#FMC

[totallyanopossum]

COD drabble with Ghost and kortac fmc

Its a girl under all that gear

WC: 1.5k

She's a sniper usually decked out in her gilly suit but even when she's not in the field she's covered in gear and layers that completely hide her identity and gender, she doesn't talk much she's not shy just not good at talking usually gets her in trouble so she keeps quiet and cause of all that new people usually assume she's a guy it doesn't bother her though she just does her job.

 She works with Kortac and they have just been assigned to work with 141 for a joint task force. She keeps to herself like always doesn't speak just nods and uses hand signs which leads others to think that she's a short guy who's mute.

Ghost becomes very curious about ‘Nightcore’ they're like him the silent strong lurking-in-the-corner type, he's never run into them alone and hasn't been able to speak with them. At dinner one day he says to 141“ so anyone spoken with Nightcores what's their deal”.

 They all say they never heard him speak no clue they move so silently one moment they are there the next gone, kinda like you Ghost.

 He finds her in the shooting range early it's just them, he thinks this is his time but he sets up and shoots first. He sees them pull in their target and the shots form a symbol perfectly the skill he's good at. This is his moment, “Impressive work there”

She looks at him and gives him a nod, he is so curious.“Are you mute or tongue cut out?”She starts laughing, he's surprised, she goes over to him and leans against the post.“I've never heard that before, tongue cut out, good one.” Ghost takes it all in and the voice it's female right?“You're a woman”, “Yeah got the tits to prove it too”.

He's in shock, she steps in, pulls his target forward, and checks out his shots. “Not bad, but you are a bit too tense”

She walks away, he's still frozen possessing 1) nightcores is a woman, 2) she's a perfect shot, 3) she corrected his shot, 4) she's got a mouth and attitude.

At lunch, he tells the guys she's a woman but they don't believe him just thinking it's a guy with a feminine voice, he doesn't push more for now it's their secret.

 Konig does a thing for his guys moral while 141s out on a training thing, 141 comes back hearing music and checks it out and finds Kortac partying and Nightcore dancing on a table even in gear the way they move now convinces the guys she's a woman. She calls out to Konig and even though he is in the middle of talking he flawlessly catches her as she throws herself at him and he sets her down and she heads over to 141. Konig gets to her and grabs her belt and tells her “Other way soldier”. She makes some hand gestures but goes. Price asks what's that about, Konig explains Nightcores a loose Canon when drunk.

Meanwhile, behind Price and Konig, Soap says “Okay I think you're right about that being a girl”. Konig continues,” She's got no filter and when she's drunk . She doesn't remember to keep her mouth shut”, that confirms it, she's a girl, they all say Nighcores a girl, and Konig nods. Price says “so that's why she doesn't speak cause she has no filter”, Konig nods “yeah she'll mouth off and say the most out-of-pocket shit to anyone”, Konig says “I'll try to get this wrapped up sorry for it being loud”

 The next day at breakfast they were all looking at her amazed it's a woman and the way she was dancing and how bold she was and that she doesn't speak cause she mouths off. Ghost finds her making some tea later that day. “Hangover?” she shakes her head no, “Really after last night”, he's saying all the right things to egg her on trying to get her to speak and it works. “last night was nothing... oh don't mean to offend it that's all you brits can handle”, he chuckles at that, usually she gets a smack when she says something like that to a superior but he's laughing, they share more moments like this.

Shit has been going suspiciously wrong and 141 brings up someone being a mole and they look at her and accuse her this sets her off and she speaks. Ghost can feel the rage and emotion coming off her and knows they are wrong. She gets on the table and starts throwing off her layers and gear while ranting, Konig doesn't stop her, she strips down to just her underwear and shows them all her scars. “I was captive and tortured for over a year and I didn't say a word didn't give them a sound, not a single word, I'm not a mother fucking goddam spy I've given blood and flesh for my brothers, my comrades so fuck yall cause I'd give blood and flesh again for fuckers like you and you'd just turn around and accuse me... so much for my sacrifice huh”. she storms out.

141 just curses under their breath, Ghost feels so bad and wants to go to her but knows she wouldn't take it well probably. Konig picks up her stuff,” She'll cool down but it best to steer clear for the next 24 hours she can get a bit stabby... but price your right there's been too many coincidences let's meet at [ ] to discuss more”, Konig walks back and price says “I'm sorry”.

Konig goes, finding her in the training room beating a dummy bag, seeing her like this scars out reminds him of the day he found her and it breaks his heart a little bit. He goes to her and “Come on mazi that's enough”, she turns on him “Why does everyone always come to those assumptions about me I know I don't talk and stuff but still... why,” he says “Cause your good mazi the fucking best I've ever seen, people question those who are so skilled”. He grabs her in a hug she hits him but calms and hugs him back, he gets her back to her room and says “Take the day try not to stab anyone please you know I hate the paperwork”, she nods “I'll try”. 

She doesn't usually take off that much gear, ever, and seeing her body scars out and what just happened got her emotional and in her head, she knew she wouldn't be sleeping tonight. She put her gear back on grabbed her gun and went into the forest near the base and shit shot and got out of her head.

She comes back to base around midnight and runs into Ghost in the hall they just stop and stare at each other, not sure what move to make. Eventually, she moves and passes him, “I'm sorry”.The next thing he knows he's up against the wall knife, pressed against him. “I don't need pity”, he knows he should be quiet but still hes gotta make this clear. “I ain't got no pity for you I'm sorry we pushed you to have to do all that to make us see”. She know Konig will give her the nice answer but now she wanted the real one, “why why do people always pick me when sniffing out rats?” “It's happened before”, she nods, “your quiet sulk in the corner makes it easy for people to assume shit and put words in your mouth happens to me too and your good really fucking good, a lot of groups would want someone with your skill, and not everyone is capable of being a good double”, she nods taking it in, she lets him go and steps back and walks away,

They go on another mission and shit goes south badly the guys are stuck and she's not in a position to cover them, Konig tells her to get out don't let them find you too nightcore. They all know it's the smart move but then they hear a vulgar string of curses come through the line and she ends it by saying “You know I can't leave you bastard”. Konig curses and Price says “What's she doing”, “She won't leave men behind even if it means her life”, Ghost says “She's gotta know better right she's smart”, konig says “Yeah she's the best I've ever seen but being captured changed her, her old team left her and never looked back. I was on an unrelated mission when I found her and she vowed to be better and never leave a man behind”.Moments later they hear explosions and shots, fast ones like it's more than one shooter, Konig says “That's her”. A big blast goes off that rattles the ground and not long after the door to their holes is opened and there stands her heavily disguised figure. When they walk out they see she got them all by herself she got them, they are all wondering how it shouldn't be possible. She goes up hugs Konig then punches him and says “You really thought I'd fucking leave you, dumbass, I've dragged your big back ass through endless snow before and you think id leave you now, hell or high water Konig you know that.”

[thatchickmaya]

Commission illustration for settlemyerauthor on insta of her characters from her upcoming spicy romance book.

[morallysuperiorlips]

Writing a Female Character? Keep These Tips in Mind!

Messy is GOOD: In a world where everyone seems to want to write a demure and mindful woman, or a put-together gunslinging “not like other girls” badass, do us a solid and show us the messy girls. Show us the girls who are god awful at coping with their trauma. Show us the girls who are fucking trainwrecks in their daily lives. Show us the girls going through it, and going through it poorly.

Don’t dumb down your male characters to match her freak: I don’t know who needs to hear this, but PSA—making your male characters seem stupid in comparison to your female character doesn’t do any favors for her or your narrative. Dumbing down other characters for her sake might have the opposite effect of what your intentions are. There is nothing wrong with writing a smart woman alongside smart men. In my humble opinion, it makes for better storytelling when everyone is on the same page.

If you would do it for a male character, do it for your female characters: This is something I don’t think I need to explain, but I’m going to do it anyway. If you have a male character, and you go through the hoops of defining his goals, establishing his emotional depth, giving him his deep-set purpose in the story, developing his relationships with other characters, etc., then guess what? You can do those same things for a female character. The only difference between them is their gender, but both sides are equally as capable of being nuanced. This also applies to actually writing the exposition. Would you spend 6 paragraphs describing the figure of a male character? Or focus so heavily his physical traits that they start to define his character? If not, then don’t do it for your females!

Gender roles can get fucked: Of course, if your intent is to write a story with more “traditional” gender roles for whatever your reasoning is, more power to you. But if not, they hold no power over you, your story, or your fictional ladies. If the plot allows it, find ways to venture outside those societal norms, whether that’s in the way your female character thinks or acts, or what her occupation is, etc.

Strong female lead =/= emotionless, tough, “badass”: When a lot of people think of a “strong female lead,” they think of women who seem to defy the traditional female role in a story. As a result, you usually end up with these hardcore gals who appear to be written as a sort of an antithesis of what society thinks are “feminine traits,” with emphasis on how little emotion she shows, how “tough” she is, and how she overtakes every situation she’s in. These are NOT bad traits to put in a woman; not by a long shot. But the best characters are nuanced—she’s not always going to be in a state of low-emotion toughness. She’s not always going to be this perfect beacon of leadership. She’s going to have lapses in judgement. She’s going to make mistakes. She’s going to grow and change, just like all people do. And that doesn’t subtract from her being a “badass.” Women are fully capable of being “badasses” while working through mistakes, hitting their lows, or showcasing some vulnerability.

Remember her agency: I said previously that you shouldn’t be dumbing down male characters to bolster her, but that’s not an excuse to wreck her agency in the story. Her decisions within the plot should still matter, and they shouldn’t be entirely based around or influenced by other characters just for the hell of it. Not everything she does needs to be for someone else; she is her own person, with her own reasons and goals behind her choices.

[fuckyeahmarxismleninism]

April 7, 1930: Birthday of Comrade Vilma Espín, Cuban revolutionary, anti-imperialist guerrilla fighter, founder of the Federation of Cuban Women - Federación de Mujeres Cubanas. She made a crucial contribution as an early champion of queer rights in socialist Cuba.

Last year I learned from her daughter, Mariela Castro Espín, that Vilma initiated what would eventually become Cenesex under the auspices of the women’s federation. She was responsible for importing and publishing scientific and political materials from the German Democratic Republic on LGBTQ rights, contributing to Cuba becoming a leading example of queer and trans rights today.

Vilma also rescued the records of the Women's International Democratic Federation - Federación Democrática Internacional de Mujeres during the counterrevolution in Eastern Europe in 1990, and made sure Cuba undertook keeping the global women’s organization alive. Today Women In Struggle - Mujeres En Lucha is a proud member of the WIDF.

-redguard

[meddlingstarks]

Fourth Wing // Violet Sorrengail

“I am the sky and the power of every storm that has ever been. I am infinite.” 

[luzisahomosexual]

I believe in female main character supremacy🫡

[eefkakiss]

༺.𝕻𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖔𝖋 𝕬𝖑𝖋𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖒: 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖁 𝖔𝖚𝖙𝖋𝖎𝖙 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖕𝖙.༻

..Path of Alfheim: Chapter V outfit concept..

I wanted to illustrate how I imagined the FMC dressed during the feast in chapter 5.

I'm a sucker for loose tunics and leather corsets and a lot of my original characters tend to include these items in their wardrobe.

With that being said, this version of the reader is a bit more female-presenting in comparison to the assassin version I've designed. While the fan-fiction does tag the protagonist as female I understand if someone may not, explicitly, like to show off their more feminine features. It's something that I, personally, experience from time to time.

While these character/outfit illustartions are created to my own liking and preferences I want to keep up with the more androgynous concepts since some readers relate to my designs. (Which I appreciate so much!) (シ_ _)シ

I feel like this ambiguous, grey blob (as ms. @𝖍3𝖑𝖋𝖆𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊 herself, so kindly put it) is the perfect base to use for representing the FMC and it makes it easier for others to reference. But I will, definitely, be posting more doodles/drabbles with my rendition of the protag (scars and all).

[the-pre-quiz]

y'all what even is sophie foster's personality

from all i've seen it's basically just: unique special girl raised with humans wow! brown eyes wow! genetic experiment wow! way overpowered! can't choose between boys! generic ya fantasy fmc!

like we can see keefe's and fitz's a bit more clearly but sophie's is very focused on what she can do vs her personality? (my english teacher would not like it)

maybe i've been reading too much fanfiction

[thejudeduarte]

Tell me why there are 0 fmcs which wear glasses.

[nestasminiaturepegasus]

‘Strong female characters’

People want ‘strong female characters’ until one of them shows real flaws and growth…sorry I forgot we only like women when they’re perfectly palatable, my bad.

[kimolisai]

Using Bing Create with the prompt: African american woman wearing a chunky sweater, holding a cup of hot chocolate and a book, in a cozy city apartment at night and it's snowing outside in the style of a storybook, watercolour

[demoralised]

Puma

[dragons-library]

If there’s one thing about me, as much as I love the mmc I’ll always be team fmc, forever. That’s my girl. That’s who I’m always rooting for. I’ll always have her back.

[highladyofterrasen7]

The MMC in every book

[cheynovak]

Forged - Part one

Summary: Calista is a young woman who lives with her uncle and nephew since her parents died, one day 'the God king's' guards under the leadership of a knight come to town. Looking for young women to present to the crown prince Cyrus (Luke Evans) , who is in search of a wife before he can claim the throne. Calista meets the handsome Knight Ezra (Jensen Ackles) who doesn't seem to be who she thinks he is. Will she fall for the dark intriguing prince, or will she fall for the guidance and warmth of Ezra?

        

Warnings: Nothing too explicitly in the story.

English is not my first language

Words:  7900

Part 1 out of... I'm sorry I want to put so much into it, that it is getting to long for one shot.

*This story is my own original story, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

The forge was always hot, always alive. It was a place where sweat and strength melded with metal, transforming raw material into objects of beauty and utility. My uncle Henry thrived here, his rough hands and muscled arms constantly engaged in the ceaseless dance of the smith. My young cousin Micah and I lived in the small cottage behind the forge, where the clanging of hammers was our lullaby. 

Today was like any other, or so it seemed. I was sweeping the front of the shop when the silence was disturbed by the sound of hoofs, many, many hoofs. A royal knight of the gods arrived, with a few guards. All working to protect the kingdom of the Gods.

Guards where humans who wanted to become godly in hope to claim the title of knight one day.   

Their arrival was announced by the shimmering of their armour, so brilliant in the sunlight that it appeared forged from gold itself. Micah, who was playing with a wooden sword nearby, stopped mid-swing, his eyes wide with wonder. 

"Calista! Look at them!" he exclaimed, dropping his toy and running over to me. His face was alight with excitement, a stark contrast to the sooty, sweaty atmosphere of our world. 

"They are quite a sight," I agreed, smiling at his enthusiasm. “Why do you think they are here?” I had no idea. Uncle Henry emerged from the forge, wiping his brow with a cloth. The heat and soot of the forge clung to him. 

When he saw the royal guards, his expression shifted from one of routine fatigue to wary alertness. It was unusual for the them to stop in a town like ours unless there was trouble. They were notorious for their strict enforcement of the gods' laws, but to children like Micah, they were heroes in shining armour. 

"Calista, Micah, get back into the shop," Uncle Henry ordered, his voice firm. 

Micah hesitated, his eyes glued to the guards. I gently tugged his hand, leading him back toward the shop. As we retreated, my eyes met briefly with the leader, the knight. His helmet obscured most of his face, but his piercing green eyes were unmistakable. There was something about him, a depth that both intrigued and unsettled me. I quickly looked away, ushering Micah inside. 

"Why did we have to leave?" Micah asked, his voice tinged with disappointment. 

"It's not safe to be around them," I explained, closing the door behind us. "Uncle Henry just wants to make sure we're out of harm's way." 

Micah's shoulders slumped, but he didn't argue. Instead, he moved to the window, peeking out at the guards as they talked to my uncle and tended to their horses. I could see the longing in his eyes, the desire to be part of their world. I understood that longing, anything was better than this dusty place, though I would never admit it out loud. 

Inside the shop, the air started to cool down, the familiar smell of metal and soot providing a strange comfort. Uncle Henry joined us shortly after, his expression serious. "They're looking for young women to attend their prince his party.” After that he mumbled something about finding the right coal to press a diamond from.  

Uncle Henry said quietly. "Best we stay out of their way until they leave. They are staying the night and asked to take care of their horses."  

"The God prince?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. We heard stories all our life, but never seen the sons of the God King. Uncle Henry shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Just stay inside and keep an eye on Micah." 

That night, we stayed inside, the usual warmth and clamour of the forge replaced by a tense silence. As I lay in my shared bed with Micah, my thoughts moved back to the knight with green eyes until Micah spoke sleepy "I want to be like them,"  

"I know," I replied, holding him closer to me. “And one day you will prove the Gods you are worthy.” "I will," he promised himself before drifting to sleep.   

-- 

The next morning, after making sure the fire was hot enough for my uncle to work, I took Micah to the market. He skipped beside me hoping we would see some guards.  

The market was bustling with activity, and as we moved through the stalls, I noticed a few of the guards buying food. They looked at me, their eyes lingering longer than necessary. I scanned their faces, but he wasn't among them. 

I knew what they must see, the ugly poor girl with ashy dark long brown hair and brown eyes, and a dress stained from the coal I carried for my uncle. I hated the way I looked, except for my eyes. I had my mother's eyes, big and dark, and they were the one part of myself I took pride in. 

As we continued through the market, I saw the Jamerson sisters flirting with the guards. They welcomed their attention, giggling and tossing their perfectly white blond curled hair, batting their bright blue eyes. The guards seemed to enjoy the attention, smiling and chatting with them. I wondered if it was like this everywhere the guards went. Did people always fawn over them, despite their notoriety? 

The Jamerson’s were part from beautiful also the richest families in this town, the gems of our community, every man would want their hand in marriage, and they knew. While me, just a working-class girl with dirt under her fingernails and dirty straight hair couldn’t even dream of marriage.  

"Calista, can we get some apples?" Micah's voice broke through my thoughts. "Of course," I said, smiling down at him. We approached the fruit stand, and I handed over a few silver coins to the vendor, who gave us a friendly nod. 

As we picked our apples, I couldn't help but overhear snippets of conversation from the guards nearby. 

"...only the blonds? The captain wont be pleased." 

"Keep looking. The one he wanted has to be here somewhere." 

Micah and I moved on, but their words stayed with me. They were searching for 'The one” and it seemed urgent. I wondered who it could be and what she had to be like. Maybe even dreaming of what it would be, living like a god. But I wouldn’t or couldn’t leave my family.  

Micah reached for an apple with too much enthusiasm, and it slipped from his hand, tumbling onto the ground. Several others followed, scattering across the cobblestones. The marketeer, a stout man with a furrowed brow, immediately rounded on us. 

"Hey! You need to pay for that!" he barked, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "I'm so sorry," I apologized, quickly bending down to pick up the fallen apples. Before I could gather them all, a pair of strong hands joined mine, lifting the fruit from the ground.  

I looked up and found myself staring into those same piercing green eyes from the day before. The knight handed the apples back to Micah, but his gaze remained locked on me. 

I was baffled, unable to speak as he turned to the marketeer and paid for the fruit. "No harm done," he said, his voice steady and commanding. I took in his face, unable to look away.  

His eyes were bright yet commanding, a few fine lines on his face, his eyes an intense emerald green that seemed to see right through me. His brown hair slightly longer and hung partly in his face but was just a little shorter on the sides, catching the sunlight and giving off a slight golden silky shine. His beard added a ruggedness to his godly features. 

He notices me staring, "T-thank you," I stammered, finally finding my voice I saw the crest on his armour, he was the captain. 

He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Be careful next time," he said to Micah, ruffling his hair gently before turning back to me. "It's easy to get lost in the hustle of the market." 

I nodded, still stunned. " Thank you." He lingered for a moment, his gaze softening. "What's your name?" he asked. 

"Calista," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. 

"Calista," he repeated, as if tasting the sound of it. A small smile curved his lips, making his eyes even more captivating. "Is your father a good smith, Calista?"  

I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me. "He’s my uncle, actually, Micah's father." I corrected, my voice stumbling slightly as I held my nephew close in front of me. "But yes, he's the best." His smile widened. "I'll be sure to remember that. It's rare to find skilled people these days." 

Micah clung to my side, his eyes still wide with admiration. “I want to be a knight  someday." he blurted out, unable to contain his excitement. “I’m sure you will.” he said, ruffling Micah's hair again before kneeling to match his height. "But even knights have to start somewhere. Helping your family is a good beginning." 

Micah nodded vigorously, as if receiving the most important advice of his life. "I will! I promise!" he said grabbing my bags from my hands. Showing the Knight he meant it.

He nodded once more and then turned to rejoin his comrades, who were finishing their purchases. As he walked away, I couldn't help but watch him, his commanding presence standing out even in the bustling market. 

"Calista," Micah said, tugging at my sleeve. "Can we get some sweets too?" I said we didn't have the money for sweets today, Micah lifted a coin, gold with the emblem of the gods. I looked at the knight. He nodded once more and then left with the other guards. 

I smiled, the tension of the moment easing. "Alright, let's get some sweets," I said, leading him towards the candy stall. As we made our way through the market, I couldn't shake the feeling of his eyes on me, the way he had looked at me as if seeing something more. It was a feeling both thrilling and unsettling, and I knew it was one I wouldn't forget anytime soon. 

Back at the forge, Uncle Henry was busy at work, the rhythmic sound of his hammer echoing through the air. Micah ran inside to show off the sweets we had bought, but I lingered at the door, my thoughts still on him. 

Uncle Henry glanced up and saw me standing there. "Everything alright, Calista?" he asked, wiping his hands on his apron. "Yes," I replied, finally stepping inside. "Just thinking." 

"About that knight ?" Micah asked, uncle looked at me, a confused look in his eyes. 

I nodded. "He's different. There's something about him..." Uncle Henry chuckled. "Be careful, Calista. The guards, especially the knights of the gods are not like us. Their lives are full of duty, danger and women." 

"I know," I said softly. "But he was kind. And he paid for the apples and gave us a gold coin." Uncle Henry's expression softened. "Kindness is rare in their world. And rarely comes for free." 

As the day went on, I tried to focus on my chores, but the knight's face kept appearing in my mind. His green eyes, his smile, the way he had spoken to Micah and me—it all felt like a dream. A small part of me hoped I would see him when he picked up his horse. As evening approached, I heard voices outside the forge. One was deep and steady, unmistakably the knight’s, but my uncle sounded upset. 

Curiosity got the better of me. I sneaked to the door and peeked out. He saw me immediately and smiled. "Why don't you ask what she wants?" he said to my uncle, his voice calm and steady. 

Uncle Henry looked defeated, his shoulders slumped. "Ask me what?" I stepped out hesitantly. The man turned to me, his eyes gentle but serious. "Calista, I've come to offer you an invitation. There is a ball at the palace in honour of Prince Cyrus. He is searching across the realms for the most beautiful women, hoping to find his bride." 

I was in shock, unable to process his words. "But I'm not beautiful," I blurted out, my insecurities surfacing. His lip twitched, almost a smile. "All diamonds were carbon once," he said softly. 

I felt a sting of offense. I knew I wasn't beautiful, but to call me that... "So, you think I'm like a piece of coal?" I retorted, my voice tinged with hurt. 

He stepped closer, his expression earnest. "Calista, I didn't mean to offend you. What I mean is that you have the potential for greatness and beauty. If you were to be chosen, your family could live on the palace grounds. Your uncle would become the royal smith, and Micah would have a greater chance to become a knight." 

"But why me?" I asked, still incredulous. He smiled again, a warmth in his eyes that made my heart flutter. "Because I see something special in you. You may not see it yet, but I do." 

I hesitated, torn between doubt and the possibilities he offered. The chance to improve our lives, to give Micah a better future... it was tempting. "What would I have to do?" I asked finally. 

"Attend the ball," he said simply. "Let the prince see you. The rest is up to fate." I looked at Uncle Henry, seeking his guidance. He nodded slowly. Micah must have sneaked up on us. His face lit up with hope. "Please, Calista! Say yes!" 

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his expectations, I would do anything for my family, for those who were left. "Alright," I said, my voice steadying. "I'll go to the ball." 

"Wonderful. I will make the arrangements. We leave tomorrow at first light."  As he turned to leave, I felt a mix of excitement and fear. The future seemed suddenly uncertain, filled with both promise and peril.  

That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead. The thought of the palace, the ball, and the prince filled my dreams, but it was the nameless knight’s emerald eyes that stayed with me. 

The journey to the castle was on horseback, and I found myself escorted alongside the Jamerson sisters. We rode in a silent procession towards a portal that would take us to the palace. The knight kept quiet, not even looking at us, while the other guards constantly talked and flirted with the two sisters. I couldn't help but wonder how many girls they had invited. 

As we approached the portal, an uneasy feeling washed over me. The air shimmered with a magical energy, and a drowsiness began to settle over us. I realized it must have been magic by the gods, a means to ensure their safety and to keep mortals from discovering the portals and borders of their realm. My eyelids grew heavy, and before I knew it, I was slipping into a deep sleep. 

When I woke up, I was lying in a bed so large that I couldn't touch the ends even if I wanted to. The sheets were silk, soft against my skin, and the room was bathed in a gentle light. Roses adorned the walls, and golden details highlighted the exquisite furniture. It was a room fit for royalty, far beyond anything I had ever imagined. 

I sat up slowly, taking in my surroundings. The bed canopy was adorned with delicate lace, and a chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow. The scent of roses filled the air, and I felt a mixture of awe and nervousness. 

A soft knock at the door startled me. "Come in," I called out, my voice still groggy from sleep. 

A maid entered, her demeanour respectful but warm. "Good morning, miss. I hope you slept well. I am here to help you prepare for the day." 

"Thank you," I replied, still a bit dazed. "Where am I exactly?" 

"You are in the guest quarters of the palace," the maid explained as she approached the bed. "The ball in honour of Prince Cyrus will be held tonight. There are many preparations to be made." 

I nodded, still trying to process everything. The maid helped me out of bed and led me to a dressing area where a beautiful gown awaited. It was a deep royal blue. The fabric shimmered with an almost ethereal glow.  

As the maid helped me bath and dressed, I couldn't help but ask, "How many girls were invited?" 

"Quite a few from all over the realms," she replied. "The prince wishes to meet as many as possible in his search for a bride." I took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety. "And the guards, do they often bring girls here?" 

The maid smiled knowingly. "They do their duty, but each guard is different. Some are more honourable than others. And as long as the guard hold on to their duty the King and his sons don’t mind who they spend their time with." 

I thought of the ones I met, and him, his quiet, steady presence, I couldn’t picture him in any brothels or a different girl by his side every night... But he was still a man. Even if there was something about him that felt different, more sincere. 

Once I was dressed, the maid led me to a grand hall where other young women were gathered, including the Jamerson sisters. They looked as excited as ever, their faces glowing with anticipation. The guards were present too, their demeanour more formal in the presence of so many guests. 

As I stood there, waiting for the day to unfold, I couldn't help but feel a flutter of hope. The palace was a place of magic and possibility, and though I still felt out of place, I was determined to make the most of this opportunity. 

The day passed in a blur of preparations. We were groomed, pampered, and taught the proper etiquette for the evening. The other girls chattered excitedly, their nerves evident. I tried to stay calm, focusing on the promise I had made. This was a chance to change my family's life, to give Micah a better future. 

As the sun began to set, we were finally led to the grand ballroom. The room was magnificent, with chandeliers casting a golden light over everything. Every girl was presented to the King and his sons. Yes, plural—no one knew he had two. 

Al though the other one seemed to be running late? The king and the prince seemed similar dark haired men, but I was too far out of sight to really take them in. I waited till it was my turn.  

My nerves made my hands tremble as I watched the floor, trying not to trip over my own feet in the unfamiliar heels. When my turn came, I approached the King, my heart pounding in my chest. I knelt before him, expressing my gratitude for the invitation. Then I looked up, seeing the prince on his right side. 

Prince Cyrus had pitch-black hair and cold, piercing green eyes. His jaw was sharp, and he was stunning in his black, simple yet elegant ensemble with golden details. His lips lifted slightly in a reserved smile. "It is an honour to meet you, my prince" I said, my voice steady despite my nerves. 

"The honour is mine" he replied curtly, his gaze assessing me. Then I heard a familiar voice, and my head snapped towards the left side of the King. "I'm sorry I'm late, Father." He kissed the ring of the King. It was him, the nameless knight. The realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. 

The king waved at him, “Take a seat, Ezra. You haven’t missed much.”  

He smiled softly and nodded for me to look back at Prince Cyrus, who raised an eyebrow, curious about my distraction. I managed a clumsy curtsy, my heart racing, and stumbled slightly as I walked away, trying to process what I had just learned. 

As I stood there, taking it all in, lost in thought, looking at all the women trying to earn the prince his attention, many far more beautiful than me. A hand gently touched my shoulder. I turned to see Ezra, or rather, Prince Ezra, standing before me. His eyes were warm, and his smile reassuring. 

"Calista," he said softly, "I'm sorry for the deception. I wanted to get to know you without the title and the expectations. I hope you can forgive me." 

I nodded, my heart still pounding. "I understand. It’s just a lot to take in." 

Ezra smiled, his eyes reflecting genuine warmth. “I wanted to find a girl who is good for my brother, not one who is throwing herself at royalty,” he said, his gaze flicking briefly to the Jamerson sisters. 

I looked down, feeling a pang of self-doubt. “I’m afraid I’m too plain for your brother. He won't see me amongst these beautiful women."

Ezra thought for a moment, then extended his hand towards me. “May I have this dance?” My nerves fluttered. “I’ve never danced before,” I admitted. 

“That’s alright,” he said with a reassuring smile. “I’ll guide you.” 

As the music changed to a soft, elegant waltz, Ezra led me to the dance floor. The room seemed to hold its breath as everyone else left the floor, their eyes turning towards us. The attention was both exhilarating and daunting. 

I whispered to Ezra, “Everyone’s watching us.” He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against my ear. “Even my brother’s eyes are on you now,” he murmured. 

I glanced towards Prince Cyrus, who was observing us with a thoughtful expression. Ezra’s words made me even more nervous, but I focused on the warmth and steadiness of his hand as he guided me through the steps. 

The first few moments were shaky, but Ezra’s calm presence made it easier. He moved gracefully, his confidence providing a steady rhythm for me to follow. As we twirled and glided across the floor, the initial awkwardness faded, replaced by a surprising sense of ease. Ezra’s touch was gentle but firm, leading me with a skill that seemed almost effortless. 

“You’re doing beautifully,” he said softly, his eyes meeting mine. “Just follow my lead.” I nodded, trying to relax into the dance. The music swirled around us, and with each step, I felt more at ease. The elegant movements and the rhythm of the dance began to sweep away my anxieties. 

Ezra’s gaze remained fixed on me, and despite the many eyes on us, I felt like we were alone in the ballroom, lost in our own world. His smile was encouraging, and there was a warmth in his eyes that made me feel special and valued. 

As the dance came to an end, Ezra twirled me gracefully and led me back to the edge of the floor. The applause and whispers from the guests blended into a soft hum, but all I could focus on was Ezra’s reassuring presence. 

“Thank you,” I said breathlessly. Ezra’s smile was gentle before he stepped away. I glanced around at the other guests, feeling a new sense of confidence. Prince Cyrus’s gaze still lingered on me, I bowed softly, and the Jamerson sisters looked at me with a mix of surprise and jealousy.  

As the evening continued, I felt a renewed sense of hope. The palace, once so intimidating, now felt less daunting. Ezra's presence had transformed the grand, overwhelming space into something more manageable and welcoming. I no longer felt like a stranger in a foreign world but rather as though I had found a tentative ally in the midst of all the opulence and formality. 

As I mingled with the other guests, I kept glancing over to where Ezra was conversing with his father and Prince Cyrus. Each time our eyes met, he offered a reassuring smile or a subtle nod, a reminder that I wasn’t alone in this grand and unfamiliar environment. 

 The evening wore on with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. I tried to engage with others, learning more about the palace and its guests, but my thoughts frequently drifted back to Ezra. He seemed to be making an effort to ensure that I felt included and valued, a gesture that was not lost on me.  

Dinner was served, and the grand dining hall was filled with the clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversation. The long, opulent table stretched across the room, lined with guests in their finest attire. I had been placed at the far end of the table, a position that felt both isolated and distant from the heart of the evening’s events. 

Prince Cyrus, seated at the head of the table next to his father, seemed to be in deep conversation with Ezra. After a brief exchange, a servant approached me, a polite but firm expression on their face. “Excuse me, Miss Calista. Prince Cyrus requests that you switch places with Lady Eliza.” My heart skipped a beat my eyes darted to Ezra, who was seated at the opposite end of the table. He met my gaze with a reassuring nod, and I took a deep breath, rising from my seat. 

As I moved to the seat next to Prince Cyrus, I felt a mixture of nerves and excitement. Sitting closer to him, even if he wasn't directly engaging with me, felt like a small but significant shift in my favour. 

The dinner continued, and Prince Cyrus and I sat in silence while he conversed with his father and brother. The conversation was animated, and though I was not directly involved, I could sense the undercurrents of the evening’s discussions. I kept my posture upright and my demeanour composed, doing my best to blend in and make a positive impression. 

Ezra, seated across from us, seemed to notice my quiet discomfort. He leaned forward slightly, catching my eye with a supportive glance. “Lady Calista,” he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear, “you should know that your uncle is indeed highly regarded as a horse smith. His work is impressive, even by our standards.” 

I smiled gratefully at Ezra’s attempt to include me in the conversation. “Thank you, your highness.” I replied softly. “He’s dedicated to his craft. It means a lot to me that you think highly of his work.” 

Ezra nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Perhaps he can find a spot amongst our staff at the tables.” Prince Cyrus glanced briefly at our exchange but quickly returned to his conversation with his father. I took comfort in Ezra’s presence and his efforts to make me feel more included. 

As the dinner continued, the plates were cleared, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics. I found myself more at ease, aided by Ezra’s occasional attempts to draw me into the discussion. His kindness and the small gestures of support helped me feel less like an outsider. 

At one point, Prince Cyrus turned his attention to me, his piercing green eyes assessing me with a new curiosity. “So, Calista,” he said, his tone polite but distant, “what do you think about the palace so far?” 

I took a moment to gather my thoughts, trying to keep my response genuine yet tactful. “The palace is incredibly impressive,” I said, glancing around at the opulent surroundings. “It’s a world so different from my own, but it’s fascinating to experience it firsthand. I’m grateful for the opportunity.” 

Prince Cyrus nodded, seeming to consider my words. “I’m glad you’re finding it intriguing. It’s not often we have guests from such different backgrounds.”  the way he said those words, I had no idea if he liked of dislikes it. But the side eye to his brother was clear.  

As the evening drew to a close, I retired to my chambers, my mind still buzzing from the day’s events. The opulence of the palace and the complexity of court life had left me both exhilarated and overwhelmed. The next morning, after a restless night, I decided to take a stroll through the palace grounds to clear my head and find some solace in the beauty of my surroundings. 

I wandered through the vast corridors and winding paths until I discovered a hidden garden, a serene oasis of lush greenery and blooming flowers. At the heart of the garden was a tranquil lake, its surface reflecting the soft morning light. The atmosphere was peaceful, a stark contrast to the grandeur of the palace’s interior. 

As I approached the lake, I spotted Prince Cyrus sitting on the edge, leaning on his hands, face towards the sun, his black shirt was slightly open, revealing a glimpse of his toned chest.  

His presence was striking, and for a moment, I was captivated by his beauty. The sight of him in such a relaxed, informal setting was a departure from the formalities of the previous evening. 

He looked nothing like his brother and yet, in some subtle ways, they were very much alike. My gaze must have lingered longer than intended, as Prince Cyrus turned and noticed me staring. I felt a flush of embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly, my cheeks heating. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

Prince Cyrus’s eyes softened slightly, and he gestured for me to come closer. “No need to apologize, Calista. Please, join me.” 

I hesitated for a moment, my heart racing as I approached him. The garden was peaceful, and the tranquillity seemed to offer a moment of reprieve from the grandeur of the palace. As I reached the edge of the lake, Prince Cyrus patted the grass beside him, inviting me to sit. 

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” he said, his voice warm and welcoming. I gingerly sat down on the grass next to him, the soft blades cushioning my weight. The morning sun cast a gentle glow over the scene, and the ripples on the lake shimmered in the light. Despite the initial awkwardness, the atmosphere felt surprisingly relaxed. 

Prince Cyrus leaned back on his elbows, his gaze fixed on the water. “I often come here to find some peace away from the formalities of palace life. It’s a rare moment of solitude.” 

I looked at him, noting how different he appeared. "It’s beautiful here,” I said, taking in the serene surroundings. 

“It is,” he agreed, casting a sidelong glance at me. His expression grew more curious as he asked, “So, why are you here, Calista?”  

I looked at him, slightly confused by his question. "I get the sense that you’re not entirely comfortable with attention and spotlight.” he added. “I suppose you’re right. I’m not used to being in the centre of attention. I’ve always been more of a behind-the-scenes kind of person.” 

Cyrus smiled, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I understand... Although, from what I saw last night, you handled the attention quite well while dancing in my brothers arms.” I felt a flush of warmth at the memory of our dance. It had been a moment of unexpected connection, and the compliment, even indirectly, made me feel good. “I suppose I did manage to hold my own,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. 

Cyrus’s smile faltered slightly, and I noticed a flicker of displeasure in his eyes. “I see,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “Well, perhaps it’s not entirely surprising given the circumstances, he did meet you first.”  

“Tell me,” Cyrus continued, his gaze intense and probing, “are you here for the throne, me, or my brother?” 

I took a moment to gather my thoughts, trying to navigate the delicate balance of honesty and diplomacy. “I’m not here for the throne,” I began, choosing my words carefully. “I’m no queen, but my dream is for my family to have everything they can dream of."

"And hoping to be wed to a man who truly cares for me. Your brother must have seen something in me to bring me here, but beyond that, I do wish to meet you, my prince. Maybe next time, you could be faster and ask me to dance first.” 

A flicker of something—perhaps surprise or amusement—crossed Cyrus’s face. His cold green eyes softened slightly, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips. “You certainly have a way with words, Calista.” 

I smiled, hoping to defuse any lingering tension. “I only speak from the heart. I’m here to experience and to learn, and if that includes getting to know both you and your brother, then I’m open to it.” 

Cyrus studied me for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “It’s not often that someone expresses their intentions so candidly. I suppose it’s refreshing in its own way.” 

The brief moment of shared understanding seemed to bridge the gap between us. Despite his usual reserved demeanour, Cyrus appeared to appreciate the honesty and directness I had offered. 

“I’ll keep your suggestion in mind,” Prince Cyrus said, his tone hard and final. It was clear that the conversation had reached its end, and I took it as my cue to leave. I bid him a polite farewell and made my way back through the palace, feeling a mix of emotions. 

In the following days, the atmosphere in the palace grew increasingly tense. Only five girls remained from the initial group, and each of us had been assigned to participate in various courses designed to test our skills and suitability. Each night was filled with grand balls, and tonight was no exception. 

I stood in the ballroom, surrounded by a sea of elegant gowns and glittering chandeliers. The air was thick with anticipation as guests mingled and the orchestra played a lively tune. Despite the festive atmosphere, I felt a pang of unease. I hadn’t seen Ezra in what felt like forever, and his absence was a notable void. 

As I scanned the room, I noticed a distinct emptiness where Ezra's throne usually was. I had grown accustomed to his reassuring presence, and his absence was keenly felt. The remaining girls, each vying for the prince’s attention, were not particularly kind or supportive. Their whispers and glances were sharp, and I felt the weight of their scrutiny. 

Prince Cyrus, dressed in his customary black, eventually stood and walked onto the dance floor. My heart skipped a beat when I realized he was making his way toward me. The realization came late, and I almost missed the opportunity to prepare myself. 

He approached with a measured stride, his expression inscrutable. “Calista,” he said, extending his hand. “May I have this dance?” 

I hesitated for a moment, then placed my hand in his. His touch was firm and commanding, and I felt the strength in his grip through the layers of my heavy gown. We began to move in sync with the music, and as we danced, I could feel the eyes of the other girls on us. 

Prince Cyrus leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “You dance well,” he murmured. “Though, of course, the competition is fierce. It’s interesting to see how some of you handle the pressure.” 

I tried to focus on the dance and not let his words unsettle me. “Thank you, Your Highness,” I said softly, attempting to maintain my composure. 

His whispers continued, each one laced with veiled criticism. “You have a certain grace, though it’s clear you are still learning the ways of the court,” he said, his voice carrying an edge. “It’s a challenging environment, and not everyone can adapt as quickly as others. May I suggest you spend some time in our library, learning about our past.” 

I felt a tightening in my chest as he spoke. His compliments, though seemingly kind on the surface, were undercut with reminders of my perceived inadequacies. The way he spoke made it clear that while he acknowledged my presence, he saw me as still falling short of the expectations of court life. 

Despite the sting of his words, I tried to focus on the positive aspects of our interaction. The dance itself was a reprieve from the tense atmosphere, and the closeness of our bodies in motion provided a rare moment of connection. 

As the music came to an end, Prince Cyrus guided me back to my seat beside him. The transition was smooth, but the weight of the moment felt heavy. The other girls—those remaining in the competition—shot me sharp, envious glances. I could feel their eyes on me, a mix of irritation and speculation. 

I took my seat, trying to steady my breathing. Despite the intimate dance and the seemingly special attention from Prince Cyrus, he remained silent, his gaze turned toward the dance floor or engaged in conversation with other guests. His aloofness was disheartening, especially after the whispered comments he had made during our dance. 

The silence between us was palpable, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I had done something wrong or if I was simply not meeting his expectations. The discomfort of being so close to him while receiving no further attention made me feel uneasy. I glanced at him occasionally, hoping for some sign of recognition or a hint of his thoughts, but he remained distant. 

Despite this, I tried to focus on the positive. The fact that I was sitting beside him, even if it felt uncomfortable and isolating, indicated that I was still in the running. Prince Cyrus’s silence was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, it meant there was less chance of making a misstep in conversation. On the other, it left me wondering about his true feelings and whether my efforts were making any impact. 

The hours passed, and eventually, the event began to wind down. Prince Cyrus remained reserved, his interactions with me minimal but polite. As the guests began to depart, he offered a brief nod in my direction, a gesture that felt both formal and dismissive. 

I stood up, preparing to leave, and took one last look at the prince. Despite his earlier remarks and the chilly distance, I hoped that my persistence and adaptability would eventually be recognized but he did not once look at me again. 

In the solitude of my room, the grandeur of the palace felt like an empty shell. I missed the warmth of my family, the comfort of familiar surroundings, and, oddly enough, Ezra’s reassuring presence. The opulence of the palace, though dazzling, seemed hollow without the connections that truly mattered. 

The next morning, my maid who seemed to wake me every morning needed to be my ally for the day, hoping to learn more about Ezra. “Where is Prince Ezra?” I asked, trying to keep the concern out of my voice. 

She looked up from brushing my hair, her expression somber. “He is out on a mission for the King. It’s one of his frequent duties. The King relies heavily on him.” 

I nodded, feeling a pang of disappointment. I had hoped to see Ezra soon, to find some solace in familiar company. “Can you tell me more about Prince Cyrus, he seems slightly younger than Ezra, yet I hear he is crown prince?” I inquired, curious about the prince whose presence seemed to dominate the palace. 

The maid hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully. “Prince Cyrus is indeed the one who will inherit the throne, if he finds a wife." she began. “However, it’s known that he is not well-liked by the people. He’s very much like his father—stern, cold, and focused on maintaining power through conflict.” 

I listened intently, trying to piece together the dynamics of the royal family. “And Prince Ezra?” I prompted gently. 

“Ezra is the oldest son,” she continued, her voice softening. “He chose not to take on the role of crown prince. He believes he is not fit to rule, and his decision has caused quite a bit of tension. He’s more like his mother, who was kind and compassionate, ruled with her heart, but she passed away some years ago.” 

Her words painted a clearer picture of the complex relationships within the royal family. “So, Ezra does a lot of the King’s work?” 

“Yes,” the maid confirmed. “Ezra often handles tasks and missions that the King delegates, especially those that involve delicate or dangerous matters. The King values him for his skills and dedication, though it means Ezra often bears the brunt of the Kingdom’s more difficult affairs.” 

The maid’s explanation helped me understand the dynamics I had witnessed. Ezra’s absence now made more sense in the context of his role and responsibilities. It also shed light on the strained relationship between the princes and their father. 

“Is there anything else I should know about Prince Cyrus or the royal family?” I asked, seeking more insight into the world I was navigating. 

The maid glanced around to ensure no one else was listening, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Rumor has it that Prince Cyrus is hesitant to marry, or at least, he’s reluctant to make anyone his queen. There’s a lot of speculation about why.” 

I leaned in, my curiosity piqued. “Why is that?” 

She continued quietly, her eyes darting around to make sure we weren’t overheard. “There’s talk that Cyrus fears betrayal. His former lover only wanted to marry him to kill him. Since he ordered to kill her former husband. The incident left a mark on him, and he’s wary of trusting anyone who might have the ambition or opportunity to undermine him.” I felt a chill at the mention of such intrigue. “So, is that why he seems so distant and guarded?” 

The maid's eyes flickered with a hint of caution as she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “There’s another version of the story that circulates among the servants and courtiers. Some say that Prince Cyrus’s former lover ran off with Prince Ezra.” 

I was taken aback. “Ran off with Ezra? What do you mean?” She nodded gravely. “Yes, it’s said that she shared a bed with him, no longer being pure, it would also explain why Ezra stepped down.”  

“Cyrus’s feelings toward Ezra are clouded by resentment and suspicion. Not only affected their personal relationship but has also created a rift within the royal family. Ezra, despite his own sense of duty and honour, bears the brunt of Cyrus’s distrust.” 

This new perspective on the relationship between Cyrus and Ezra deepened the intrigue surrounding the palace. It was evident that personal betrayals and rivalries had significant impacts on the dynamics within the royal family. 

"What if Cyrus doesn't marry? My maid looked at me and said. "If the King dies and the crown prince isn't married, the other gods in this realm will get a chance for the thrown via politics. And both Ezra and Cyrus will be killed."

“Thank you for sharing this,” I said, trying to process the gravity of what I had learned. 

That night, rest was elusive. The weight of the day's revelations and the uneasy atmosphere in the palace made sleep nearly impossible. Driven by a mix of curiosity and a need to clear my mind, I wandered through the castle’s quiet corridors, my footsteps echoing softly on the marble floors. 

I decided to do more research on the god and theor powers, learning only the god king and his childres posses the magic, the divine that gives them power to rule. When killed the power is giving to the one who killed, Marriage of the crown prince will secure the bloodline, Children can only be born from a mortal and a god...

After reading all the books I could, since the others were is foreign languages. I found myself hungry and drawn to the kitchen. The grand palace, despite its splendor, felt eerily empty at night. The only light came from the flickering lanterns, casting long shadows that seemed to dance on the walls. 

Approaching the kitchen, I heard the soft rustle of movement. When I peered inside, I was startled to see Prince Ezra standing by the pantry, his shirt off and his back to me. His movements were slow and cautious, and it was clear he was in pain. 

I hesitated for a moment, but then stepped inside. “Prince Ezra?” I called softly, not wanting to startle him. “What are you doing up?” 

He turned to face me, his expression a mixture of surprise and discomfort. His usually confidents were replaced with a look of weariness and distress. “Calista,” he said, his voice strained. “I didn’t expect to see anyone. Please just Ezra.” 

I noticed the fresh bandages wrapped around his ribs, but they were not sufficient for the injuries I could see. “You’re hurt,” I observed, taking a step closer. “Let me help.” 

Ezra seemed to hesitate, but then nodded, resigned. “Thank you.” He sat down on a nearby stool, and I fetched a first-aid kit from a cabinet. As I prepared the supplies, I couldn’t help but notice the freckles scattered across his chest, mirroring the ones on his face. The contrast between his rugged exterior and the vulnerability he displayed was striking. 

Carefully, I began to clean the wound on his ribs. Ezra winced slightly as I worked, but he remained still, his focus on the small plate of food he had taken from the pantry. The warmth of his skin against my fingers was unexpected, and I felt a flush of warmth spread through me, mixing with the concern I felt for his injuries. 

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” I said, trying to keep the conversation light despite the seriousness of the situation. “How did this happen?” 

Ezra sighed, looking away. “It’s nothing too serious. Just a skirmish with some troublemakers. It’s part of the job.” 

I nodded, concentrating on cleaning the wound and applying a fresh bandage. The silence between us was punctuated only by the soft rustling of fabric and the occasional clink of the utensils as I worked. The intimacy of the moment, combined with the vulnerability he displayed, created a strange but comforting connection. 

As I finished bandaging his wound, I looked up at Ezra, my hands lingering on his shoulders. “You should be more careful, Ezra. The palace needs you.” 

He met my gaze, his green eyes warm in the soft yellow light of the kitchen. A faint smile touched his lips. “Only the palace?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint something deeper. 

I felt a flutter of warmth spread through me at the way he looked at me. It was as if his eyes were trying to understand something more than just the immediate situation. My pulse quickened, and I felt a mix of nervousness and anticipation. 

I handed him his shirt, but he didn’t immediately put it on. Instead, he took a step closer to me, closing the space between us. The proximity made my heart race, and I could feel the heat of his body, a contrast to the cool night air. 

I shifted uneasily, unsure of what to do. “You should—” I began, but my voice faltered as he stepped even closer. His presence was both comforting and overwhelming, and I felt a surge of emotions that I wasn’t entirely prepared for. 

Ezra’s gaze remained fixed on me, his expression serious but gentle. “Calista,” he said softly, his hand reaching out to gently touch my arm. The warmth of his touch made my heart race, and I felt a surge of emotions that were difficult to suppress. His eyes landed on my lips. 

I stepped forward, my hand instinctively finding its place on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath my fingertips. His eyes held mine with an intensity that seemed to search for the right words.  

He swallowed, his voice steady, the atmosphere changed again. “You are exactly what my brother needs.” Confusion clouded my thoughts, and I blinked, trying to make sense of his words. “Only what your brother needs?” I asked feeling bold yet afraid to speak louder than a whisper.

I swore I saw Ezra's lips part while he ever so slow bended down towards me. His hand dropped to my side. My body leaned into him by lifting me on my toes.  

Ezra’s expression softened as he looked away, he looked down for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I have to go. T-thank you for...” He pointed to his side before he pulled his shirt over his head and left in the dark hallway.  

Leaving me alone, in the kitchen.

-------------------

What do you guys think? Good enough to continue?

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@jackles010378 @headinthemoon87

[amandacanwrite]

Here is a little sketch of my main characters from With Love, Juniper, my novel coming out later this year.

Oleander comes back home from two years away at witchy school as a Grown Man TM and Juniper, who is chronically unable to speak to attractive men has to somehow deal with her dear childhood friend being hot.

Emotional hijinks ensue.

PLEASE LOVE MY BOOK CHILDREN