The cups met the table with a quiet clink, the final drop of wedding wine settling at the bottom like the last note of a love ballad.
With a slow, deliberate motion, the King pushed the tray aside, the porcelain rattling faintly before stilling. The space between them was breathless, charged with something primal, raw, and unspoken.
Then, he moved.
Leaning forward, he captured her lips with his, the warmth of his touch sending a tremor through his soul. Elizabeth did not hesitate, no she met him halfway, her lips soft and yielding, pressing against his with a familiar tenderness.
But tonight, this kiss felt different.
It was not like the stolen kisses shared in candlelit corridors or the hurried embraces beneath moonlit balconies. No, this was something deeper, something that seemed to tie their very beings together, thread by thread, soul to soul.
His hand slid up, fingers tangling in the golden silk of her hair, pulling her closer, needing her closer. Her warmth seeped into him, filling the cracks in his heart, making him forget that there had ever been a time before this moment before her.
She tasted like cherries and honeyed wine, intoxicating, addictive, as if she were crafted by the gods themselves for him alone.
Time blurred.
Minutes passed, or perhaps eternity itself unraveled in their embrace. Neither of them cared. They were lost in each other, in the silent symphony of lips meeting, of breath mingling, of heartbeats echoing in tandem.
But even eternity must yield to breath.
With a quiet gasp, Elizabeth pulled away, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself.
He remained still, blinking as if the world had suddenly stolen something precious from him. His lips tingled, still chasing the warmth she had left behind.
The disappointment on his face was so painfully boyish, so utterly unguarded, that she couldn't help but chuckle.
"You look like a child whose candy has just been taken away."
Her voice was soft, teasing, the melody of it wrapping around him like a gentle breeze.
He let out a huff, lips pressing into a pout before he chuckled along with her. He would have kissed her again, again and again until dawn stole her from his arms, but for now, he simply drank in the sight of her, her flushed cheeks, her slightly swollen lips, the way her eyes held a universe meant only for him.
His queen.
His love.
His everything.
The air between them was thick, charged with an invisible force that neither of them could deny.
He couldn't take it anymore.
His hand moved before reason could stop him, fingers reaching for the silk of her robes. Though he had kissed her before, this... this, he had not. And tonight, under the dim candlelight, beneath the veil of their sacred union, he wanted all of her.
But just as his fingertips brushed against the delicate fabric of her clothing—
She caught his hand.
"Wait," she whispered, her voice steady but laced with something unreadable. "I need to talk to you about something."
His brows furrowed slightly, his chest still rising and falling with the weight of his yearning. He looked at her, searching her face, wondering what could possibly be more important than this moment.
Then, he sighed.
"You want to talk about what the minister reported today, don't you?"
Elizabeth nodded. "Yes. What are you going to do about it?"
His jaw tensed. He already knew where this conversation was going.
"Nothing."
She blinked. Then frowned.
"Nothing?" Her voice was sharper now, edged with concern. "Do you understand what's at stake? The Northern Kingdoms have begun conquering their own neighbors. And where do you think they'll turn once they've gathered enough resources? Us!"
He pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew that. He had spent the past few months pouring over maps, receiving reports, calculating their next move.
"What am I supposed to do, Elizabeth?" he asked, exasperation seeping into his tone.
For a brief moment, she was silent. Then, with a quiet breath, she spoke the words that would change everything.
"Conquer the South."
His head snapped toward her, eyes widening in disbelief. "What?"
"You and I both know it's possible. We have the resources. We have the power."
Her tone was calm, almost too calm, as if she had spent days, months thinking about this.
A war. Not of defense, but of conquest.
He stared at her, searching for hesitation, for doubt, but there was none. She meant it.
A bitter sigh left his lips, and then, slowly, he reached forward, taking both of her hands and enclosing them in his.
"Don't worry about it," he murmured, his voice softer now. "I'll take care of it."
For a moment, she simply stared at him, unreadable.
Then, something shifted.
Her lips curled into the smallest of smirks, her voice dropping into something calm… too calm.
"I knew you'd come to this decision."
And before he could react, she ripped her hands from his grasp.
His heart stilled.
Shocked, he looked at her, truly looked at her. The warmth in her eyes had vanished, replaced by something distant, something cold.
"Elizabeth?"
Then—
The doors to his chamber burst open.
He turned, his breath hitching at the sight before him.
A man stood in the doorway.
His clothes were torn, his body smeared with blood that was not his own. It dripped from his blade, a fresh kill, the scent of iron thick in the air.
He stepped forward, his boots leaving behind scarlet footprints on the polished marble floor.
A slow, cruel smile spread across his lips.
"Brother," the King murmured, confusion flashing a
cross his face.
Something was wrong.
Terribly, terribly wrong.