The golden hush of dawn spilled quietly across the chamber, soft and slow. Like the breath of a secret. Light filtered through the sheer drapes, touching the carved bedposts, dancing over he marble floor, and finally resting on her - on Xandria.
She awoke to warmth.
Not the kind from the fire that cracked low in the hearth, but the kind that came from the body beside her. Maltherion's hand lay heavy across her waist, his hand loosely curled around her hip as if he still held her in his dreams. His breath ghosted over the back of her neck. Steady. Even.
Xandria didn't move.
There was something delicate in this moment. Fragile. As if the wrong breath, the wrong thought, might break it.
The night still lingered on her skin. Like an echo. His touch. The way he had whispered her name like it was sacred. The gentleness she hadn't expected. The passion that had startled her. The fire in his eyes, and the restraint he had wrapped around himself like and armor until she undid it carefully. Piece by piece.
And now here he was. Still. Real. King of Alderyn.
And she - no longer the court official's daughter, no longer the quiet shadows in the halls - was Queen.
Her heart fluttered like it didn't know how to behave around him, even after all that had passed between them.
She closed her eyes again, just for a moment. She wasn't ready for the world outside the walls of this chamber - the politics, the whispers, the pressure to be something more than just the girl who had once walked the palace corridors unseen. For now, she just wanted this. Him. The silence. The steady beat of his heart against her spine.
Behind her, Maltherion stirred.
He didn't open his eyes at first. He was aware of her presence the way one is aware of sunlight - gentle, yet impossible to ignore.
Her hair was a tangled river against the pillows. She smelled of jasmine and fire and the faint trace of honeyed wine. Last night, she had looked at him with eyes that held both fear and defiance, as if unsure whether to flee or melt.
She had melted.
And yet now, in the quiet, she felt even more unreachable.
He opened his eyes.
Xandria still hadn't moved. He wondered what she was thinking - if she regretted any of this. If she felt the weight of the crown even here. Beneath the sheets. He didn't want her to. Not yet. Not now.
His thumb brushed the bare skin at her hips, slow, reverent .
Her breath hitched a bit as she let out a small sigh.
"You are awake, " he said quietly.
She let out a soft breath, this time not a sigh. "So are you"
He smiled, the kind of smile no one else ever saw. Only her. "I've been watching the sun touch you for the past few minutes. I think it envies me."
She laughed under her breath. " That's a terrible line, Your Majesty."
" I've had little time to practice poetry," he murmured, kissing her shoulder.
"Kings rarely gets the luxury."
She turned to face him, slowly, sheets pooling at her chest. Her eyes met his - so clear, so honest - and it took his breath all over again.
"Then I suppose we will have to write some verses of our own." She said, softer now.
He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears "I never imagined this moment," he admitted. " Not with anyone. But especially not with you."
Her brow lifted. A question in her silence.
" Remember the time we met at the festival, that wasn't the first time we had met. When you were still little, around ten. You bumped into me in the hallways and for the first time since I was crowned king on the day I turned eighteen, I did not see fear or resentment in those eyes like the way others looked at me. Instead, you seemed angry that someone had interrupted your thoughts."
Xandria giggled softly, " I honestly can't remember that happening."
" Before all of this, you were just a court official's daughter. Quiet. Sharp-eyed. Unbothered by titles. You didn't bow like the others."
"I didn't know if I was supposed to" she said.
" That's what I loved the most."
Xandria's smile faltered slightly, " it won't always be this quiet. Will it?"
"No," he answered honestly. " But I'll fight for as many quiet mornings as I can give you."
She studied him for a moment , her expression unreadable. " Even if I'm not ready to be what the kingdom expects?"
" You weren't born to a throne, Xandria," he said, lifting her hands to his lips. "But you don't need a crown to command. You already do"
Her breath caught.
No one has ever said that to her. Not her father. Not her sister. Not even herself.
She leaned in, resting her forehead against his. " Sometimes, I'm still afraid."
"So am I, " he whispered. " But I'm not afraid of you."
They lay like that for a while - forehead pressed, hands entwined, breaths mingling. The morning moved around them, unnoticed. Outside, the kingdom stirred. Guards changing post, servants preparing for the day. Bells tolled in the distant courtyard. But in the royal chambers, time obeyed no master.
Xandria eventually shifted, drawing the sheets around her as she stood up. Her back was bare, her hair falling over one shoulder, a constellation of freckles dotting her skin.
Maltherion sat up beside her, running his fingers lightly over the curve of her spine.
"You will be expected in the court today," she said, not quite looking at him.
" And you will be expected beside me."
"Do you think they'll see it?" She asked, voice soft. " That I don't belong?"
He paused, then answered. " They will see someone who is stronger than they are. That's what they will fear the most "
Xandria turned to him again, her eyes suddenly glassy. "We barely even know each other "
"I know your honesty, " he said. "Your courage. Your fire. That's enough."
And somehow, she believed him.
He leaned in again, kissing her - not hungrily, not desperately, but deeply. As if he had all the time in the world to show her what she meant. When they parted, neither of them spoke for a long moment.
"I don't want to wear my crown today, " she whispered.
" Then don't, " he said. "Let them see the woman who stole the king's breath long before she ever wore a title ."
And as the sun climbed higher, the warmth between them grew - not from fire, nor prophesy or duty - but from something far more dangerous.
Love.