Aurein's POV
Another day dawned beneath the banners of relentless training, the kind meant to grind weakness down to dust before the coming competition. We had just finished our morning routine, and to my own surprise, I was still standing.
Tired—yes. My legs burned faintly from the run, my breath still warm in my chest—but I was not drained. In fact, I felt... stronger. I had completed more laps than I ever had before, and for the first time, my body did not protest. The improvement was undeniable. It wasn't just me either. All of us were changing together, advancing in unison, and that thought filled me with a quiet, genuine pride.
The balancing drills with General Voltaire followed, and though we still stumbled, we were no longer a mess. What once took nearly three hours now took only one, and by the end, we could hold balance within the fifteen-minute mark. Progress—measurable, hard-earned progress.
Then came the tug-of-war training.
Ton-Ton, as expected, was unstoppable.
The fifteen warriors assigned to restrain him still struggled, though I could see they were slowly learning how to manage his sheer strength. Still, nothing—and no one—could truly defeat Ton-Ton when food was involved. The moment he heard the promise of a meal, he transformed into something feral.
After all those training, we were resting afterward, catching our breath, when General Voltaire suddenly appeared before us.
"Aurein, come with me," he said.
I stood at once and followed him without question.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"To my hut," he said calmly.
I stopped short.
"Why?" My eyes widened. "What are we going to do there? Don't tell me..." My voice dropped in alarm. "You're planning to do it there?"
"Yes," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "I am."
My heart skipped.
"I'm going to give you something," he continued, meeting my gaze with a dangerous, unreadable smirk, "that I know you won't forget."
"G-General, I—I'm not ready," I said, my words tumbling out in panic.
"I want you to be ready," he replied smoothly. "You know that sooner or later, we have to do this."
"But now? During training?" I asked, stunned. "Shouldn't we be focusing on something else—something more important than this?"
"This is important," he said. "For us."
"I know, but—there are far more important things!" I insisted. "I admit I've thought about it, but not now. I want to be mentally and physically prepared."
"Don't worry, Aurein," he said evenly. "I'll take it slow."
"But what if it hurts?" I asked.
"Then we'll be careful," he said. "I don't want you bleeding."
I swallowed hard and instinctively touched my 'back', my face heating with mortification.
"Can I... can I really do this?" I asked, staring blankly ahead.
"Yes," he said. "I'll guide you. You have me."
I frowned. "How many times have you done this?" I demanded. "You sound so confident, as if it's easy for you."
"A lot," he replied calmly. "That's why I know how to handle you."
My heart pounded as we reached his hut.
"Wait here," he said. "I'll tell you when you can come in."
He entered, leaving me outside alone with my racing thoughts. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breath. My heart was beating far too fast.
I had read about these things—more than I cared to admit. Not merely for knowledge, but for curiosity, for longing. There were no books in Ardentia about men being together or doing that 'thing'—such things were forbidden.
So I read what little we had, imagining myself not as the man, but as the woman in those stories.
I wondered what it felt like. The fear, the pain, the surrender. I knew it would hurt—of course it would—but I trusted him. I trusted that he would guide me, protect me, calm my body when it mattered most.
"Come in, Aurein," he called from inside the hut.
I inhaled deeply and gathered every ounce of courage I had left.
Inside, he stood waiting, hands clasped behind his back, watching me with a soft, unreadable smile.
"General," I said quietly, "please guide me. Don't let me get hurt. I'm scared."
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate.
"Don't worry," he said. "I will. Now—close your eyes."
I obeyed.
All I could feel was his presence—warm, steady, overwhelming.
His hands found mine, guiding it forward, positioning my arm just so, palm facing upward.
"Don't move too much," he said. "I don't want you to bleed. When you feel it, hold it gently but firm.
"Okay." I said, tensed.
Then he guided my hand, slow and deliberate, until my fingers closed around something unmistakable—how long, thick, and undeniably hard it was beneath my touch.
I gasped and opened my eyes instantly.
"General!"
"I told you," he said calmly, "I'd do it gently."
My eyes dropped to my hands.
"A... sword?" I asked, stunned.
Resting in my hand was a beautifully crafted sword, its golden edge gleaming beneath the light. The hilt bore the intricately carved crest of Ardentia, regal and unmistakable, perfectly balanced and unmistakably royal.
"Yes," he said proudly. "A sword made specifically for you. The King wanted you to have it—light enough for you to wield, strong enough to grow with you."
I stared at him, dumbfounded. "Wait. I thought you meant... that we were going to..."
"Hm?" he said innocently. "What exactly were you thinking?"
"That... that thing," I muttered. "You know. The—"
There was a brief silence.
Then he laughed.
Loudly.
"General!" I snapped.
"You really thought we were going to do that here?" he asked, struggling to contain his laughter. "In my hut? Right now?"
"Well, you certainly sounded like it!" I said irritably. "The way you were talking—"
"Aurein," he said, grinning shamelessly, "I know you've thought about it."
"No, I haven't!"
"Don't deny it," he said, smirking teasingly.
"No! Not anymore!" I huffed, turning away. "Do whatever you want."
His laughter followed me, warm and infuriating all at once, while I stood there gripping the sword—burning with embarrassment, relief, and something else I refused to name.
He reached for me then—both hands settling on my shoulders, gentle yet firm, grounding me where I stood.
"Look at me, Aurein," he said, his voice softened to something almost tender.
I hesitated before lifting my gaze to meet his eyes.
"What?" I blurted out, too quick, too flustered.
"I want that too," he said quietly, lowering his voice as if the walls themselves might listen. "But not now. There are many things we must focus on first. And besides, I don't want it to happen here, inside my hut. I want it somewhere special—somewhere worthy of my queen." His tone dropped to a whisper. "I'm sorry if you misunderstood what I meant. I never intended that."
Heat rushed to my face.
"I—I'm sorry as well," I said, mortified. "I assumed too much. I didn't want to seem like I was... desperate for it." I couldn't bring myself to look at him.
He laughed softly and patted my head.
"I'll do it with you when the right time comes. All right?"
"Mm," I murmured, nodding.
"Take care of your sword, Aurein. Is that clear?"
"Yes, General."
"I'm giving this to you as acknowledgment," he continued, his voice steady, proud. "I can see it. You are already growing into a real warrior."
"Thank you, General," I said, and my chest felt impossibly light.
"Good." He cupped my cheek, and before I could react—before I could even breathe—he leaned in and pressed a brief, gentle kiss to my lips. It was soft, fleeting, and utterly disarming. "Come," he added immediately, stepping back. "Let's test your new sword."
"O... okay," I replied, torn between relief, flustered, and irritation.
Relieved, because we weren't doing that yet.
Flustered, because that kiss caught me off guard.
Annoyed, because we weren't doing that yet—especially after I had already jumped to conclusions.
How embarrassing. He must think I was itching for it. Absolutely mortifying.
* * *
When we returned, Ton-Ton, Dante, and Asper rushed over at once.
"Wow! Is that your sword, Prince Aurein?" Dante asked, eyes wide with awe.
"Yeah," I said proudly. "The General told me my father had this sword crafted especially for me." I swung it experimentally—and froze. The blade moved as if it were an extension of my own arm. Light. Perfectly balanced. Almost identical in weight to the wooden sword I had trained with.
"It truly suits you, Prince Aurein," Asper said with a warm smile. "I'm happy for you."
"Thank you, Asper. Now I can spar using my own sword," I said, grinning.
"I can already see it," Ton-Ton said dreamily. "Prince Aurein on the battlefield, wielding his own blade—moving so smoothly, so gently, like he's dancing while he fights."
"I'd actually love that," I said without thinking. "To combine dance and combat at the same time. Just like the moon dancers—"
I stiffened.
I had said it. The Moon Dancers. I had revealed the truth!
Too comfortable. Far too comfortable around them.
"Like what, Prince Aurein?" Dante asked, scratching his head. "Moon dancers?"
"Moon dancers don't know how to fight. They only dance. Stop focusing on other things. It's time for our next training," the General cut in sharply.
"I just thought what if they could dance and fight at the same time," I said quickly, laughing it off. "Sounds cool though, right?"
He pouted but nodded.
"For this session, we won't be doing sword drills," the General announced. "You already know them by heart. Instead, choose your partners and spar. Aurein—" his gaze fixed on me, "—you're with me."
"Okay!" I said brightly.
"Begin."
The warriors dispersed, pairing off, while the General and I moved to a quieter corner of the training grounds.
We faced each other—straight-backed, focused, eyes locked.
"I want to see what you've learned from our drills," he said. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," I replied, smiling. Nothing compared to the feeling of being trained by the very man who stood at the pinnacle of all warriors—the one who could see the fighter in me even before I did.
My King.
"Aurein, stop thinking about something. Focus for now."
"Yes!"
We lowered into our stances, bodies coiled and ready.
"Give me everything you've got, Aurein."
"I will."
"Then let's fight."
I tightened my grip and lunged, slashing toward him. He deflected the strike instantly, steel ringing against steel.
He smirked as our blades pressed together.
"Very good. Just the right amount of force."
"I learned from the best," I said smugly.
"For sure," he replied, grinning.
"And that's not you," I shot back teasingly. "Don't assume."
I leapt back and struck again, this time aiming low.
Once more, he deflected it effortlessly.
"You know which areas to target," he said approvingly. "But you're still too readable. You must never let your opponent know where you intend to strike."
I nodded. "Got it."
He stepped back.
And suddenly, fear gripped me.
He raised his sword, posture shifting—dangerously calm. I couldn't tell where he would strike.
Upper body? Lower?
My instincts screamed.
"Wait!" I shouted, thrusting out my hand to stop him.
"Aurein?" He asked, disbelief flickering across his face as he straightened.
"I got scared," I admitted, laughing nervously.
He clicked his tongue. "Never do that again. An enemy won't stop just because you ask them to."
"I know," I said quickly. "But I didn't know where you were going to hit me. I didn't know where to defend."
He sighed, then nodded.
"I understand. But remember this—on the battlefield, no one will warn you. They won't announce whether they're aiming for your stomach or your leg. You must always be ready."
"I figured as much," I joked.
"Aurein," he said sharply, glaring at me.
"I'm joking!" I laughed. "But really—what should I do when that happens?"
"Simple," he said, raising his sword again. "If you don't know where the attack will come from, predict it by reading your opponent's stance."
He lifted the blade high and slowly brought it down.
"In this position, your eyes must be quick. Watch the direction of the blade. The angle tells you everything. Here, I'm aiming for your upper chest."
He demonstrated in slow motion.
"See?"
"Yes," I said. "I can see it."
He reset his stance.
"Now, you might expect the same attack," he continued. "But notice the angle—it's different. This time, I'm striking low. Your thigh." He moved again, deliberately slow. "From this angle, it's faster and more efficient. You must also watch how far the motion drops."
"I will," I said eagerly.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"I'll do it again. This time, I won't tell you where I'm aiming. You must predict and block."
He lowered his blade slightly instead of raising it.
"Wait!"
"What now?" he snapped.
"That's not what you taught me! Before, your sword was raised. Now it's lower!"
"It's the same principle," he said firmly. "Watch the angle. Watch the arms."
I nodded and focused.
The tilt was downward—subtle, but clear.
He's aiming for my leg! I moved instantly, angling my sword down.
Slash!
"Very good," he said, smirking. "You predicted it perfectly."
"Of course," I said proudly, lifting my chin. "I'm the next war prodigy."
He laughed and shook his head.
"No," he said lightly. "You're the war prodigy's wife."
"General!"
"Don't you like that?" he asked.
My eyes dropped.
"I... do," I admitted softly, lips pouting despite myself.
"Then the war prodigy's wife must be just as skilled as the war prodigy himself," he said. "Get ready."
Before I could respond, he moved again.
And this time, I had no choice but to act quick.
He moved first—fast and decisive. I saw the intent in his stance a split second before it happened.
He was aiming for my arm.
Instinct took over.
I shifted my grip and swung my blade sharply to the left, intercepting the strike just in time. Steel met steel with a sharp, ringing clang that vibrated up my arm.
"Very good," he said, smiling with clear approval. "You're learning."
My chest swelled at the praise.
"Should I give you a reward for that?" he added casually.
"A reward?" I asked, blinking. "What kind of reward?"
"The one you were anticipating inside the hut," he said, his voice laced with mischief.
"No!" I snapped, flustered and annoyed. "I don't want it anymore!"
The irritation fueled me. Before he could react, I lunged.
I pulled my arm back deliberately, disguising my intent, then thrust forward—aiming straight for his chest. I wanted it to be sudden. Unreadable.
But he didn't even use his sword.
He simply shifted his body sideways, fluid and effortless, and my blade sliced through empty air.
"You still have much to learn, Aurein," he said calmly. "But don't worry. I'll train you well—to become the war prodigy's wife." He smirked. "For now, you're just my wife."
"Hmph!" I huffed, glaring at him.
From there, the sparring continued.
He guided me through every movement, corrected my posture, sharpened my instincts—shaping me, molding me. Not just into someone who could wield a blade, but into someone who could stand firm on the battlefield.
Someone strong enough to protect more than just himself.
And as we moved—strike after strike, breath after breath—I realized something.
I wasn't training only to prove that I could be a king worthy of Ardentia.
I was training to protect the people I loved.
To protect him.
Every time I remembered the regret in his eyes when he spoke of his father—the one he couldn't save—I made a silent vow.
I would fight beside him, no matter what.
Even if he ordered me to retreat.
Even if he got angry with me.
I would not leave his side.
* * *
After the sparring session, we gathered to rest and eat, exhaustion settling into our bones in a pleasant, earned way.
We were laughing, talking, enjoying the simple comfort of food—when someone approached.
The warriors immediately stood.
Princess Serena.
She nodded at them, offering a gentle, graceful smile. Satisfied, they sat back down and resumed eating.
"Serena?" I asked, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm bored," she said sweetly. "There's nothing to do in the palace, so I came here to check on your training."
Ton-Ton brightened instantly.
"Would you like some food, Princess Serena?" he asked cheerfully, holding out his bowl of grilled meat.
Serena glanced at the bowl—and despite her smile, the disgust in her eyes was impossible to miss.
"No, thank you," she said. "I'm already full."
"Ton-Ton!" Asper scolded. "You can't just invite Princess Serena to eat with your food like she's an ordinary person!"
"Sorry..." Ton-Ton muttered, lowering his head.
"It's fine," Serena said kindly. "I want you to treat me casually. The same way you treat Aurein."
I shot her a sideways glance.
What are you plotting now? I wondered. Trying to take General Voltaire from me wasn't enough—now my friends too?
"Princess Serena, would you like some water?" Dante offered, smiling politely.
"No, I'm fine," she said. "But thank you for offering, Dante." She tilted her head slightly as she smiled at him, her gaze lingering.
Dante stiffened, clearly flustered.
Figures. She was beautiful—and any man she looked at long enough seemed to fall under her spell.
Not me, though.
Only the General had that effect on me.
"Serena," I asked, narrowing my eyes slightly. "Are you here alone?"
"I was supposed to be with the new guard they assigned me," she said, irritation flashing across her face. "But because of you! Ugh!"
The abruptness stunned everyone into silence.
"Serena," I said lightly, "your true personality is slipping."
She inhaled deeply, regaining her composure, then smiled again.
"Anyway, I told them I didn't need a guard anymore," she said. "I promised to be careful. King Lucen didn't like it at first—but you know how I am, Aurein. No one wins against me in an argument. So in the end, he let me do what I wanted."
"And aside from being bored?" I asked. "Why are you really here?"
"Just wandering," she replied, glancing around. "Is it your lunch break?"
"Yeah," I said. "We just finished sword training."
"Where's the General?"
"Preparing for the next training session," I said. "And knowing him, he's probably planning something ridiculous again."
"I see," Serena murmured. "I'm here to observe your progress. Since you're all part of his army, I need to know whether you're capable of winning the competition. If you lose, it reflects on me as well."
"We'll do our best, Princess Serena!" Ton-Ton declared proudly.
"We'll show everyone how strong our army is!" Asper added.
"And we'll make sure we defeat the others," Dante said confidently.
Serena smirked. "Such confidence. I applaud it."
She scanned the army again, her eyes sharp.
"You were right, Aurein," she said. "I noticed it."
"Noticed what?" I asked.
"This army doesn't fit the usual warrior mold," she said. "They don't look intimidating. Not like the others."
"Don't underestimate them," I replied calmly. "They're improving. You'll see it in the competition."
"Well," she said, "I doubt."
Her expression hardened—fierce, unmasked.
"Serena," I sighed. "You're slipping again."
"It doesn't matter anymore now," she said coolly. "If these are your friends, I'll treat them as such. There's no reason to hide who I really am."
Asper blinked. "What just happened?"
"Where did the sweet princess go?" Ton-Ton asked nervously.
"There is no sweet princess here," Serena snapped, crossing her arms.
I laughed at their stunned faces.
"Relax," I said. "This is the real Serena. She's fierce. Terrifying. But she has a good heart."
"Don't praise me," she said, turning away with a huff. "I don't like it."
I scratched the back of my head, smiling helplessly.
She suddenly pointed her manicured finger at Ton-Ton, her eyes narrowing with sharp amusement.
"You," Serena said, her tone cutting, "you're far too fat. How can you even move." Then she flicked her gaze toward Asper. "And you—far too thin. Maybe they can split you into half."
"That's enough, Serena," I said.
"I'm only stating the truth." She waved it off lightly, then turned her attention to Dante. "Anyway... I've noticed that out of everyone here, you're the only one with a truly classic warrior's build. You look... okay."
I nodded. "I said the same thing the first time I spoke to him," I said. "Dante came from another army. They said he was too slow to be a proper warrior, so they rejected him. Luckily, General Voltaire took him in—to shape him into something greater."
Serena hummed. "Well, I suppose you do belong here then. In General Voltaire's not-so-perfect army," she said teasingly.
Dante's face flushed, his embarrassment unmistakable.
"Which army did you come from?" Serena asked.
"I was from General Zavier's army," Dante said.
"Really?" I replied. "I never asked you before. But now that I know, it makes sense why he rejected you. That man is unbearably arrogant."
"That's true," Asper said sharply, irritation flaring. "He's ruthless. He demands perfection."
Dante exhaled slowly, the weight of old memories settling into his expression. "He expected absolute perfection from everyone. I couldn't meet his standards, so he dismissed me," he said quietly.
I smiled at him. "You're already in the right hands, Dante."
Then I stepped forward, knelt in front of him, and met his eyes—lowering myself deliberately, refusing the invisible distance my title demanded.
"At least you have us now," I said. "You have Ton-Ton and Asper. The four of us built our own squad, and I'm looking forward to many more adventures together—fighting side by side."
"Prince Aurein..." Dante said, his voice trembling. "Thank you."
"Aurein," Serena snapped, clearly displeased. "Why are you kneeling before a commoner? Have you forgotten that you're a prince?"
I smiled and looked at her calmly. "I wanted my friends to know that I keep my feet on the ground," I said. "That I don't stand on some unreachable pedestal. I'm here for them—no matter what happens. They are my friends. Always. For better or worse."
I turned to the three of them. They smiled back at me, eyes shining.
"Ugh. So dramatic," Serena muttered, rolling her eyes.
"Dramatic or not," I said, "I will always treat my friends like family. Don't you have any friends back at Grition that's why you are like that?"
"Friends? Who needs it when I have myself! I hate having friends when they only do is gossip about you when you're not with them and treating you bad behind their backs!"
"You're hopeless." Then I looked back at Dante. "So don't be sad about being rejected by General Zavier, alright? Think of it as a blessing in disguise. Here, the General won't cast you aside—he'll bring out the best in you. And more than that, you're wanted here. You're valued."
Dante smiled softly, something warm and sincere blooming across his face. "I'm fortunate to have a friend like you, Prince Aurein," he said. He glanced at Asper and Ton-Ton. "I'm proud to be part of our squad. I look forward to the day when all of us become great warriors—fighting side by side with Prince, no, with King Aurein."
I smiled at him.
"That's right! We're all going to be amazing!" Ton-Ton said, already tearing up as tears spilled freely into his bowl.
"Stop it—you're all getting ridiculous!" Asper said, his voice breaking despite himself. "Princess Serena is right—we're too dramatic." He sniffed hard. "But still... I can see it. All of us fighting together."
Before I knew it, the three of them pulled me into a tight embrace, all of us laughing and crying at the same time.
"Disgustingly dramatic. A bunch of crybabies," Serena said dryly. "Ugh!"
"What's going on here? Why are you all crying and hugging?"
We all turned in surprise as General Voltaire approached us.
Then he noticed her. "Ah. Princess Serena. You're here."
"Hello, General Voltaire," Serena said sweetly, her entire demeanor shifting in an instant. "It's so nice to see you." She smiled brightly. "I wanted to watch your training and show my support. If you need anything, just tell me, alright?"
"I will," General Voltaire said politely. "Thank you for your generosity, Princess Serena."
"How does she change personalities that fast?" Ton-Ton whispered, scratching his head.
"You'll see more of it soon," I said quietly.
"The training grounds are ready," General Voltaire announced. "Prepare yourselves. Let's move."
"May I watch, General?" Serena asked.
"Of course," he replied.
"Yay! Thank you!" She clapped her hands. "I'll stay by your side, okay?"
"Yes," he said simply and looked at me, "Aurein, you may keep your sword inside my hut first. You won't need it for this training."
"Sure."
"Let's go, General." Serena said as she rushed General Voltaire to go first.
As they turned away, Serena glanced back at me and smirked.
I smirked right back.
She didn't know the truth.
No matter what she did—no matter how she tried—the General was already mine.
So I would let her play her little game.
After all, I had already won this battle.
As the others moved ahead toward the field, I lingered behind and lifted my hand in a quick, casual farewell.
"I'll follow soon," I told Asper and the rest. "I'm just going to leave my sword in the General's hut. I won't need it for this."
I turned away before anyone could question me further.
The path to General Voltaire's hut cut through a narrower stretch of trees, where the noise of the training grounds thinned into distant echoes—boots on dirt, scattered laughter, the occasional sharp bark of a command. The air grew cooler here. The sunlight filtered through leaves in pale, shifting ribbons, and the forest smelled faintly of sap and damp earth.
Before I stepped inside the hut, I paused for a moment. I looked around as I felt like someone was watching me.
But, when I did, there was no one. It was just me.
"Must be my imagination." I told my self and shrugged it off.
When I stepped inside the hut, the familiar scent of leather, steel, and clean wood wrapped around me like a cloak. It was quiet—safe. General Voltaire's space always felt like that. Controlled. Unshakable. As if even chaos would hesitate before crossing his threshold.
I slid my sword carefully onto the rack near the wall, placing it with the same respect I would offer a sacred relic. After that, I went to follow the others.
* * *
After an exhausting day of training, General Voltaire finally called it off, ordering everyone to rest since night had already settled in.
All of the warriors already went away, and it's only me and him left.
We were just outside his hut, preparing to head back to the palace, when I suddenly felt something cool touch my skin.
I looked up at the sky and saw raindrops falling—silver threads made visible by the pale glow of the moonlight.
"It's going to rain," General Voltaire said calmly. "Perhaps we should wait inside my hut until it eases."
"Yes, that would be better," I said.
We stepped inside just as the rain began to pour harder, its sound deepening as it struck the roof. General Voltaire lit a lantern, bathing the small space in a dim, amber glow. The light softened the rough wooden walls, turning the hut into something quieter, more private. He laid out a woven mat for me to sit on.
"I'm not sure how long this rain will last," he said as he gently parted the curtain and glanced outside. "But I hope it won't be too long."
The cool breeze carried by the rain slipped through the hut, brushing against my skin and sending a faint shiver through me. I drew my knees closer to my chest and wrapped my arms around them.
"Are you cold?" he asked softly.
I nodded.
Without hesitation, he removed his upper garment, leaving his torso bare, and carefully draped it over my shoulders. Warmth immediately spread through me—his warmth, lingering in the fabric.
"What about you, General?" I asked with concern. "Won't you get cold?"
"This is nothing," he said, dismissing it with a small shrug.
He sat down beside me and let out a deep, quiet sigh. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound filling the hut was the steady rhythm of rain against the roof—soft, constant, and strangely calming.
He simply sat there, unmoving, his gaze fixed somewhere ahead. When I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, I wondered what thoughts occupied his mind.
Slowly, almost unconsciously, I leaned closer until my shoulder brushed against his arm.
I didn't look at him yet. He didn't react.
So I leaned a little more and rested my head against his arm.
"It's alright if I lean on you, isn't it?" I asked quietly.
He didn't answer right away.
When I finally looked up, I found him already looking at me, a faint, gentle smile on his lips.
Embarrassment rushed through me, and I quickly turned my gaze away, pretending to focus on the lantern instead.
"Are you still cold, Aurein?" he asked.
"No," I replied softly. "I can feel your warmth."
I closed my eyes when I felt his hand settle at my waist. Slowly, naturally, his arm drew closer, wrapping around me as if he were holding me with just one arm—careful, unhurried.
I let him.
I didn't stop him.
Because I wanted it.
I wanted to feel how close I was to him, alone inside his hut, away from watchful eyes and unspoken rules. This kind of intimacy was something I had never truly felt before—not even when we stood together in front of others.
This time, it was just us.
And it felt different.
For once, I found myself at a loss for words. Normally, there were countless things I wanted to say to him—but now, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing came to mind.
Yet the silence didn't feel empty.
It felt peaceful.
As the rain continued to fall and his warmth surrounded me, I realized that I had never felt this relaxed before.
I lowered my gaze to his hand—the one holding me close—watching as his fingers slowly traced gentle circles over my stomach. The touch was unhurried, absent of urgency, as if he were grounding himself in the moment.
When I looked back up at him, his eyes were closed.
That alone surprised me.
This was the first time I had ever seen him like this—truly relaxed. Not guarded. Not alert. Not carrying the weight of command on his shoulders. For once, it felt as though he had allowed himself to exist without preparing for the next battle, the next threat, the next responsibility. As if, after a long time, he had finally found a moment of peace.
And somehow... I felt it too.
His face was calm, a faint smile resting on his lips as he leaned back, simply breathing.
"Are you asleep, General Voltaire?" I whispered.
"No," he said quietly, his eyes still closed. "I'm just cherishing this moment with you. Allowing myself to be vulnerable for a while... without thinking about anything."
"Then rest," I said gently. "I'm thankful for this rain. At least it gave you permission to pause, even for a moment."
"I will," he said.
"General..."
"Hmm?"
"May I ask something?" I hesitated. "I always hear stories about your father—General Orion—but I've never heard anything about your mother. Where is she? Is she still alive?"
He smiled faintly, then slowly opened his eyes. His gaze dropped to the floor.
"She's gone," he said. "I don't have anyone anymore."
"What about me?" The word slipped out before I could stop myself. It was less a question and more a plea—an offering. I'm here.
"You?" he said, a teasing note softening his voice. "You're always annoyed with me. Always irritated. Always glaring at me. Half the time, it seems like you can't even stand to look at me."
"That's not true!" I protested. "Annoyed and irritated, maybe—but disgusted? Avoiding you? Never!" My voice faltered. "So... you still feel alone, even when I'm right here?"
"Yes," he said honestly. "I still feel alone."
Tears welled in my eyes before I could stop them, spilling over as my chest tightened.
He turned to me at once.
"Are you crying?" he asked, startled.
"Because you feel alone," I said weakly, covering my eyes as I sobbed. "Even when I'm always beside you. It makes me feel like... I'm not enough."
"Hey—no," he said quickly. He gently pulled my hands away from my face. "I was only teasing. I just wanted to see your reaction... to know if I mattered to you." He added a soft laugh.
"You're really awful," I said through my tears. "You always make things hard for me."
"You should know by now," he said lightly. "I tease you all the time."
"Do you really think I'd let you cross my boundaries, tease me endlessly, and do whatever you want if you weren't important to me?" I snapped, wiping my tears. "If I didn't care?"
He studied me for a moment, then asked quietly, "If I ordered you to do something... would you obey? Even if I told you to kneel before me?"
"I would," I answered without hesitation. I meant it.
"Then go on," he said softly. "Kneel in front of me and lower your forehead down to the ground."
I moved.
I knelt before him.
For him, I was willing to lower myself without hesitation.
His hand lifted my chin, tilting my face upward until our eyes met.
"You've proven more than enough," he said. "I was about to stop you from actually doing it, but you were too fast."
Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine.
At first, the kiss was soft—gentle, reverent. Then it turned teasing, unhurried, as if he were testing how far I would follow.
My thoughts drifted the moment our lips met. Every time he kissed me, it felt as though my mind slipped into a haze, my senses blurring, my body responding before reason could catch up.
I wondered if he felt the same.
He was my first—that had to be why everything felt so overwhelming. Every touch made me feel alive.
Maybe for him, this was nothing new.
Maybe he had kissed countless women before me.
Then I felt his hand move, brushing my hair back behind my ear before cupping my cheek, his thumb warm against my skin.
And then he pulled away.
"I have to stop," he whispered. "If I don't... I won't be able to control myself, Aurein."
I nodded and sat back.
Though if I were honest, I wanted more. Far more than just a kiss. My body was aching for something I could barely name.
I could feel it—an unfamiliar heat stirring within me.
Just the sight of his exposed chest was enough to make something inside me burn, my breath growing shallow as desire coiled tight beneath my skin.
He lay down first, stretching out on the narrow bedding, one arm folding beneath his head as if the night itself had asked him to rest.
"Come," he said softly. "Let's sleep for now. We'll wait until the rain stops."
As he spoke, his other arm extended—an unspoken invitation, open and patient.
I moved closer and lay beside him, close enough that his warmth became my shelter. He felt like a living pillow, solid and steady. The surface beneath us was hard, unforgiving, yet being beside him made it feel strangely gentle, as though comfort had nothing to do with softness at all.
He curved his arm around me and drew me in, cradling my head against him.
It struck me then—this was the first time we had ever lain down like this, side by side. We had never shared a bed before, never even rested this close, especially not in my chamber. Yet here, inside his quiet hut, this moment existed—rare and fragile—the feeling of sleeping beside the one you truly cared for, without fear or interruption.
Warmth spread through me, heavy and sweet, tugging sleep closer with every breath.
I rested my head fully on his arm, and he let me.
"Tell me if your arm starts to ache," I murmured.
"It's fine," he said. "Just lay your head there."
I smiled and placed my hand gently on his chest. With slow, careful movements, I traced the lines of him—the rise of muscle beneath my palm, the scars etched into his skin, every hard-earned mark as if committing them to memory.
When I looked up at him, his eyes were already closed, yet a faint smile lingered on his lips.
"General..." I whispered.
"Hm?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
"Do you love me?" I asked.
He opened his eyes slowly and looked at me despite the heaviness pulling them shut. There was no hesitation in his gaze.
"Yes," he said. "I do."
Then his eyes closed again.
Relief washed over me, warm and overwhelming. The fact that he had opened his eyes just to look at me—to make sure I knew he meant it—made my chest ache in the best way.
I wanted to sleep too, but fear kept me awake. When morning came, it might be a long time before we could have something like this again. We could never do this in my chamber—it was too dangerous. But here, no one would disturb us. No one could take this moment away.
I lifted my hand and brushed my finger softly against his lips, pressing just enough to feel their warmth. It amazed me that I could touch him like this—the General no one dared approach—yet with me, he allowed everything.
"I love you, General Voltaire," I whispered. "I truly do. Thank you."
My gaze drifted downward, slow and unguarded, until it reached him—lower, farther than I had ever dared before.
I swallowed.
My hand moved again, tentative at first, sliding from his chest to his abdomen, then lower still, until my fingers rested at the top of his trousers.
My breathing quickened. I forced myself to stay quiet, terrified of waking him, even as my heart thundered wildly in my chest.
I just wanted to touch him. To feel him. To know what it was like. Having him—like this, as my first—felt dangerous and intoxicating all at once.
Curiosity tangled with fear.
My heartbeat pounded as I finally moved, slipping the tip of one finger inside his trousers, inch by trembling inch.
Then, I felt it, I poked something warm that met the skin of my finger.
I swallowed again.
That was it. There is no turning back. My hand is already inside.
I exhaled slowly, gathering what little courage I had left.
Forgive me, General Voltaire. I can't stop myself anymore.
I want to touch you.
End of Chapter 27