"Yes," he admitted, his voice strained with the weight of emotions long suppressed. "We were. We are."
His admission was simple, yet it resonated profoundly, speaking volumes more than the mere words conveyed. There was vulnerability there, honesty shrouded by the thin veil of duty—a man acknowledging that even within the cold structures of royal hierarchy, true affection could grow, flourish, and inevitably wound more deeply than any enemy's blade. The slight tremble in his clenched fists betrayed his internal struggle, a conflict raging between duty and affection, between loyalty to crown and loyalty to family. His eyes, now shadowed with grief, glittered faintly, not from tears spilled openly, but from sorrow held tightly, protected behind walls of pride and stoicism.
