Days passed in a fragile peace—ashes of battle still staining the outpost grounds. Yet life, as it always does, clawed its way forward.
Aelric drilled his men at dawn, sword gleaming under the rising sun. Mei-Ling watched from afar, tending to the wounded—gently wrapping a soldier's leg.
Jingfei leaned in, smirking. "He's watching you, Princess."
Mei-Ling flushed. "Shut up."
"You like him."
"I do not!"
"You're blushing."
"I'm... concentrating!"
Yet, when her eyes darted to Aelric, he was indeed staring—expression unreadable.
Flustered, Mei-Ling yanked the bandage too tight.
The soldier yelped, tumbling off the stool. "Ah! My leg, my leg!"
"Sorry!" Mei-Ling gasped, scrambling to help him up. Her cheeks burned as Across the yard, Aelric smirked—just a flicker—before turning back to his men.
Jingfei snorted. "Smooth."
****

By the time dusk settled in, the men had gathered for dinner, the smoky scent of Jingfei's stew hanging thick in the air. Mei'ling stood beside her, helping to pass out the bowls.
Lorianthel sauntered up first, flashing his most charming grin. "Lady Jingfei... my portion?"
She shot him a flat look. "You again?
He winked. "How could I resist your cooking?"
With a swift motion, Jingfei slapped a bowl into his hands. "Careful. Might've poisoned this one."
Lorianthel grinned. "Worth it."
Mei'ling laughed softly at the exchange—until she noticed Aelric's eyes watching from the shadows, narrowed and unreadable. Her smile faded, and she turned to leave.
But before she could slip away, a shape moved from the gloom—
Aelric.
He stepped directly into her path, face carved in stone, eyes giving nothing away.
"You're avoiding me," Aelric said quietly.
Mei-Ling stiffened. "I wasn't—"
"You are," he cut in, voice rough. "Every time I walk near, you vanish."
Her throat worked. "What do you want from me?"
Aelric's jaw clenched, like he was fighting himself. And then the words slipped free—too fast, too raw.
"I need you."
Silence slammed down between them.
Mei-Ling blinked—caught between anger, confusion, and... something softer. "What... did you just say?"
Aelric's eyes widened, the full weight of his confession crashing down. Color crept up his neck—arare, human crack in the General's armor.
"I—" He looked away, voice tight. "Forget it."
Mei-Ling opened her mouth, but no words came. She felt it—the weight of what he'd almost let himself feel.
"I... I should get back to Jingfei," she mumbled, voice breaking the fragile air between them.
Aelric gave a sharp nod, already turning from her. "Go."
For once, there was no smirk. No cold mask. Just a man, standing still, as if regretting every word that slipped out.
Mei-Ling didn't look back and disappeared into the kitchen.
****
Spring had slipped into summer. The outpost's routine no longer felt foreign.
Mei-Ling and Jingfei were elbow-deep in cleaning breakfast tables, surrounded by the lingering scent of roasted meat and fresh bread. Jingfei scrubbed at a stubborn stain, grumbling under her breath. "You'd think these warriors could wield a fork as well as a blade."
Mei-Ling giggled softly, balancing a stack of wooden plates. "Maybe... they fight food too."
Jingfei snorted. "At this rate, I'll start charging them for every goblet they spill."
Before Mei-Ling could reply, the distinct thunder of marching boots echoed from beyond the walls. Both women froze, heads tilting toward the sound.
The march grew louder—deliberate, heavy—as if the earth itself trembled in deference. They glanced up just as a small army clad in gleaming golden armor swept into the outpost, sunlight striking their polished plates like a thousand miniature suns.
"By the gods," Jingfei muttered, shading her eyes. "That's either the king's men... or a very flashy merchant parade."
Two regal figures rode behind the soldiers, draped in royal blue cloaks, hoods drawn low to hide their faces. The air around them rippled with quiet authority. As they drew closer, the Legion soldiers snapped into formation, their movements sharp and rehearsed.
Lorianthel appeared—like he'd been watching the whole time—striding forward with his usual lazy charm. "Well, well. Royal blue? Either bad news or worse news." He offered a gloved hand, helping one of the hooded figures down with a mock flourish. "Welcome, honored guests. I'm sure someone important will care you're here."
The figure ignored the sarcasm, gliding past him toward the main hall. Lorianthel sighed and turned to wink at Mei-Ling and Jingfei. "Tough crowd."
Curiosity burning, Mei-Ling leaned toward a nearby legion soldier still gnawing on a hunk of bread. "Who... are they?" she whispered, eyes wide.
The soldier chewed slowly, then shrugged. "Palace folk. Messengers, maybe. They always show up dressed like they're attending their own funeral."
"Why?" Mei-Ling pressed. "Is... the king dead?"
That finally earned her the soldier's attention. He gave a dry laugh. "Not yet. But he's trying hard enough."
Mei-Ling blinked. "King Aezaric... he your king?"
The soldier snorted, wiping crumbs from his mouth. "More like his shadow. Doesn't leave the palace these days. But you don't know, huh? Aezaric's Aelric's grandfather. Real crown-blood and all." He leaned back, savoring Mei-Ling's wide-eyed stare. "Aelric's the rightful heir to Zlatnomirheim. Supposed to be wearing a crown instead of leather and mud."
Jingfei nearly dropped a plate. "You're joking. That miserable bastard's a Prince?"
"Worse," the soldier smirked. "The Prince. Refuses to take the throne. Says battlefields suit him better. His father did the same—bled himself dry in a war instead of warming the throne."
"So... is the king sick?" Mei-Ling asked softly, eyes drifting toward the retreating royal figures.
The soldier's expression sobered. "Aye. Old king's got one foot in the grave, the other slipping. Sent these peacocks to beg Aelric home. But if you know our General..." he shook his head, "he'd sooner marry an orc than sit on that throne."
Jingfei snorted, elbowing Mei-Ling. "Well, lucky for him—you're the one stuck with the orc marriage talk, not him."
Mei-Ling shot her a glare, cheeks flushing. "Not funny."
The soldier stood, stretching with a grunt. "Anyway... I like my king where he is—out of sight. Better for everyone." He grabbed his bread and sauntered off, leaving Mei-Ling staring after him, heart hammering with the weight of what she'd learned.
"A Prince..." she whispered.
Jingfei rolled her eyes. "Pfft. Makes sense. Only a royal could be that moody first thing in the morning."
****
Mei-Ling's day had been thoroughly ruined by the conspicuous absence of one Aelric. Where the hell was he? Huffing, she stationed herself by the gnarled old oak tree, toe scuffing furiously at the dirt like it had personally offended her.
"Probably off brooding somewhere," she muttered. "Might've tripped over his own emotional baggage."
Minutes dragged. Boredom arrived like an uninvited guest, sitting squarely on her shoulders. Mei-Ling glared towards the main building, chewing her bottom lip. Maybe he's dead. Or sulking. Or dead while sulking.
Then — creaking with drama — the grand doors swung open.
There he was. Aelric. Tall, brooding, and every bit the emotionally constipated bastard she'd come to... tolerate. Mei-Ling perked up, waving wildly. "Oi! Over here, you—"
Her wave stalled mid-air.
Because she was there. The mysterious blonde Mei-Ling had spotted earlier — the one who looked like she'd stepped out of a painting and a particularly expensive skincare ad. Hair like sunbeams, eyes like star shards, floating next to Aelric like she belonged there.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me." Mei-Ling ducked back behind the tree, clutching her chest dramatically. "Blonde? Really, Aelric? Is that all it takes?"
From her poorly chosen hiding spot — which was definitely not as subtle as she thought — Mei-Ling peeked around the bark.
Aelric's eyes flicked her way. For the briefest of moments, the corners of his mouth curled into a smirk — equal parts amusement and I see you, you absolute disaster.
Mei-Ling froze. SHIT. He saw me.
The blonde, oblivious, glanced at Aelric. "Something amusing?"
"Nothing at all," he replied, voice cool. "Just... a squirrel."
Mei-Ling's jaw dropped. A squirrel!?
With his trademark lack of emotional range firmly back in place, Aelric turned, leading the ethereal woman toward the quarters. Mei-Ling watched, scandalized.
"Oh, it's war now," she hissed under her breath. "You think you can just... smirk and squirrel me?"
The tree creaked. Or maybe that was her pride.
****
As the fading light cloaked the estate in soft melancholy, Mei-Ling stared out the window like a woman auditioning for a tragic romance. Instead, all she felt was mildly homicidal curiosity — mostly aimed at him and her.
"Seriously, what are you, some kind of celestial goddess?" she muttered to herself, picturing the golden-haired elf glowing somewhere, tossing sunlight from her fingertips.
With a huff, Mei-Ling crawled into bed, limbs flailing like a dramatic cat. The candle's flickering light cast ominous shadows, one of which she was pretty sure looked like it was judging her.
"Don't look at me like that," she grumbled at the wall. "You weren't there. You didn't see her hair."
She sighed — loud, long, and tragic — before finally snuffing out the candle. Darkness swallowed the room as she wrapped herself tighter in the blankets like a dumpling in denial.
"I should sleep," she mumbled. "Maybe dream of stabbing someone... gently... with a spoon."
Just as the darkness lulled her toward sleep, the bed dipped. Mei-Ling's eyes flew open. What the hell—
There, lying beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world, was Aelric — looking infuriatingly serene, lips curved in a small, unreadable smile.
Mei-Ling's mouth flapped uselessly for a second before she hissed, "Have you lost your mind? What are you doing?"
Aelric didn't open his eyes. "Sleeping. What does it look like?"
"Sleeping where?!" she snapped. "This is my bed."
"Hmm. You weren't using this side," he murmured, cheek brushing lazily against her hair like a smug cat marking his territory.
Mei-Ling's heart launched into a drum solo. "Get off," she tried to growl, but it came out pathetically breathy. She wriggled to escape, but Aelric's arms snaked around her like steel cables.
"No," he hummed. "I'm comfortable."
Mei-Ling lay frozen, blinking at the ceiling. "This is kidnapping," she muttered. "Bednapping."
"...Where were you today?" she finally asked, voice softer than she intended.
"Entertaining our guest," Aelric mumbled sleepily.
Ah. The moon-haired enchantress" Mei-Ling snorted. "That guest."
Aelric's lip twitched. "Lady Aurelia Zvonimir'dóttir of Dijamantheim." He said the name like he was reciting a tax ledger. "Messenger from the king."
Mei-Ling made a face. "Of course she's got a name that sounds like it should come with a tiara and an army of swan maidens."
"Careful," Aelric smirked. "Swan maidens are vicious."
"I'll take my chances," she grumbled. "What does she want?"
"The king's dying. Wants me back at court. Lady Aurelia's just here to escort me... and look radiant, apparently."
Mei-Ling snorted. "Radiant? She looks like someone carved her out of moonlight and noble disappointment."
That earned a real laugh from Aelric, low and brief. "You're not wrong."
"Clearly, he knows my type," Aelric smirked.
Mei-Ling shot him a glare. "Oh? Should I be concerned? Do I need to dye my hair right now?"
"You'd look ridiculous blonde," Aelric deadpanned.
"Wow. Romantic," Mei-Ling muttered, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "So, when do you leave?"
"The day after tomorrow. With Lady Sunshine," he murmured, finally meeting her gaze.
Mei-Ling's throat tightened. "And when will you come back?"
Aelric was quiet — too quiet. That silence stretched, sharp and suffocating. Finally, his hand moved, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I... don't know."
There it was — the answer she'd dreaded. The one she could see written all over his stupidly handsome face.
Mei-Ling pulled away, sitting up fast enough to nearly give herself whiplash. "Then you should go. Pack. Or... whatever Princes do."
Aelric flinched, actual pain flashing in his eyes before he covered it with that cold mask of his. "Mei—"
"Just go," she cut in, voice brittle. "Before I actually do stab you with a spoon."
With a sigh, Aelric climbed out of bed, pulling his boots on, in silence. The door creaked open, but he hesitated, looking back at her — small, wrapped in blankets, face turned away.
"Close the door," she whispered.
He did. The soft click of the latch sounded like the end of everything.
Mei-Ling sat there, staring into the dark, until the first tear slipped free. "Stupid, stupid elf," she choked out, wiping her face furiously. "Could've just sent a letter."