration for this chapter is Callisto.
A small reason I wanted Sylus to be last is to have this ‘Avenger’s Assemble’ moment with all the ML’s. But I couldn’t find a way to get them all here in a way that would pay off naturally, so here’s just some cameo’s and small mentions! :)
As for the original protagonist of this world, she was a white lotus BITCH and off screen Zayne kills her :) :) :) :) :) :)
ALSO AGAIN, sorry about swapping Zayne and Sylus in the post order. I just couldn't get Zayne's done in a way that I really like so far. I wrote up this whole draft and i've been changing the outline with some of the new information we're getting. I think I'm 100% being too hard on the story I have written so far, but i love zayne and want to do it right!
I’ve also realized that im making every long shot longer and longer than the last, which makes Caleb’s the shortest and Zayne’s the longest. I’ll probably also write epilogues to even this out!
Next is Xavier!
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