#I Demand To Be Taken Seriously. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pencil-n-pen · 3 months ago

Text

I’M STILL TRYING EVERYTHING

⋆° 𐙚 ₊🧦☕🧸₊°⋆ ೀ₊°⋆

previous | kofi | masterlist

post prison!spencer reid x fem!reader

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I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me.

-mirrorball, taylor swift

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summary: you’ve never had a date or a relationship that either didn’t work out or end in disaster. now that you have spencer, you’re determined not to let it happen again

cw: referenced bad past relationships, very very vaguely referenced past domestic abuse that honestly could be taken a different way, referenced child abuse (readers parents are STILL not it) again this is a criminal minds fic so references to graphic violence

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort (do i even need to say this? you all know who i am) insecurity, like one line of misogyny and it’s in the past and not brought up again, spencer being soft n worried, HEALTHY COMMUNICATION, spencer is just as gone for reader as she is for him honestly he's just a sap

a/n: back by popular demand !! seriously guys, you have no idea how much the support and comments and reblogs and asks means to me 🥹 the overwhelming amount of love for the first fic made me so happy when people started asking about a sequel i knew i had to !!

read the crossword on the collage for a surprise :)

this one goes out to all my girlies who’ve ever felt like they needed to be less in order to get a boyfriend or keep one. we’ll have our soft love just the way it was meant to be

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Spencer is a really good boyfriend.

Like… a really good boyfriend. You’re not sure if this is how having a real boyfriend is or if Spencer is just like this.

He’s so good to you. He’s just so- so him. You can’t explain it. Can’t put it into words.

He’s very patient with you. You’ve never explicitly stated it, but he’s picked up on your previous relationship experience- or more accurately, your lack thereof. The morning after you’d gone home with him, night consisting of nothing but easy sleep and warmth, he’d asked you out for real. Asked you if you’d go on a date with him, and you’d agreed, a giddy smile fixed firmly on your face.

But you still worry.

All it takes it one conversation with your parents to push things over the edge.

“Yes, dad. He’s very good to me.”

A laugh crackles over the line. “I tell you, your mother and I never thought we’d see the day.”

The words twinge uncomfortably in your chest. “Hey, I’m not that bad. I’ve just been focused.”

“More like uptight.”

“Dad—“

“You know, you still haven’t come out to visit your poor old parents since getting this so-called cushy job. And now you’ve got this boyfriend. You’re too young to settle down. Don’t you think we should meet him?”

Sometimes conversations turn so quickly they leave you stranded— scrambling to pick up pieces of what you thought was going to happen and piece them together to make something new. Something for the new route the conversation has taken.

You couldn’t hold back your sigh if you tried. “We haven’t been dating for that long dad, I don’t want to spring this on him—“

“Sweetie, if we don’t meet him now, why might never meet him. Who knows how long he’s gonna stick around?”

(Sometimes, in moments like these, for just a split second, you wonder how a father could say something like that, to his daughter. You wonder why, wonder what you did wrong. And then, you imagine Hotch saying those same things, and you can’t, and it almost makes you feel a little better.)

Your blood runs cold. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

“Well, you know how things have ended in the past. I’m just saying I’d like to meet him before he’s gone."

You don't dignify his words with a response.

"Come on, honey. I'm just joking with you."

"It's not funny."

"Don't be like that--"

"Goodbye."

You hang up, snapping the phone shut with a sigh.

The older you've gotten, the more conversations with your parents end up like this. You suppose it's the way you 'wasted your potential' or 'never made something of yourself.' They've always held resentment ever since you decided to become an agent. So you know not to take what they say to heart, because their words only come from a place of disappointment and displeasure. It's not a reflection of who you really are or what you've really accomplished.

Or at least, that's what Hotch told you when he'd overheard one of your phone calls. It meant more than you'd let on.

But your Dad's words linger in your head. They're irritating and sharp where they claw around in your head because they're true.

You can count on one hand the amount of romantic endeavors you've had. And from those, they all ended horribly. Your parents lost sympathy towards the end of your attempts, muttered words of needing to try harder to keep them, that you should be satisfied that somebody wanted you at all, that you should try to be less... you.

Try to be less... you, dear. The books and the facts- nobody wants those. Put some more effort into your appearance. Otherwise you'll end up all alone.

You'd tried to take their advice, of course. But the relationships that were fathered your parents direction were not loving. There was nothing soft or gentle or warm about them. You'd never felt more unlovable.

So when the incident with the shooter happened and you were lying on the lecture hall floor, blood coloring the carpet deep scarlet, you'd vowed to never let it happen again. That you were going to use your intellect and wit and passion for what you wanted to do- you'd promised yourself that if you survived, you would try to make your life your own, one step at a time.

This, of course, is easier said than done.

It's easy enough to refuse to let yourself get involved with men who are clearly only interested in your for your badge or your body --though the latter happens so rarely you really don't have to worry about it-- because you don't care about them. They're blips on your radar.

But Spencer? Sweet, sweet Spencer who makes you hot-cocoa and binge watches Doctor Who with you, even the later seasons, which you know he doesn't like as much but you love. Spencer who always has a grounding touch to offer, or a quiet command when you need him. Spencer who puts you first.

But there's a limit to these things, right? As far as you've seen, romantic relationship's are transactional, or conditional. Sometimes both. He can't just... keep doing this forever. It's too kind. Too sweet. It'll come to an end soon. Like, like the honeymoon era in early relationships. That's all it is. Plus, he's older than you, and you have no illusions about your unavoidable impulsiveness and naivety.

You've been told that your standards are too high before. "Struck by the hopeless romantic's arrow," your brother had said once, back when you were still in school, crying over a boy who'd told you that he didn't want to date you because you were too smart for a girl.

"That's not being hopeless romantic. There's no such thing as being too smart for a girl."

"There isn't," He'd amended, "But you're not going to have an easy time finding a guy. You of all people can't really afford to be picky."

He'd been right, in the end. So you're just... having a hard time figuring out how genuine Spencer's actions are. Guy's don't really act all romantic in the context of you. You've been told your whole life to be happy with what you get, and what you've had in the past is decidedly not lining up with how Spencer treats you.

It's a nasty little thing in your ear. Is it real? Does it matter as much to him?

When is it all going to end?

Rossi make's an offhand comment during a mission that you talk a lot when you're excited about the subject at hand.

JJ agrees. "It's a little unnerving when the subject is the bruising patterns of strangulation."

That little voice comes back.

Too much too much too much too much too much--

"It's useful," You protest, mouth dry.

JJ snorts, "I'm not sure about that. We need to know that the victim was strangled, not what happens to the body during blunt-force asphyxiation."

You'd grown quiet then, let the chatter and musings of the rest of the team wash over you.

Is that something Spencer finds annoying? You have always found things other's view morbid and disturbing fascinating. But JJ is right. No one wants to hear about that.

You brush the comment off, square your shoulders, get back on with the case.

Be better. Try harder.

You don't seen the furrow of Spencer's brows from where he's been watching you, or the quick look he shares with Hotch.

You'd never really thought about how clingy you can be before Emily makes an offhand comment about it while the two of you wait in line at a coffee shop. There's a couple in front of you, the girl all over her partner, kissing and giggling and hugging them close.

"Ugh," Emily groans once the two get their coffee and move on. "I could never understand the appeal of all that. I mean doesn't it feel stifling?"

A little stab of ice in your stomach.

"I don't know. I think it's nice."

"No, thank you. If I were her partner, I'd feel smothered."

You think about that conversation every time you take Spencer's hand or lean into his simple touches. They're invasive little things, the thoughts. It's not hard to pull back on all the touching. You never really ask for them in the first place- always too nervous to come off clingy. But you suppose just taking, taking, taking is just the same.

A quick shake of your head, not leaning in, a quiet "I'm fine." and that little nagging fear of smothering begins to quiet. It doesn't leave, but it does get quieter. For a little while, at least.

The hard part is trying to be less without noticeably being less. Spencer's smart- and he's a profiler. If you pull back too much too quickly, he'll notice, and you don't want to talk about this yet. You just need to make sure he'll stay. That things won't—

That you won't find out too late that you don't mean as much to him as he does to you.

That's the kind of thing that can't happen again. But ascertaining his true feelings and desires is difficult, because this is all kind's of new territory for you. You want to believe it's real. You really, really want to believe it's real.

But it's never been real before, so why would it be real now?

You've asked around (subtly and carefully, of course) about the type of girl Spencer's dated or drifted towards in the past. You know he said he wanted something soft and sweet, but you can't help but think that you're not really either, nor are you in line with his type. All things considered, you're a mess. Something tired-eyed and hollow is how you feel most days. Some sort of creature perhaps? You're honestly not sure what you are. You've spent your entire life being singled out or otherwise othered- always too smart or too different or too weird or too much or too loud or too quiet or too shy or too, too, too. Always too something. You have never been called soft or sweet. In a demeaning way, sure, but never with the quiet reverence that Spencer said it with that night.

It feels like a balancing act, a bit. Holding all those too much parts so close to your chest with one hand and shoving the ones you think Spencer wants with the other hand.

You could probably drop the one hand. The one holding the bad parts. But you're just not convinced he'll stay. You're not sure that he won't look at them with some form of disgust or pity or something else terrible.

You know the balancing act isn't sustainable— you'll fall eventually, and everything will come crashing down, but until then, you just keep trying. Trying to see if he'll stay, trying to see what to do if he won't. How to ensure he will, if that's something that's possible.

The act does not hold up for as long as you hoped it would. It comes crashing down with a glass. Literally.

You and Spencer are in the kitchen on a rare weekend off, cooking and drinking wine and swaying to some little old love song.

It should be perfect, except you're worrying that you look ugly while you're dancing, and you're probably singing off-key, and he maybe wants you to shut up so he can hear the song or dance in peace.

He reaches towards you and you just— your brain shrieks for a moment, all senses going into overdrive and you jerk backward, and your elbow knocks into your wine glass, and it falls, shattering behind you with a deafening crash.

Your entire body tenses, waiting for yelling or sighing or something, because you broke the glass, there's crystalline shards everywhere, the wine red and it looks like blood, maybe it is, maybe you're bleeding because the glass was really close to your foot when it fell but you're not sure because you can't really feel your feet or your fingers or—

"Don't move," Spencer says, voice serious, and tears well in your eyes, because this is when it all ends isn't it? "I don't want you to— honey?"

"Yes?" You croak.

His eyes are swimming with concern as he takes in your hunched shoulders, shallow breaths, and scared expression.

Understanding flickers in his features, and you resist the urge to hold your breath.

"Nothing is going to happen to you because of the glass, okay? Everything is fine. We're fine. I'm not mad. See? I'm not mad. I just don't want you to cut your feet on the glass. I'm going to clean this up and get your slippers, okay?"

"Okay." You breathe, voice hoarse. You wring your hands nervously as he leaves to retrieve the necessary supplies to clean the mess, heart beating so fast and so hard you're shocked you can't see it through your shirt.

He's not mad. He's not mad. You're not in trouble. Your parents aren't here. You're not grounded. You're not in trouble. He's not mad.

You're silent while he cleans, focused on getting your breathing under control while he babbles quietly about the history of glass making and the significance of types of wine glasses. The facts and history wash over you in steady waves, easing the tension in your shoulders bit by bit.

"I didn't think you were going to hit me, Spencer."

He continues cleaning. "It's okay if you did. I would never blame you for that."

"But I don't," You say, suddenly desperate, "I know you wouldn't, I've never been hit, not like that."

He's quiet for a few minutes. "Does this have something to do with how you've been acting recently?"

You freeze. "What do you mean?"

He looks up, leaning back on his knees. Making himself smaller, you realize. He's trying not to scare you again.

"You're dating a profiler. Also, I speak fluent you, and you've been chewing all your hangnails again. You only do that when you're stressed and pretending like you're not."

Your finger's twitch at your sides.

His hands come up slowly, and he rubs the length of your waist and hips. "We don't have to talk about it right now, but I think we should soon. I don't want you hurting all by yourself. You've had enough of that. That's what I'm here for."

He finishes cleaning up the glass, and finishes cooking dinner- he'd assured you he'd turned off all burners when the glass hit the floor, so nothing's burnt.

Once you've both eaten, he steers you towards the couch and wordlessly puts on Doctor Who.

The Pandorica is just about to open when you finally decide that if you don't start talking, you never will.

"My parents think you're going to leave me."

Spencer makes a wounded noise in his throat. "Why do they think that?"

"Because it's happened before. I'm, um. I'm not very good at getting into relationships. Or keeping them."

"But that's not your fault."

You sniff hard, rubbing your face with your sleeve. "It is though, isn't it? At least a little. I know I can be a lot. I know I'm not easy to—"

You cut yourself off, but the words hang in the air anyway; unsaid.

I'm not easy to love.

"Anyway," You say, pushing through the lump in your throat. "I just thought. I don't know. I was worried that you'd get fed up with me."

"No," He whispers, voice raw and full of something a lot heavier than fond. "No, no baby. I like that you're clingy and you ramble when you get excited, because it means that we get to talk about something together."

He shifts on the couch, sitting criss-crossed, ducking his head down to catch your gaze. "You know what else I like?"

You scoot over, mirroring his position. "What?"

"I like that you always know when I need you. Even when I don't think I do, you're there. Because I do need you. This isn't a one-way street."

His words hit you straight in your chest. "Oh."

He smiles, brows a little scrunched, brown eyes a deep pool of fondness and a splash of concern. "Yeah. And I'm thinking you need me a little more than you want to let on."

The seam of your pajama pants suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the world. Amazing, the wonders of a sewing machine.

"Maybe."

"Mmm," He hums, "So if I need you, don't you think that you're allowed to need me?"

Your fingers pick and twirl a loose thread around. "...Yes?"

A large, firm hand covers your thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. "Yes. Not only are you allowed to need me, I want you to need me. Cause you know how you're always worried about being the best girlfriend? Well, I'm always worried about being the best boyfriend."

That makes you look up. "Really?"

He chuckles again, a little puff of air fanning your face. "Yes, really. I assure you, contrary to your past experiences, this is one of those bare minimum things in a relationship."

"That does not," He continues, immediately catching the brief flicker of doubt and shame on your face, "Mean that it is your fault at all for how you were treated in the past. You wouldn't expect me to suddenly become an expert in veterinary medicine just because I've been to the vet's office a few times, right?"

"When did you go to the vet's—"

"Shh, I'm being a good boyfriend," He holds up a hand, lips quirking up when you can't suppress a tiny giggle, "But seriously. You had no frame of reference, right? And you were being told it was your fault. But it wasn't. You didn't deserve that."

He lets his words hang in the air for a little while and allows you time to process this new information.

"What do I do now?"

"Well," He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, curls tickling your forehead, "You've got a pretty sweet deal here. Just three things. You have to keep letting me need you, let yourself need me, and one last little thing."

"What?"

You're so close your breaths are mingling.

"Let me show you what this is supposed to look like. How a man is supposed to treat a pretty girl. His pretty girl."

"Oh, well," Heat rushes to your cheeks, your stomach doing flip-flops, "That sounds pretty hard. I don't know how I'll hold up."

His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, his thumb sweeping strokes under your eye.

"You say that now, but I know what happens to you when I get romantic. You swoon."

You laugh. "I do not swoon."

"You will."

He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It isn't a kiss-kiss. He's kissing you just to kiss you; just to let you know that he's here, that you have him.

It's sweet and perfect and exactly what you need.

Letting yourself need Spencer is marginally easier now that you know he needs you. Now that you know you're not going all in for someone who isn't.

He also starts needing you a bit... louder.

It's late evening, and most people have gone home except you and a couple other members of the team, all still working on paperwork.

Except Spencer, who's decided to drape himself over your shoulders like a cat, his chin resting on your head.

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Either finished it or it can be done later."

You shift your shoulders, smiling at how his grumbles vibrate against your back.

He moves his head, pressing his cheek to your head instead of his chin, heaving a deep sigh.

"Your hair smells good."

"Like what?"

"You're shampoo. Yours always smell better than mine."

You continue to work through your paperwork, Spencer a continuous and solid weight against your back.

"Is this even comfortable for your back at all?"

"Doesn't matter. Need girlfriend time."

He can't see it, but you're sure he knows how hard you blush.

Spencer's cooking the two of you a late breakfast in the kitchen of his apartment, hair still all mussed from sleep. He's quite the sight. You can't stop staring.

You're sitting on the counter, still dressed in your pajamas, legs swinging.

"You wanna know something cool?"

"You know it,"

"Butterflies and moths can drink blood and tears. There's nutrients in them. Purple Emperor butterflies are especially known for this. It's called mud-puddling."

"So you're telling me I should make sure I bandage any open wounds before I go to a butterfly house?"

"I guess. I can't imagine they'd be able to drink enough blood to actually cause any damage."

"Maybe we'll have to go to a butterfly house. For research."

"Should we get dinner afterwards?"

"We'll deserve it, you know, for all the hard research we'll have done."

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose so."

Spencer's bed is infinitely more comfortable than your bed. You're pretty sure it's a combination of the fact that it's the only thing in the entire world that smells so much like him and the fact that he spent part of his large FBI paycheck on a fancy mattress. Back support is very important to him.

You're doing a little reading before bed, shamelessly sprawled all over him while he does his own reading. You've got a leg hooked over his hips, the other tangled with his legs, and your arms and head pillowed on his chest. You move a little every time he takes a breath, and more than once you've paused in your reading, mesmerized by the feeling.

He shifts under you, setting his book down on his night stand and making himself more comfortable.

"Should I move?"

"No," he says, voice deep and gravelly with sleep. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to him, face pressed to the crook of your neck. He breathes deep, scruffy stubble scratching against your skin. "Like you close. Good for sleep."

Even with the lamp on, and your book in your hand, you fall asleep soon after him.

It's an ordinary evening for the two of you. Discarded dishes sit on the coffee table in front of the t.v, neither of you paying them any attention, wrapped up in each other and eyes glued to the screen.

You look up at Spencer who's watching Doctor Who with the focus of a man who's never seen it, even though you know for a fact he's seen it before, several times in fact.

"I want to know the things you like," He'd said simply, the one time you'd asked why he takes your nightly Doctor Who watching so seriously.

And tonight's no different. Tonight, he looks... well, he looks like Spencer. His face illuminated by the TV screen, his hair all mussed from you running your hands through it earlier.

And it just kind of all hits you at once. You know.

"I love you."

He looks down at you, his expression soft and surprised. When your words register, his expression is so sickeningly fond and happy you can't help but lean in, burying your face in his chest. He rubs your back consolingly, then presses a little kiss to the crown of your head.

"I love you too."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

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ariichive · 2 months ago

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SURVIVE────°˖✧ ✧˖°────

being in an arranged marriage with mydeimos was bound to come with problems—sharp words exchanged like drawn daggers, every touch charged with defiance rather than desire. resentment simmered beneath forced smiles, yet in the moments between their clashes, something dangerous lurked—a spark neither of them dared name, waiting for the right moment to ignite.

the heart grows stronger with distance, or so they say. with mydeimos sent off to war, the kingdom of castrum kremnos grew colder, the weight of his absence pressing heavier than an unspoken longing. but loneliness was a quieter enemy compared to the kremnoans, who saw the new queen not as a ruler but as a weakness. whispers turned to plots, daggers drawn in the shadows. they would see her dead before they let her soften their king.

cw: violence, threats, friends to enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, childhood friends, death, parent issues on both ends, slight angst but happy ending, gore. fem reader wc: 12k took this fic so seriously that i typed it with proper capitalization and proofread it... i could have missed something though, my ideas were everywhere but i think i connected everything!

The man who stood before you was no longer full of that youthful spirit from a decade ago. The light in his eyes was diminished, something darker and more primal in them now. though, you're sure the same could be said about you.

Gone was the admiration in your eyes. Gone was the eagerness to learn more about your husband. In its place stood a wary acceptance, a silent understanding forged through years of unspoken grievances and battles fought both on the field and within these very walls. The love you once searched for had been buried beneath duty and bloodshed, leaving behind something colder—something you didn't have the courage to name.

This marriage was something neither of you wanted. While he was much more vocal with opposition, you couldn't deny the snarl of your lips when your parents would open their mouths and order you around like you were some object.

Obedience had been expected, demanded—but resentment had taken root long before you ever stood at the altar. Mydeimos fought his fate with fire and fury, yet you had been forced to smother yours beneath clenched teeth and measured silence. Still, the bitterness remained, coiling deep in your chest, waiting for the day it could finally be set free.

"Do you, [name] of Styxia, take Mydeimos as your husband? To be there after every battle, after every bloodshed? Will you be able to withstand the consequences and hate that comes from this marriage?"

The priest had a chilling smile on his face.

Of course, the people of Castrum Kremnos had a terrible hatred harbored for you. They believed in fighting for power, tearing through everything and everyone with brute strength.

Mydeimos' parents were wedded through battle and countless fights. That is precisely what Kremnoans expected out of their only son: marry a wife who rivals your strength and can hold the crown when the king is away. It was natural for them to protest the political marriage between you and Mydeimos.

Of course things were not always this way.

"Mydei, look at the butterfly I caught!" You gently lifted your finger to the young prince's face. "Playing with such insects?" Mydei crossed his arms and let out a 'hmph', "Young girls like you should be scared of those mindless- G-GET IT OFF!" The 8-year-old Mydeimos yelped in absolute terror as the yellow winged bug flew from your finger to the tip of his nose.

You let out a laugh that your parents would have ridiculed you for. You could hear your mother's nagging voice already, "[Name], no daughter of mine can let out such an unruly sound." And of course, your father agreeing.

"Mydei, c-calm down." you managed to get out through your weezing. "You'll hurt the poor thing!" Mydei snapped back to reality as your gentle hand took back the butterfly on his face, now red from panic or embarrassment, you couldn't quite tell. Either way, he refused to meet your gaze, lips pressed into a thin, sulky line.

"You’re insufferable," he muttered, dusting off his tunic as if the butterfly had tainted it. "One day, you won’t laugh at me like that."

You tilted your head, still smiling as you cradled the delicate creature in your hands. "Why? Because you’ll finally be brave?"

His glare deepened, and for a moment, you thought he might stomp away like he usually did when you got the better of him. But instead, he huffed and turned on his heel, nose still slightly scrunched.

You watched him go, amused, before gently releasing the butterfly into the breeze. It flitted away, its bright yellow wings catching the sunlight, oblivious to the way childhood had already begun to slip through your fingers.

"I do," you said quietly as you lifted your head up for the first time during the ceremony. The golden cup was passed into your hands by the priest, who looked content with himself.

The tension only rose as you raised the cup to your lips.

Tilting your head back, the smell of the wine hit your nose a second too late, as a drop of something sinister—a sharp, metallic taste— hit your tastebuds, leaving a cold chill down your spine.

It was a small amount, but it was clear there wasn't only wine in the cup.

Poison.

The thought flashed through your mind like a fire igniting your blood. They tried to poison you.

Your vision blurred as nausea twisted in your gut, but you managed to hold back the bile rising in your throat. The air felt heavy as you sank to your knees, desperately trying to stifle the coughs that threatened to betray you.

And then, for the first time that night, your eyes locked with Mydeimos.

He stood at the altar, glowering down at you with that familiar, icy indifference. There was no panic in his gaze, no concern—only disdain, as if this was just another inconvenience he had to endure.

"Do you, Mydeimos of Castrum Kremnos accept this lady as your wife?"

Your chest tightened, and you gripped the cup in your hand, now too weak to hold it. The priest, who had been watching this unfold with an unsettling calm, crouched down beside you and gently took the unspilled cup from your hands.

He didn’t look at you, only at Mydeimos as he straightened, holding the cup up.

The room held its breath and watched Mydeimos take the cup from the priest without breaking eye contact with you.

With swiftness and no hesitance, Mydeimos downed the drink as if it was water blessed by the Gods.

"I do."

The words were a simple declaration, but they hung in the air with a heaviness that suffocated. The indifference in his tone sent a chill through your already fragile state.

You had thought you were prepared for this marriage—prepared for him—but in that moment, you realized just how little you truly knew him.

And then, the full weight of it hit you.

You had spent years preparing for this day, telling yourself that you could endure it, that duty and honor would bind you together. But now, as you struggled to keep your breath steady, barely able to keep your eyes open, you realized the truth—you were not the prize here.

You were nothing more than an afterthought.

The room swirled around you, but you could still see Mydeimos standing there, his expression unreadable, a mask of stoic indifference.

It wasn’t just the poison that made your stomach turn now. It was the realization that this man—the man who you had been promised to, who now held the power to determine your fate—did not see you, not really.

"She is yours now," the priest continued, his voice echoing through the silence. But you heard nothing. Your world had narrowed to a single, suffocating thought: He does not care.

Your gaze flicked back to him, but Mydeimos wasn’t looking at you anymore. He turned his back on you, eyes already focused on the path ahead, as though the woman who lay gasping on the floor was of no more importance than the shadows that clung to the walls.

“She couldn’t even bear a little poison!"

“Castrum Kremnos is doomed!”

Their unconcealed voices cut through you, sharp and cruel, their judgment more venomous than the poison coursing through your body. You could almost hear their sneers, see the way their eyes looked down on you, the woman who had failed even in this most basic test.

A bitter taste filled your mouth—was it the remnants of the poison, or the humiliation? The sting of failure was so much worse than anything the poison had done to you. You were nothing but a pawn in this political game, a symbol of weakness.

It was then the tears finally hit.

Mydei, now 12, watched from the training grounds as you played in the nearby open field with a Kremnoan guard dog. The usually stoic and intimidating dog was now reduced to a cheerful puppy by an 11-year-old girl, showing off his belly to you as if it was the most prized thing in the world.

And maybe to you, at that moment, it was. Mydei would agree too, as he admired the enormous smile on your face. Your laughter somehow drowned out the sound of swords clanking against each other, the sounds of men screaming 'Watch out!'

"Watch out, Mydeimos!"

Mydei broke out of his trance as a rough kick to his abdomen caused him to end up on his back. No longer the view of you playing with the dog in his eyes, but instead the ever-blue sky.

For a moment, Mydei laid still, winded, staring up at the clouds drifting lazily by. His heart was still pounding from the kick, but his mind, for a brief moment, was somewhere else. In that space between the fight and the fall, he let his gaze drift back to you, watching the way the dog nuzzled against you, the two of you sharing some unspoken bond that felt as distant to him as the sky above.

He could feel the bitterness rise within him, a mix of frustration and something he couldn’t quite name.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched his mentor, Krateros, signal towards the field. It was then when an abundance of guards rushed over to that very field. Some grabbed your wrists roughly and dragged you away from the training grounds. Others were quick to drag the dog away with a prong collar.

If Krateros could describe how he felt about you, he'd say indifferent. He was well aware of the planned marriage between the two of you, but having spent more time with Mydei than anyone, he knew it wasn't a good idea for the future of Castrum Kremnos. However, his pleas fell on deaf ears. The king and queen were desperate for a change, even if it went against tradition.

"Focus, Mydeimos."

"Focus Mydeimos."

Mydei snapped out of his daze at Krateros' sharp words.

"She was supposed to finish the cup of wine as your wife. You had no business intervening like that."

When Mydei ignored the words of Krateros, he took it as his sign to continue. "Do you want your own people to think of you as weak? Standing before me cannot be the same man who killed-"

"Krateros, hold your tongue."

Used to the threats hidden in his words, Krateros sighed. "My apologies, my king. What I mean is, your parents, they did not die just for their son to be reduced to a fool in love! I never agreed on the marriage between you two, and it would seem I would be correct to have thought so!"

Mydei crossed his arms, forcing his gaze to meet Krateros' own with a coldness that mirrored his father’s. "I do not need your lessons on loyalty or strength," he said, his voice steady, though a flicker of something more vulnerable threatened to show. "If you weren't such a lapdog to the throne, this all could have been avoided."

Mydei had been groomed for this position, taught to never show weakness. The weight of their bloodline, their legacy, was supposed to be carried with pride, but now, Mydei was faced with the harsh reality of the expectations placed on him.

He straightened, pushing the heaviness of those thoughts aside, feeling the pressure of those around him. He was supposed to be something else, something his parents had wanted. But this… this was not the life he had chosen.

Krateros was still watching him, waiting for a response. Mydei met his gaze with a coldness that surprised even him. “I am not a puppet, Krateros. I will never be.”

Krateros’ face darkened, but Mydei didn’t flinch. The weight of their shared history hung between them, but it was no longer enough to bind him. His destiny was his to choose, even if it meant shattering the expectations they had built for him.

“You think you can change this, don’t you?” Krateros sneered, his voice dripping with disbelief. “You think you can escape who you are. But it’s in your blood, Mydeimos. You can’t outrun what’s inside you. You can't run from the lady waiting for a change that'll never happen.”

Krateros opened his mouth to continue, but Mydei turned away, his back to the man who had watched him grow.

For the first time, Mydei wondered if Krateros even knew who he truly was—or if anyone did.

The older man had shaped him, molded him into a figure of strength and cold precision. But did Krateros truly see him? Or was he just a reflection of the expectations placed upon him, a mirror of the man his father had been, a man Mydei no longer wanted to be? Krateros had seen him grow, yes, but had he seen the boy beneath the armor? Had anyone?

You had.

Mydei chose not to think about it.

With a quiet breath, Mydei stood taller, his back still turned to Krateros. The silence stretched, but Mydei could feel the shift inside him. He wasn’t sure if it was strength or defiance, but it was something. And he wasn’t going to let it be drowned out by the weight of his bloodline, by the sharp edges of Krateros’ scorn.

“I don’t need to escape,” Mydei said quietly, but his words carried weight. “I need to find my own path.”

Mydei walked away, walked until he made it to a familiar field. One where the two of you would spend days playing, joking around with each other until night came.

This was also the same place Mydei delivered the final blow to his father, King Eurypon.

Mydei was almost 18 now, soon ready to take the throne as king and takeover all of his father's errors and debts.

Tensions were high in the royal palace. Queen Gorgo and King Eurypon have been arguing day and night. Behind the heavy wooden doors of the royal chambers, they clashed with words sharper than any sword. Every decision was met with resistance, every plan torn apart by an unyielding will that only seemed to grow more bitter with time. Castrum Kremnos was falling.

The kingdom had long been a fortress of power and tradition, but now it felt as though it was crumbling under the weight of the monarchy itself. Whispers of weakness spread like wildfire through the court, fueled by the incessant quarrels of its rulers. Their once-unified front was now shattered, each king and queen stubbornly holding to their beliefs, no matter the cost to the kingdom.

Mydeimos could feel the tension pressing down on him like a vice. He had been watching this slow unraveling for years, but now it was so blatant that even the youngest of court members could sense it. His parents, once the pillars of their nation, were becoming strangers to each other—and to him.

His mother’s harsh words and his father’s biting retorts were more frequent now, each exchange more volatile than the last. The staff had become accustomed to the constant arguments, their faces drawn in exhaustion as they tried to carry on amid a palace that was slowly becoming a war zone.

As Mydeimos walked through the corridors, he passed the guards standing at attention, their eyes flicking nervously to one another. They had always been a symbol of strength, of unwavering loyalty to the crown, but now even they seemed uneasy. The very walls of the palace seemed to pulse with the strain of something fractured, something teetering on the edge of collapse.

"Where are mother and father?" The guards all looked at each other, hesitant to answer the prince's question. It wasn't until Mydei rested a strong hand on the hilt of his sword did one answer.

"They are at the field of flowers, the one where... lady [name] usually resides."

Mydei felt something in his gut, something akin to fear, and he wanted nothing more than to rip it out of him like a true Kremnoan.

With haste, he was quick to make it to the field.

The journey, once full of laughter and joy, was now one of dread and anxiety. The closer he got, the stronger the stench of blood became. Beautiful flowers were stomped on, bloody hand prints rested on trees, and animals were scurrying away.

When he finally arrived, the sight before him tore him into pieces. You were there, cradling Queen Gorgo's body in your arms; she was barely holding onto life. It got worse as Mydei realized the reason behind her state was none other than his own father.

King Eurypon stood before the two women with his sword raised.

The last thing Mydei heard before he took action was the cruel words of the bastard King.

"I will puncture through you to put an end to this reign. I have no sympathy for the wife of the man who'll take my throne."

The words echoed in Mydeimos' ears, each syllable striking like a hammer. His heart stopped. The finality of his father’s words—the utter disregard for human life, for loyalty, for everything they had built—was too much.

And just like that, something inside Mydeimos snapped.

The rage that had been building in him for years—his silent rebellion, his frustration, his hatred for the path he had been forced to walk—exploded in an instant. His father’s face, cold and cruel, became the target of his fury. He could hear nothing but the deafening roar in his ears, the pounding of his own heart as it raced faster than reason could catch up.

Without a second thought, he lunged.

But it wasn’t the sword he raised. No, instead, it was his own hands, his own fists, that continued to strike.

"You ruined everything!" Mydeimos yelled, voice hoarse, raw with emotion. "You ruined us!"

His father’s face, contorted in shock and pain, finally shifted. "You’re nothing but a spoiled child, Mydeimos. I’ll show you what it means to rule."

In that moment, Mydeimos saw through the façade of the man who had called himself king, the man who had been nothing but a tyrant hiding behind a crown. He had never cared about his people, never cared about his family. He had only cared about power, about maintaining control at any cost. And now it was too late.

The two fought like beasts, Mydeimos with his fists and the king with his sword. The wounds inflicted on them were paid no mind; it was time to put an end to this once and for all.

Mydeimos barely registered the sting of his own wounds, the cut on his cheek or the gash on his arm. The sound of your sobs seemed to only fuel his anger. The blood was a secondary concern—he could feel it dripping down his skin, but it was nothing compared to the burning need to destroy the man who had caused all this. To destroy the symbol of everything that had broken him, broken his family, and shattered his kingdom.

The king, too, seemed to feel no pain. The blade in his hand moved with a deadly grace, despite the fury in his eyes. It was a fight of survival for him as well. He didn’t just want to kill his son; he wanted to prove that he still had power, still had control. He wasn’t going to let a young fool like Mydeimos take away his reign.

The fight stretched on, each moment a battle of wills. Mydeimos could feel his muscles burning, his body screaming for respite, but there was no turning back. Every strike from the king was an insult. Every thrust of the sword was a reminder of his father’s disdain. And yet Mydeimos could see it in the king’s eyes, that flicker of uncertainty—he was losing. His own strength was fading.

As Mydeimos stood over the king, fate seemed to laugh at him as Krateros appeared with royal guards behind him.

The shock on his face would've been laughable if under different circumstances.

With a final breath, King Eurypon's gaze shifted to Krateros. "Krateros, you will make sure my son marries that girl as Gorgo planned so many years ago."

The words, though strained, hung in the air like a sentence. Mydeimos froze, his body taut with disbelief, his pulse pounding in his ears. That girl—the one who had been nothing more than a pawn in his father’s games, a figure to be manipulated, controlled, and discarded when it suited him.

The plan had always been to bind Mydeimos to you—his wife, his kingdom’s political future, his duty to the crown. The thought of it had always been a bitter pill, but never had he imagined that it would come at the cost of everything else. His father, in his final moments, had not even offered a word of apology or remorse for the years of manipulation, the pain that had been caused by their arranged union. No, it was a cold, calculated command, one more betrayal among many.

Krateros, standing near the edge of the scene, nodded solemnly at the king’s words, his expression unreadable. His eyes shifted to Mydeimos, but there was no sympathy, no understanding. There was only the weight of duty in Krateros’ gaze. Duty to the crown, duty to the plan, duty to the legacy of the Kremnos bloodline.

“My king,” Krateros said, his voice a low murmur, almost reverent, “I will see to it.”

King Eurypon was no more.

Mydei could barely register the shouts from Krateros, telling them to leave Queen Gorgo to lay to rest. The sound of you crying as the former queen was ripped from your grasp didn't even make him flinch.

The Kremnoan guards were quick to flee, Krateros deciding to leave you and Mydei alone.

"M-Mydei," you sobbed, your voice trembling, not knowing how to reach him through the walls of fury and exhaustion that seemed to encase him. The sound of his name seemed to strike something deep within him, though it only made his fists clench tighter, as if the very mention of the old name was a reminder of all the pain, the betrayal, and the heavy burden he'd been carrying.

He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Not yet.

The sight of you, crumpled before him, bloodied and broken, stirred something deep inside him—something fierce, something tender, something buried beneath the weight of years. But it wasn’t enough to stop the coldness in his eyes.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. Tears spilled from your eyes, the overwhelming reality of what had happened crashing into you. “I don’t know what happened! O-oh my god, there's so much blood, I-”

The words died on your lips as the nausea hit you all at once, a sharp wave of sickness sweeping through you. Your stomach churned, and before you could do anything to stop it, you found yourself hunched over, retching in the dirt. The bile tasted bitter in your mouth, the sharp tang of it mixing with the overwhelming metallic scent of blood that lingered in the air.

Mydeimos stood there, silent, his gaze unwavering, though his jaw clenched tighter as he watched you. For a moment, it felt like everything was at a standstill. The wind seemed to hold its breath, the only sound the distant rustle of leaves, the drip of blood on the ground.

His hand twitched, but he didn’t move toward you. It was as if the space between you both had become an impenetrable wall, one that neither of you knew how to cross.

For a long, agonizing moment, Mydeimos didn’t speak. He simply watched you, as if waiting for something—perhaps an explanation, perhaps for you to offer him the closure he didn’t know he needed.

The tension stretched taut between you, but the silence remained. The world around you felt too loud, too chaotic, but Mydeimos stayed still, his breathing steady, as though he were holding something back. His expression was unreadable, impossible to decipher.

"Instead of apologizing, maybe you should focus on getting stronger and growing up."

Mydei sighed as he recalled that day. After everything had gone down, he found refuge in his father's office. That is where he read the countless letters and documents concerning the marriage between the two of you. Papers that were dated back to almost a decade ago.

The marriage between you both was confirmed from the moment you stepped foot from Styxia and into Castrum Kremnos.

“You are just as trapped as I am, aren’t you?” he muttered under his breath, though he knew you couldn’t hear him. He couldn't even be sure if you felt the same way. The distance between you two had only grown since that night. Since the bloodshed. Since that moment, everything had come crashing down. It was for the better, being close to Mydei has only brought you pain.

But still, despite the rage, the resentment, the years of manipulation, Mydeimos couldn't help but wonder—would things have been different if he had taken the time to talk to you that day? Instead of leaving you there, curled in your own warmth, trying to comfort yourself?

He shook his head, his fingers clenching around the papers, crumpling one of the letters in his grip. It doesn’t matter now,he thought bitterly. What matters is what happens next.

But the problem remained: He couldn’t just cast you aside, not when the fate of the kingdom—and his own future—hung in the balance. You were always part of the plan, whether either of us liked it or not.

And now, you were waiting for him at the very place he wished to escape from.

The room felt like a distant, hollow space—a far cry from the warmth you had once imagined a marriage bed would hold. The sheets were cold against your skin, the air thick with the emptiness of your thoughts. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the walls, stretching into corners that seemed to hold secrets you weren’t ready to confront.

Tradition dictated that this would be the night—your wedding night—when you were expected to share more than just vows, when the marriage would be consummated and the bond between husband and wife would be solidified. But tonight, you lay alone, your fingers tracing the edge of the cold, untouched bed. There was no Mydeimos to fill the silence, no warmth of his presence to break the quiet.

Instead, your mind drifted back to that fateful night.

All you could do was watch as Mydei turned his back on you, leaving you covered in blood that wasn't your own.

The night suddenly took a turn for the worse. One moment, you were enjoying the calming breeze, counting the stars that hung in the bright sky. A shadow loomed over you, one you thought was Mydeimos, only to make eye contact with the eyes of the king.

"K-king Eurypon, it is an honor to be in your presence." You bowed your head in greeting.

"Tell me girl, what do you think of my son?"

The question caught you off guard, but you still chose to tell the truth anyways.

"Mydei," the king's eyes glared at you, "M-mydeimos is a strong warrior. He is very hardworking and prideful. It's truly admirable."

He hummed in thought. "I'm glad you think so highly of my son. I'll be sure to tell him you held him in such high regard."

The words were barely registering in your mind as his sword was quick to be drawn and pointed against your chest.

"A shame, truly. My wife thought it would be a good idea for a marriage alliance between you two."

Marriage? And why is the king trying to murder you?!

"W-what?" You managed to stammer out. This only made the sword press deeper into your chest. "You will never be able to live up to Kremnoan traditions and strength. You will only bring my son and this already fallen kingdom to hell."

It was then when Eurypon struck down with his sword, and it would've been the end of you if another sword hadn't come down to block the strike.

"Even now, you still are fighting against me, Gorgo?"

There in front of you, was none other than the queen.

"Eurypon, this is not how to go about business matters. Killing the girl will not solve all of our problems."

Eurypon and Gorgo had very opposing views with the alliance of Styxia. Eurypon wanted to take over by force, like a true Kremnoan. Gorgo sought other means, wanting less bloodshed and a possible connection with Styxia. Gorgo wanted connections, Eurypon wanted land.

"Gorgo, do you need a reminder of how a king rules his people?"

The two fought endlessly, and all the pressure that built up over time came out in their fierce battle. All you could do was watch as Gorgo began to weaken, her body falling pathetically in front of you.

She paid the king no mind; instead, her fading eyes focused on you. "I...I know you will bring good to my kingdom, to my son."

"Gorgo, I will make sure the two get married as your dying wish. The kingdom you brought to power will fall because of you, and I'll be there to fix it all my way."

It was then that another person came into view, a heartbroken Mydeimos who slained the king. Later, it was a shocked Krateros who took the queen from your hold.

The end of a reign and the start of a tragedy.

You didn’t know how to feel. Grateful or embarrassed? Humiliated, even. You were still his wife (once childhood friend), but it felt like you didn’t even exist to him anymore. Not since that night. The night that had changed everything between the two of you.

Your chest tightened at the memory—the chaos, the violence, the words left unsaid. That night had burned itself into your mind in a way you couldn’t forget, no matter how much you tried to block it out. His eyes had been cold, distant, filled with a rage and grief you didn’t know how to reach through. You hadn’t spoken since, not really. Not the way you used to. You couldn’t even recall the last conversation you had before everything fell apart.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, and you pulled the blanket tighter around you, hoping it would offer you some comfort against the chill that had settled in your heart. The silence seemed to stretch forever, the weight of it heavier than anything you had felt before.

You couldn't help but wonder if this was how it would always be—if the distance between you and Mydeimos was something that couldn’t be undone.

The once-familiar castle felt nothing more than a dreading curse on your soul. Halls where you would spend chasing around the young prince were now full of laughter and insults.

You couldn't help but wonder if this was how it would always be—if the distance between you and Mydeimos was something that couldn’t be undone.

As sleep was finally about to take over, the door slammed open and an angry Mydei stormed in.

He seemed shocked to see you actually there, his eyes silently saying 'so you didn't run away?'

The maids had dressed you in the finest of red silks, a color they said their king enjoyed. But in this moment, it seemed he didn't even want to look at you.

Your mind stumbled over a greeting, scared to say the wrong thing and scared that your voice would still be hoarse from the poison. None of that mattered as he took the initiative to speak. "I will be heading off to war in a few days. There is no need to see me off."

The silence between you was suffocating, thick with all the things neither of you were willing to acknowledge. You longed to break it, to ask him why, to demand an explanation for the way he was shutting you out, but the truth was, you were afraid of the answer. And even more, you were terrified of the way you might look to him now—the woman who had failed him, who had failed to be the wife he needed, who was now only a shadow in his life.

You shifted on your feet, the cold weight of the silence pressing harder with every passing second.

"I... I understand," you finally managed to say, your voice barely a whisper, betraying how broken you really felt. "I’ll... I’ll respect your wishes."

Mydei turned to leave, but just before the door closed, you heard him.

"Don't follow me." His voice was so quiet it almost seemed like an afterthought, but the command within it was unmistakable. It wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t gentle, either. It was the final word, the one that sealed the distance between you both.

With that, he shut the door.

During these past days, you didn't leave the room once. You aren't sure where Mydeimos has been or if he has already gone off to war. The maids were kind enough to bring you food, but you were cautious to eat it after the poisoned wine.

The meals sat untouched on the small table by the window, cooling and growing stale. You were hungry, but fear held you back. Fear of what the food might hold, of what new betrayal could come from the very people who should have protected you.

As the days passed, your body began to feel the effects of the isolation—weakness in your limbs, a constant dull ache in your chest. The silence in the room became unbearable. You had become a ghost in your own life, tethered to the bed by your own insecurities, trapped in a room full of memories that both comforted and tormented you.

It wasn't long before rumors started to spread around the castle.

"The Kremnoan soldiers last weeks without a proper meal, and that invader can't last a few days?"

"She's probably trying make our king pity her."

"Does she not know we Kremnoans have no room for pity?"

"I heard, on the night of their wedding, she seduced one of the guards and bedded him. That's why King Mydeimos looked so frustrated!"

It was endless chatter happening outside of your door, the rumors you heard were absurd, and it almost made you cry a few times.

Everything about this situation was so frustrating! You had no one to talk to; sure, the maids were nice, but they loved to partake in all the gossip. You weren't even able to find comfort in your parents, who put you in this mess in the first place.

All you could do was stare out the window and wish for better days.

Even today, the commotion happening outside was nauseating. Cheers and screams of triumph were heard all over, and you couldn't help but be curious.

With a peek outside, you witnessed the ginormous army of Castrum Kremnos being led by no other than Mydeimos himself.

He was going off to war today.

The banners of Castrum Kremnos billowed in the wind, the rhythmic stomp of soldiers’ boots shaking the very ground beneath them.

The people cheered, their voices rising in a deafening roar of admiration and loyalty. To them, this was a moment of pride—of power. To you, it was something else entirely.

Your fingers curled against the windowsill as you watched him from the safety of your prison, your place in his life now reduced to that of a silent observer.

Your heart twisted painfully.

You should have been down there. You should have been by his side.

But Mydeimos had made it clear—Don’t follow me.

And so you stayed, trapped behind glass, watching the man you once knew disappear into the distance, leading an army to war.

All you could do was ask yourself why?

Why did he leave you alone that day? Why didn't he let you explain everything that happened?

Why did he shut you out?

Maybe it was because of everything piling up, but you couldn't bear to look outside the castle window anymore. It was a tragedy, a tragedy that could've been avoided if he had just listened to you.

But maybe his anger towards you was valid?

The thought unsettled you, but you couldn't deny some of the truth behind it. After all, you were the woman forced into his life, a foreign queen whom his people despised.

After all, you were his father's dying wish, the man he hated most.

You turned your back to the window, missing the way Mydei spared a glance at the highest window on the castle; missing you.

The night Mydeimos left was one celebrated. Everyone knew he and his army were going to obtain an easy victory, so they celebrated with the most delicious alcohols and foods.

You, however, found no comfort in their revelry.

Seated at the far end of the grand dining hall, you felt like a ghost in your own castle. No one paid you any mind—not the lords who clinked their goblets in toasts, nor the noblewomen whispering behind painted fans. You were nothing but a reminder of an unwanted union, a foreign queen with no real place in their hearts.

You felt grateful; it took a lot of courage to even come out in the first place.

The wine before you remained untouched. The food, no matter how enticing, held no appeal. You felt sick, not from the lingering fear of poison, but from the weight of isolation pressing on your chest.

"Ah, this is the King's wife? How weak." A group of scholars in the corner decided to be the first to interact with you tonight, albeit negatively.

"She's meek, but her looks surpass the brutes of Kremnoan women." Another one snickered out.

"Tell us, wife, how did your first night with the King go?" This caught the attention of the rest of the patrons in the room.

"Is it true he's as ruthless in bed as he is in battle?" A lady, one who you remember laughing at the wedding, asked intrusively.

"I-"

"Didn't you hear? She was unable to get him to enter the room! She had to go find a guard to take care of her harlot needs."

"That's not what..!"

Before you could even finish your sentence, the group of men glared at you, as if daring you to speak up.

"You need to be confident in your abilities." A 16-year-old Mydei said to you. "If you sound confident, people will naturally believe it."

You sighed. "Mydei, I don't think it'll matter how hard I try. I'm not a Kremnoan, just some girl her parents sent here so they wouldn't have to be responsible for me."

Mydei let out a deep chuckle.

"You think that's all you are?" he asked, shaking his head with something close to amusement. "You underestimate yourself."

His confidence in you was almost laughable. You gave him a skeptical look, crossing your arms. "And what am I, then? Some grand strategist? A warrior in disguise?"

He leaned in slightly, the moonlight casting sharp shadows across his face. "You are someone who can shape the world with nothing but your words—if you learn how to use them properly."

You blinked at him, taken aback by his certainty. Mydei was never one to sugarcoat things, and he certainly wouldn’t say something just to spare your feelings.

"Confidence is half the battle," he continued, arms folded. "If you say something with conviction, even the gods might start to believe it."

For a brief moment, you almost believed him.

You brushed off his words with a laugh. "I have you with me, and I know you'll never let any harm come to me." Although you said it jokingly, you both knew it was the truth.

How laughable.

"That's not what happened that night. You all are so concerned in the king's business and involving him in such baseless rumors. Is this how you act while he's out there fighting for us all?"

There was a wavering in your voice, one even you couldn't deny, but it was enough to stun them all into silence. The once lively air was now tense and awkward.

With a clear of your throat, you excused yourself for the night.

As you stepped away, the weight of their stares clung to you like a phantom touch. You could still hear the hushed whispers behind you, muffled by the clinking of goblets and the distant melody of a lute. They wouldn’t dare speak louder, not after the way you had silenced them.

But had you truly silenced them? Or had you only made yourself a greater target?

Your hands trembled slightly as you pushed open the heavy wooden doors to your chambers, the warmth of the grand hall replaced by the biting chill of isolation. You barely made it to the vanity before gripping its edges, trying to steady yourself.

You had spoken with confidence, just as Mydei once told you to. Yet, your voice had wavered.

Would that be enough for them to see through you?

With a heavy sigh, you turned toward the mirror, searching your own reflection for something—anything—that resembled the queen you were supposed to be.

But all you saw was a girl trapped in a place that would never truly be hers.

Sleep came a bit easier that night.

The morning was full of regrets as the door to your chambers was nailed shut.

You pulled and slammed against it but to no avail. You heard the snickers as people passed by, and the tears began to fall.

The laughter outside was distant now, their amusement fading as they moved on, leaving you alone with your humiliation.

You wiped at your tears angrily, hating how easily they fell. This was what they wanted—to break you, to remind you of your place, to make sure you knew you were nothing more than an outsider playing queen in a kingdom that would never be yours.

But would Mydeimos find out?

Would he even care?

A bitter taste filled your mouth at the thought. You turned away from the sealed door, your body shaking with something far stronger than sorrow.

If they thought this would make you cower, they were wrong.

Your breathing evened out as you forced yourself to stand tall. If they thought this was enough to break you, they underestimated you.

You turned from the door, scanning the room for anything—anything at all—that could help. The windows were too high, the furniture too heavy to use for leverage. You were trapped like an animal in a cage, but you refused to let yourself feel like one.

Instead, you paced.

Minutes turned into hours, the once-dim light of morning stretching into the harsh glow of midday. The laughter outside had long faded, replaced by the distant hum of daily life in the palace. As if nothing had happened. As if you weren’t locked away, forgotten.

A sudden sound startled you—a soft rustling from the door. Your heart pounded as you turned, half-expecting a cruel trick. But then, a shadow moved just from under the crack in the door.

A quiet knock, and then the sound of something being slammed against the door.

It was scary, and it caused you to take cautious step-backs.

One final slam, and the door busted open.

"Krateros?" You said in utmost shock. You remember your few interactions with him, all very brief. The last time you'd seen him, he was at Mydei’s side, whispering words of war and legacy into his ear.

Krateros stood in the doorway, his broad frame casting a shadow over your trembling form. His dark eyes swept the room before settling on you, unreadable as ever.

"You look surprised," he muttered, stepping inside without invitation. His boots left faint imprints on the rug, damp from the evening chill. "Did you think they'd just leave you here to rot?"

You swallowed hard, your back pressing against the far wall. “I—” You didn't even know what to say, because honestly, yes you did believe that.

"As much as I believe you aren't fit as queen, I... made a promise that night. Before the queen fully passed."

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of that night. The one where everything had fallen apart, where Mydei's father had been killed, where the weight of duty had been thrust onto both your shoulders, though neither of you had truly chosen it.

"What promise?" Your voice barely rose above a whisper. The chill in the room seemed to deepen as you tried to comprehend his words.

Krateros’ eyes softened, just for a moment. It was a fleeting glimpse, quickly masked by his usual hardened demeanor. He crossed the room toward you, the air between you heavy with tension.

"The queen," he began, his voice a rare softness, "she... asked me to ensure you weren’t left to suffer in silence. That you were given the chance to survive."

"I couldn't give her a quick enough response before she passed, so to be quite honest, I never felt indebted to her... to you."

He avoided your eyes.

"But I spoke with Mydeimos recently." Your body visibly tensed at the mention of his name. "There's no changing his mind," Krateros had a fond look in his eyes.

"If you want to be more than a puppet queen, then you’ll need to change. Prove to these people that you have teeth, not just a crown," Krateros said, his words heavy with a cold truth.

You wanted to protest, to scream that you hadn’t asked for this role, that you’d never wanted to be a pawn in a game you couldn’t even understand. But Krateros wasn’t wrong.

"I’m not… I’m not like them," you said, the words escaping before you could stop them. "I can’t just… pretend to be someone I’m not."

Krateros raised an eyebrow. "No one expects you to pretend, but right now, you're invisible. And in this world, that’s worse than being hated."

ou flinched, the truth of his words stinging more than you cared to admit.

"And as for Mydeimos…" He paused, as though considering how much to reveal. "He doesn’t want a queen who’s meek, who lets herself be shut away. He wants power. And you—" Krateros’ eyes flicked to your face, sharp and calculating, "—you need to show him you can wield it."

Your mind spun with the idea. Could you do this? Could you become the queen the kingdom demanded, even if it meant losing yourself in the process? Or perhaps—just perhaps—you could reclaim something from this mess and turn it into something of your own.

"Yes... You're right. I need to survive because I..." I miss my friend is what you wanted to say but left quiet.

Krateros took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. There was a calculating coldness in his eyes, but beneath it, something more dangerous lingered. It wasn’t kindness, but something akin to respect, or perhaps something more manipulative.

"If you want to prove your worth, start by helping in this war."

His words were a bit of an eye-opener; you had no idea who Mydeimos was even fighting or why. If you were able to help someway, it'll be perfect. "With all due respect sir, I don't think I'm fit for fighting." You couldn't help but shy away.

Krateros’ lips curled into a smirk at your hesitation, his eyes scanning you with something akin to amusement. "No one’s asking you to wield a sword, Your Majesty. But you’re smart enough to know there are other ways to contribute. War isn’t just about fighting on the frontlines. It’s about strategy, influence, and knowing how to manipulate the forces around you. Your place in this war isn’t on a battlefield, but in the court, in the strategy rooms, and with the people who can sway the outcome."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on you. Strategy. Influence. Those were things you’d never thought of in relation to yourself, and yet, here they were, suddenly thrust upon you.

"But I—" you started, but Krateros cut you off with a sharp gesture of his hand, his eyes darkening.

"You’re not a helpless pawn, [Name]. If you want to survive, you need to learn how to play the game. And that means you need to start thinking like the Kremnoans do." His voice was low, firm, almost a growl. "Every action has a purpose. Every word spoken in court, every ally made or broken. You need to learn how to use them all to your advantage."

"I’ll do it," you said quietly, more to yourself than to him. "I’ll learn."

Krateros nodded approvingly, the faintest trace of something—satisfaction, perhaps?—glimmering in his eyes. "Good. You’re starting to understand. Freshen up and meet me in the library in approximately 5 minutes."

Your eyes widened. "5 minutes? Is that even enough time to...!" Krateros was already out the door.

You rushed to the mirror, hastily brushing through your hair and adjusting your clothes. A queen. You need to look the part. But the rush, the pressure—it felt like everything was moving too quickly.

You didn't even have time to catch your breath as you pushed open the door and hurried toward the library. You had no idea what Krateros had planned for you there, but you knew it wouldn't be anything easy. It never was with him.

When you arrived, you found the massive wooden doors already slightly ajar. Taking a deep breath, you stepped inside. The room was as imposing as ever, shelves filled with scrolls, books, and maps, the air thick with the scent of parchment and ink. Krateros stood by a long table, his back to you as he perused a map laid out before him.

"Right on time, good."

You finally managed to let out the breath you were holding in.

He finally turned to face you, his gaze sharp. "Sit."

You hesitated for a moment before doing as instructed. Krateros slid the map over to you, revealing the territories and borders of Castrum Kremnos, marked with different symbols and annotations.

"Start here," he said, tapping a red X near the southern border. "This is where we’ll be focusing our efforts. A new alliance is forming in the region called Pixara, and we need to decide how to handle it."

Your gaze flicked to the map, uncertainty creeping in. "But... how can I—"

"You're not here to question," Krateros cut you off sharply. "You're here to learn, to make decisions. I'll guide you, but you have to think like a ruler. Think about the people, the stakes. And then, decide what the best course of action is."

"Now, I want your opinion. What do you think we should do? You've been in Castrum Kremnos long enough, it's about time you started learning how things work around here." Krateros pressed, his gaze unwavering. "How do we deal with this new alliance? How do we defeat Pixara?"

"From the perspective of a Kremnoan, charging in and defeating them would be their first choice. A quick and easy slaughter. Though I..." you thought back to all the letters sent from your mom, teachings she was too lazy to do in person. "We could negotiate with them, offer an alliance of our own—one that strengthens us both. Or... we could play them against each other, cause dissent, and let them destroy themselves."

The air in the library felt heavier, more suffocating now. You could feel Krateros' gaze on you, his silence pressing down like a weight. You’d spoken, given him your answer, and now you had to prove that you could handle the consequences of those words.

Krateros stepped closer, running a finger along the edge of the map. His voice was low, calculating. "I like your idea. Playing them against each other will keep us in a position of power, but it’s a dangerous game. We’ll need more than just words. We’ll need spies, alliances of our own, and a very sharp eye for deception."

He paused, allowing his words to hang in the air like a threat. You felt your palms begin to sweat. This was it. This was where you either sank or swam.

"And you'll need to be careful," Krateros added, his eyes finally locking with yours. "You don't have the luxury of hesitation. They won’t wait for you to make up your mind. If you hesitate, they’ll tear you apart."

His words struck like a slap, and you flinched involuntarily. "I understand," you managed, your voice steadier than you felt.

He nodded. "Good. We’ll begin at once. First, you need to learn the geography of Amphoreus and history of Pixara. Then, you'll need to meet with the generals and get a grasp on the situation. Learn everything you can about our current position. Finally, we’ll start making moves."

You nodded quickly, wanting to appear confident, even though your mind was racing. Become more aware and educated. Meet with the generals. Get a grasp on the situation. The task was daunting, but it was the only way forward.

Krateros’s eyes narrowed, his lips curving into a slight smirk. "Don't forget what you've learned here, [Name]. Your position is tenuous at best. You’re not just representing yourself anymore. You represent Kremnos."

Your first task—Pixara's geography and history. It was a daunting start, but you had to begin at the root of the problem. Why was this alliance forming in the first place?

The library felt even more overwhelming than before. Rows upon rows of ancient tomes lined the walls, each one seemingly a gateway to a piece of the puzzle you needed to solve. You glanced at the high shelves, the vast collection of knowledge all at your disposal. But where to begin?

You pulled down one of the books labeled History of the War Between Nations, and the sheer weight of it felt like a burden. You flipped it open, eyes scanning the pages, trying to piece together the history of Kremnos and its wars with neighboring kingdoms. As the hours passed, the words began to blur together, the names and dates sinking into a fog. The more you read, the more questions you had.

Who could be trusted? Which alliances were real? Where had the kingdom gone wrong?

And what could I possibly do to fix any of this?

It was then an idea hit you: You were still a royal from Styxia, they could join us!

The reason for Kremnos's alliance with Styxia—and why they wanted to secure your marriage to Mydeimos—wasn't just about the kingdom’s internal strength. It was about survival.

From what you gathered, Kremnos had once been a much larger power, holding dominion over vast stretches of land, but it had splintered over the centuries, weakened by betrayal and constant war. The neighboring kingdom of Styxia had always been a threat, a kingdom rich with soldiers and political influence, but the alliance was not born out of mutual respect. It was born out of necessity.

Kremnos needed Styxia’s resources, its warriors, and its sheer manpower to maintain any semblance of power in Amphoreus. And Styxia needed Kremnos for access to the trade routes, the wealth, and the stability of a larger kingdom. Now, they had what they wanted through the marriage of you and Mydeimos; it was about time they paid you back.

And so, your first step was writing a letter to your mother back in Styxia.

To My Beloved Mother,

I trust this letter finds you well, as it is my hope that this message will carry more weight than mere pleasantries.

I am reaching out to you, Mother, because it is time to ask for what I need in return. Styxia must come to my aid—not through direct intervention, but through resources, information, and political maneuvering. I need Styxia’s support in securing my place here as a force to be reckoned with, both to stabilize this kingdom and to help guide Mydeimos toward becoming the ruler this land needs.

With all the respect I can muster,

[Name] Queen of Castrum Kermnos.

The days following the letter’s dispatch were filled with tense anticipation. Every moment felt like a countdown, but you had no idea when the reply would come. Krateros was still helping you and making sure you were actually eating.

You had done all you could for now—sending a message to Styxia and beginning your education on Kremnos’ geography, history, and its position in the war. Krateros’s demand to meet with the generals was still looming, but there was no immediate need to rush into that; for now, you kept busy with what you could control.

The knock on your door broke through your spiraling thoughts, and you quickly stood, adjusting your posture to appear composed. You didn’t have the luxury of weakness anymore.

"Enter," you called, voice steady.

The door creaked open, revealing one of the castle’s servants holding a sealed letter.

"Your Majesty," she said, bowing low as she extended the letter.

Your heart skipped a beat. The seal was unmistakable—it was from Styxia.

Without a word, you took it from her hands, immediately breaking the wax seal. You read through the contents quickly, your eyes widening as you absorbed the information within.

Your hands clenched around the letter as you processed its contents. The message was clear: Styxia had granted you their conditional support.

You had no time to waste. The war, the generals, the people—they all awaited a queen who could lead them.

The next steps were clear now. You would prepare to meet with the generals and gather the information Krateros had insisted you understand. You would learn every detail about the war—what they were fighting for, who the enemy was, and where the key strategic points were.

The next morning, you dressed in a simple yet authoritative gown, forgoing the luxurious silks that you were once adorned with. You needed to prove yourself capable, not just of ruling in the shadows, but as someone worthy of standing in the light. Your expression was set with determination as you stepped out of your chambers, ready to face the generals.

The long walk through the palace halls felt longer than it should have. Every step echoed, as if the palace itself was waiting for you to take action. As you arrived at the war room, the heavy wooden doors loomed ahead, guarded by two sentries.

"Your Majesty," one of them greeted, opening the door without hesitation. You nodded and entered, only to be met with the steely gazes of several high-ranking generals. They were older, grizzled men, some of whom had seen more battles than they would care to count. But their respect was not given freely.

At the far end of the room, General Mavros, an older man with a thick beard and scarred face, looked up from a map sprawled across the table. His gaze shifted to you, and despite his age and experience, there was a visible flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"Your Majesty," he began, his voice a mixture of authority and curiosity. "To what do we owe this honor?"

"I’ve come to understand the situation in full," you said, your voice steady, clear. "I’ve come to see how I can help lead this war."

Mavros raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for you to continue.

"I want to know everything," you demanded. "The enemy, our positions, our strengths and weaknesses. All of it. I intend to be involved. I will not be a queen in name alone."

The next few hours were a blur of information, names of enemy factions, strategic locations, and key battles. The complexities of war unfolded in front of you as Mavros and the other generals taught you what they knew—about the landscape, the movements of enemy armies, and the politics of the other factions involved.

It was then you suggested your idea of tearing them apart from the inside. Plant a mole, spread misinformation, and make them surrender.

Krateros, who had remained in the background up to this point, stepped forward, his eyes calculating. "It’s bold. But it’s also risky. The enemy could catch on quickly, and if they do, we’ll be exposed as the ones responsible. We need to be careful with this approach."

"That is where my home kingdom comes into play. Styxia will be our alibi."

"Explain," Mavros said, his tone all business now.

You stood straighter, your confidence solidifying. "Styxia, my homeland, has a history with the neighboring kingdom we're fighting. They’ve always wanted influence in Amphoreus, and as a result, they’re often suspected of meddling in its affairs. We can use that suspicion to our advantage. By making it look like Styxia is supporting the enemy, we can feed into their paranoia and create division within their ranks."

You could see the generals begin to process what you were proposing. Krateros’s gaze flickered with recognition, while Mavros’s calculating expression told you he was considering the broader implications.

"We don’t need them to know we're involved directly. If Styxia's name is associated with the unrest, the enemy will begin to doubt every move their allies make. They’ll turn on each other, without us ever lifting a sword."

Krateros, ever the skeptic, crossed his arms. "But Styxia would never commit to such an act openly. If we move forward with this, we’ll need to make sure they’re kept in the dark. Their involvement must be only implied, and that requires finesse."

"That's why our mole is essential," you replied, stepping forward. "We can use Styxia's reputation as a shield. The rumors can start with someone who has a connection to the kingdom, someone with the knowledge to plant seeds of doubt. This way, Styxia can remain unaware, and our position won't be compromised."

"Let’s not waste any time," you said, your voice firm. "The longer we wait, the more chances they have to uncover our plan. Let’s set this into motion immediately."

Mavros looked to the others, who gave a quiet nod of agreement. "We move quickly, then. This could be the turning point we’ve been waiting for."

Another warrior was slain by the hands of Mydeimos. It was never-ending at this point. A week into battle and Pixara has yet to yield.

It wasn't that Castrum Kremnos was weak by any means, but Pixara had numbers. Numbers that shouldn't be possible for a newer alliance.

It was clear to Mydeimos that Pixara had underground connections. Connections to kingdoms that most likely wanted to witness the fall of Castrum Kremnos.

It was then that an argument broke out amidst battle between warriors on the opposing side. "What are you saying? Styxia was never promised to us! We're fighting for bigger kingdoms than that!"

"You fool! Styxia and Castrum Kremnos are relying on each other now! If we take down one, we get the other!"

"Then why are we even fighting? King Mydeimos and his wife don't even get along! She'll give us their powers without all this bloodshed!"

"Where did you hear such rumors!?"

The argument between the warriors grew louder, their voices sharp and accusatory, as if the tensions on the battlefield were not enough to contend with. In the midst of the chaos, the clatter of swords and shields drowned out the shouts of their own comrades.

One of the warriors, his armor dented and worn from the heat of the battle, spat out, "You think too highly of yourself. If Styxia were truly so eager to abandon Kremnos, they would've done it by now! But they haven’t. They’re still dependent on us, just like we’re dependent on them."

Another voice, thick with disbelief, responded, "Don’t be so naïve. You don’t understand the politics of it all. It’s not about kingdoms anymore—it’s about survival. Mydeimos' wife—what a joke. She’s as much of a pawn as anyone. When she takes control, the entire balance of power will shift. Kremnos will fall. Styxia will take the reins.”

The first blow came suddenly, without warning. A crazed, bloodied warrior, his face twisted with exhaustion and frustration, swung his sword at the nearest comrade. The strike was wild, driven not by skill, but by pure desperation.

The clang of steel hitting steel echoed across the battlefield, and for a brief moment, the fighting halted, the warriors around him looking at one another in confusion.

"What are you doing?" someone shouted, trying to back away from the escalating madness. "If you keep this up, Pixara will fall! All of our effort, all our resources!"

But the man, his eyes wide and unseeing, didn’t answer. He was too far gone, the madness of battle overtaking his sanity. His sword came down again, this time finding its mark in the chest of another warrior, sending him crashing to the ground with a pained scream.

The shout of alarm spread quickly. “Traitor! He’s lost his mind!”

Mydeimos signaled for his warriors to fall back.

His warriors hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to follow orders or try to salvage what was left of the frenzied battle. But the sight of Mydeimos—calm, collected, his expression stone cold—was enough to sway them. Slowly, they pulled back, retreating from the chaos unfolding behind them.

The battlefield, once a chorus of clashing swords and battle cries, fell into a grim silence, punctuated only by the ragged breaths of the fallen and the distant cries of those still fighting amongst themselves.

Mydeimos surveyed the scene, his jaw clenched in frustration. His eyes scanned the disarray—the scattered bodies, the warriors who had once been allies, now locked in confusion and violence against one another.

"Pathetic," he muttered under his breath, his fists tightening. "With the diverse group of nations in this alliance, opinions were bound to be different. But this?" His voice rose in disgust. "This is the end of unity, the end of purpose."

"Today, my army, we witness the fall of the weak known as Pixara!" Mydeimos shouted with a raise of his sword.

"We are Kremnoans! And we will never fall to these cowards!"

The battle cries that followed were fierce, loud, and unrelenting. The warriors surged forward once more, and with Mydeimos at their helm, they began to push back the disarrayed forces of Pixara. His eyes were focused, his mind calculating. This time, it was different. The defeat would be decisive. The rebels would feel the weight of their disobedience.

He'll be back home sooner than expected.

The news of their army's victory spread around Castrum Kremnos quickly, many were preparing for the return of the warriors excitedly.

You were also finally starting to be seen and respected as good word began to circuit about your participation in the small war.

You hadn’t truly expected it. You had been preparing for failure, even as you worked tirelessly behind the scenes. But now, as the whispers grew louder, you couldn’t deny the shift. You were no longer just the wife of Mydeimos, the one who had been thrust into a kingdom full of political intrigue and turmoil. No, now you were beginning to be seen as an asset, someone who could hold her own.

The palace felt different now. People greeted you with more respect, the once-dismissive looks were replaced with nods of acknowledgment. Some even approached you with suggestions, offering advice that seemed more like an invitation to join the ranks of those who would guide the future of Kremnos.

Your mind, though, was still occupied with Mydeimos.

What would Mydeimos say when he returned? Would he see your involvement in the war as a sign of your loyalty, or would it further estrange you both? Would this newfound respect be enough to create the change you desperately needed?

There was only one way to find out.

A few days later, the army returned with their king.

People lined the streets, their faces a mix of joy, curiosity, and anticipation. It was clear this victory meant more than just a battle won—it was a declaration of power, a symbol of the strength Castrum Kremnos now wielded, and a glimpse into what the future could hold.

Mydeimos was leading them; there was something in the way he looked at the crowds that made your stomach twist. It wasn’t joy or triumph in his eyes; it was a quiet, brooding intensity, as if the weight of the kingdom’s expectations, the loyalty of his people, and the complexities of his reign were bearing down on him all at once.

It wasn't until late into the night, when you were up walking around the now familar castle, when a hand came out of a room and yanked you inside.

The door slammed shut behind you, and for a moment, everything was still—silent and suffocating.

Your eyes adjusted to the low light, and before you could speak, you heard a voice.

"Don't make a sound," Mydeimos’ voice commanded, harsh and firm. It was the first time in weeks you’d heard it so close, so raw. His presence in the room felt almost like a storm, unpredictable.

He released his grip on your arm, and you took a step back, your pulse still racing. "Mydeimos, what—?"

"I told you not to speak," he snapped.

Mydeimos’ gaze softened for just a fraction of a second, though it was fleeting. "You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing? The whispers around the court… the way they look at you now."

Your stomach dropped. "I only—"

"I don’t care what you’ve been trying to do."

Your nervousness was quick to turn into anger.

It was as if the weight of everything that had happened—every word unsaid, every action, every betrayal—had been building up inside you, and now, finally, it was spilling over.

"You think you can just walk in here after everything, after everything that's happened, and still treat me like this?"

Mydei looked shocked before his brows furrowed, but you didn't give him time to speak.

"You left me at the altar; you left me without saying goodbye before heading into a war! Y-you even left me that night when all we had was each other!"

Your chest heaved with every breath, and the tears, which you had been holding back for so long, began to threaten. But you wouldn't let them fall. Not now.

"I wondered what I did wrong for so long! I just wanted my friend back. I wanted to be there for you after the fall of your parents! I just thought you'd need me the way I need you..."

You couldn't help the tears from falling now.

For a long moment, there was silence, broken only by the pounding of your own heartbeat in your ears. Mydei looked at you, his face unreadable, but you could see the flicker of something—guilt, remorse, maybe even regret.

Finally, he spoke, his voice strained. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"You did a terrible job, Mydeimos!"

Your anger seemed to rub off on him now. "Could you stop calling me Mydeimos! To you, I am your Mydei!" He was damn near growling now, an animalistic look in his eyes. "Did you ever stop being selfish for one second and think about the consequences of us being so close?"

"Selfish? You're calling me selfish?"

"[Name], let me finish talking." He wasn't asking, and with the look in his eyes, you knew it'd be best to be quiet.

"I did what I had to do," Mydei continued, his tone low, laced with frustration and something darker—resentment, maybe. "I didn’t want to push you away. But we’re not children anymore. We’re not playing games. Every choice I made, every move I made, it wasn’t for me, it was for this damn kingdom, for Kremnos, for us, whether you understand it or not."

His fists clenched, the muscles in his jaw working as if he were restraining himself from saying more. His eyes never left yours, dark and intense, the emotions running so deep beneath the surface.

"You don’t get it," he muttered, almost to himself, his voice thick with bitter frustration. "You think I’ve been selfish? You think this is easy for me?" His breath hitched, and there was a flicker of something vulnerable in his gaze before he quickly masked it again. "I’ve been carrying this weight, this burden, all by myself. And I didn’t want you to have any part in it. That night in the field... I saw what my people, my own father, were capable of. It haunted me every night, seeing you like that, holding my mother's deceased corpse."

"Then... the marriage actually happened, and I knew there was no way for either of us out of it."

Your heart clenched, the venom in his words stinging more than you expected. Hell that’s coming... You didn’t want to ask him to explain. You didn’t want to know the details of his world, of the decisions he had to make. But you couldn’t help it.

"Is that why you avoided me? Because you thought it would keep me safe? Because you thought I couldn’t handle it?"

His eyes softened, just for a moment, before the harshness returned. "I left because I thought you deserved better. I thought you could have a life without the weight of this kingdom crushing you. Without being tangled in my mess. But maybe I was wrong about that."

You stepped back, your hands trembling, unsure if you wanted to hear more or if the truth was too much.

"Maybe you’re wrong about everything," you whispered, barely able to hold back the tears. "You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You don’t get to keep me in the dark while you fight your battles and make your choices."

Mydei’s expression shifted—something flickered in his eyes. Regret? Sorrow? "I didn’t want to make those choices alone."

"You think you can fix this? After everything?" you asked, your voice trembling, raw with emotion. "What do you want from me, Mydei? After all this time, after everything you’ve put me through?"

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze searching yours as if trying to find the words.

Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter, more uncertain. "I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. I just know I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to keep running away from you."

You let his hand touch your face. "I heard about everything you did to help us, me, come home. It made me think about how much stronger you actually are. I... regretted making you rely on me so much as kids. You could have always been a strong leader if I had just given you the chance. If I let you adapt to life here instead of trying to seclude you from it."

Mydei’s expression softened, his thumb gently brushing away a stray tear that had fallen down your cheek. There was a quiet sincerity in his eyes now, a vulnerability that he rarely allowed anyone to see. He took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to say something more.

"I’ve been so scared of losing you," he confessed, his voice tight. "But maybe... maybe I’ve already lost us, in some way. Maybe we’ll never be what we once were."

You shook your head, stepping closer to him, your heart pounding. "We don’t have to be what we were, Mydei. We can be something else. We can start again—slowly, but together. If you’ll let me in again."

"We can be different from your parents; we don't have to end in tragedy."

He paused, his eyes searching yours as if weighing his options, as if the weight of his past mistakes was heavier than the future he could possibly have with you.

After a long, tense silence, he nodded, the corners of his lips lifting slightly. "I want to try," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I want to try with you. If you’ll have me."

You took a deep breath, your chest tight with all the emotions you had been holding onto for so long. "I’ll have you, Mydei. But you have to promise me something. Promise me that we won’t hide from this anymore. Promise me we’ll face whatever comes together, no matter how hard it gets."

His grip on your face tightened slightly, a silent vow in his eyes. "I promise. No more running away."

You smiled. "No more running? Not even from a pretty butterfly that lands on your nose?"

Mydei's once longing face turned into one of annoyance. "You cannot be serious."

The look on his face made you laugh even harder; his scowl, which was usually threatening, felt like looking at a puppy. "If you had something randomly land on your nose, would you not freak out?"

With your laughter dying down, Mydei looked lovingly at you. He missed this.

"Not as much as you, that's for sure."

Mydei let out a 'hmph' as he grabbed your chin with his hand, forcing your eyes to meet his. "W-what are you..!"

He leaned in gently, placing a soft kiss on your nose. This action left you flustered and a stuttering mess.

"I promise you, [Name]. I will not leave your side; I'll protect you no matter what." He pressed his nose against yours, forehead to forehead.

And for the first time in a long while, you believed him.

wowie this was long, i'm working on something similar for phainon (probably not as long), lmk if you wanna be tagged!

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #amphoreus #honkai star rail mydei #hsr mydei #hsr #honkai star rail x you #mydei x reader #mydei x you #hsr fanfic #enemies to lovers #childhood friends #mydeimos #hsr amphoreus #mydei

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