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abbythewritor · 16 days ago

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Winter is Coming. Chapter Nine.

Description: Y/N Targaryen, the last true daughter of House Targaryen, bears the weight of her lineage on her broad shoulders. Young, fiercely determined, and often underestimated for her plus-size figure, she is forced into an unyielding marriage alliance with one of the most dangerous men across the seas: Crocodile, the ruthless warlord and cunning leader of Baroque Works. Torn from Westeros and thrust into the unpredictable waters of the Grand Line, Y/N must navigate the treacherous alliances, schemes, and monstrous forces that haunt her every step. As Crocodile’s bride, her life becomes a game of survival—earning his respect while enduring his cold indifference and manipulative tendencies. However, the fire in her blood will not be dimmed. With whispers of ancient dragons and visions of the Iron Throne calling her home, Y/N begins to embrace her Targaryen birthright, proving that dragons do not cower—they conquer.As war brews across the seas and in Westeros alike, Y/N’s journey will test her body, spirit, and mind. With Crocodile as both her captor and potential ally, she will rise through betrayal, blood, and fire to claim her destiny. Winter is coming, but fire and blood will follow.

Warnings: Explicit content, blood, Violence, Sexual content, you know Game of Thrones stuff.

Just to be clear: I do not own Game of Thrones or One Piece, they belong to the creators. I wrote this story on Chat GTP as to help with story structure and Spelling. Y/n in this story is overweight and plus size, as I rarely see Y/n's that are bigger in fanfiction at all, so I'd thought it will be different. THIS STORY IS NOT FOR CHILDREN!!! As like Game of Thrones, it will have a lot of explicit, and graphic scenes!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!!!!!!

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The days at Crocodile’s fortress began to blur together, a monotonous routine punctuated by moments of unease. Y/N had grown used to the imposing walls of Rainbase, the endless desert stretching beyond its borders, and the chill of the nights that seemed at odds with the blazing heat of the sun.

Crocodile, for his part, kept his distance most days. He watched her closely but rarely spoke to her unless it was to issue a command or question her care for the dragon eggs. His moods were difficult to read—sharp and calculated one moment, distant and contemplative the next.

But today, there was something different about him.

As Y/N stepped into the grand dining hall to begin her morning, she found Crocodile already there, leaning against the head of the table with a cigar between his teeth. His hook tapped idly against the wood, a rhythmic clink that echoed faintly in the expansive room.

His expression was dark, his brows drawn together in a deep scowl. His usual air of composed authority was marred by something else—something closer to irritation, or perhaps even dread.

Y/N hesitated at the threshold, her fingers brushing against the fur-lined cloak he had insisted she wear in the mornings to ward off the chill. She wasn’t sure if she should speak, but the weight of his gaze made it impossible to ignore him.

“Good morning,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the tension in the air.

Crocodile grunted in response, his eye flicking toward her briefly before returning to the table.

Y/N stepped closer, her hands clutching the edges of the cloak. “Is something wrong?”

He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, the cigar between his fingers glowing faintly in the dim light. “You could say that,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

She tilted her head slightly, waiting for him to elaborate.

After a moment, he sighed heavily, straightening to his full height. “We’re expecting a visitor,” he said, his tone clipped. “Someone I’d rather not deal with.”

Y/N frowned faintly, her curiosity piqued. “Who?”

Crocodile’s lips curled into a sneer, his irritation evident. “Donquixote Doflamingo.”

The name sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. She had heard of Doflamingo in passing—a man of infamy and cruelty, a fellow Warlord whose reputation rivaled even Crocodile’s.

“Why is he coming here?” she asked cautiously.

Crocodile’s eye narrowed as he extinguished his cigar in a nearby ashtray. “He wants to ‘discuss’ something,” he said, his tone laced with disdain. “But I know what this is about.”

Y/N shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, her mind turning over the possibilities. She didn’t need him to say it to know what Doflamingo’s visit likely involved. The arranged marriage between her and Crocodile had become a topic of rumor and speculation.

And Doflamingo, like any good spider, couldn’t resist a web of intrigue.

By midday, the atmosphere in the fortress had grown heavier, the anticipation of Doflamingo’s arrival settling over the halls like a storm cloud. Crocodile paced the main hall, his expression dark as he barked orders to his guards, ensuring that everything was in place.

When Doflamingo finally arrived, it was with his usual flair.

The sound of boots echoed through the hall as the towering figure strode in, his pink feathered coat swaying dramatically with every step. His ever-present smirk curled across his face, his sunglasses glinting in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

“Crocodile!” Doflamingo called, his voice loud and mocking as he spread his arms wide in greeting. “It’s been too long!”

Crocodile’s jaw tightened, though his expression remained composed as he stepped forward to meet the other Warlord. “Doflamingo,” he said, his voice low and measured. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, come now,” Doflamingo replied, his smirk widening. “You know why I’m here.” His gaze flicked briefly toward Y/N, who stood near the edge of the room, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. The faintest gleam of amusement flickered in his eyes as he added, “I had to see for myself if the rumors were true.”

Crocodile’s eye narrowed, his hook tapping against his side. “Get to the point.”

Doflamingo chuckled, taking a leisurely step closer. “Relax, Crocodile. I’m here as a friend.” The word dripped with sarcasm, his smirk never faltering. “I’m just curious about your… bride.”

Y/N stiffened at the word, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to keep her expression neutral.

Crocodile’s posture shifted subtly, his broad shoulders squaring as he stepped between Doflamingo and Y/N, his presence a deliberate barrier. “She’s none of your concern,” he said flatly.

Doflamingo’s grin widened, his sunglasses hiding whatever thoughts swirled behind his eyes. “Oh, but she is,” he said, his tone light but pointed. “A Targaryen princess married to a Warlord? That’s quite the alliance. People are talking, Crocodile. They’re wondering what you’re planning.”

Crocodile’s lips curled into a snarl, his patience wearing thin. “Let them wonder. It’s none of their business.”

“Or mine?” Doflamingo pressed, his voice lilting with mock innocence.

“Exactly,” Crocodile snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut.

The two men stared at each other, the tension between them crackling like lightning. For a moment, it seemed as though the room itself held its breath.

Then, unexpectedly, Doflamingo laughed—a low, throaty sound that filled the space and grated against Y/N’s nerves. “You’re so serious, Crocodile,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve always been like this. No sense of humor.”

Crocodile didn’t respond, his golden hook gleaming faintly in the firelight as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Doflamingo’s gaze shifted to Y/N once more, his smirk softening into something almost predatory. “And what about you, princess?” he asked, his voice honeyed. “Do you feel the same? Do you believe your new husband’s plans are none of my business?”

Y/N swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She glanced at Crocodile, whose expression darkened further at Doflamingo’s question.

“Don’t talk to her,” Crocodile growled, stepping forward. The protectiveness in his tone surprised even him, though he masked it well with his usual command.

Doflamingo raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Alright, alright,” he said, though the gleam in his eyes suggested he was anything but sorry. “I’ll behave. For now.”

The rest of the conversation was tense, with Crocodile deflecting Doflamingo’s thinly veiled jabs and attempts to pry into his affairs. Y/N watched in silence, her hands gripping the edge of the fur cloak as she tried to make herself small and unnoticeable.

When Doflamingo finally left, it was with the same dramatic flair he had arrived with, his laughter echoing through the halls long after he was gone.

Crocodile stood in the center of the room, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists. He didn’t look at Y/N immediately, his mind clearly preoccupied with the lingering tension of the encounter.

Finally, he turned to her, his expression softening slightly as he took in her tense posture. “You’re alright,” he said, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.

Y/N nodded slowly, her hands still clutching the cloak. “I’m fine,” she said quietly, though the unease in her voice betrayed her.

Crocodile’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before he exhaled heavily, running a gloved hand over his face. “Doflamingo is a pest,” he muttered. “But he’s not your concern. Let me deal with him.”

Y/N nodded again, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Crocodile’s eyes narrowed slightly as he watched her, his frustration shifting into something more protective. “You don’t have to be afraid of him,” he added, his tone softer now.

She met his gaze briefly, her heart skipping a beat at the unexpected gentleness in his voice.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her voice steadier now.

Crocodile nodded once, his expression hardening again as he turned back toward the center of the room. His thoughts churned, but one thing was certain:

He would not let Doflamingo—or anyone else—interfere with what was his.

But.

The fortress felt like a coiled snake waiting to strike.

Ever since Donquixote Doflamingo arrived, tension gripped Rainbase like an iron vice. The maids moved hurriedly, their heads down as they avoided the Warlord’s gaze, whispering nervously when he was out of earshot. The guards stationed throughout the halls were equally on edge. They had faced dangers before, but Doflamingo was something else entirely—a man whose reputation alone was enough to make even the bravest soldiers uneasy.

His devil fruit, the Ito Ito no Mi, was infamous. Whispers of strings sharp enough to sever flesh and bind souls followed him wherever he went, and the stories weren’t exaggerations. Doflamingo’s power was terrifying, not just for its raw strength but for the cruelty with which he wielded it.

And yet, Doflamingo wasn’t acting out of malice—not today.

Crocodile remained distant after their tense lunch, retreating to his quarters with a scowl that could curdle wine. Y/N had returned to her own chambers, doing her best to stay out of sight and out of mind. But Doflamingo…

Doflamingo had other plans.

As the day dragged on, Doflamingo found himself intrigued.

The rumors of the Targaryen princess had reached him weeks ago, long before Crocodile’s marriage. But to see her in person—to observe her closely—was something else entirely.

She was polished, he thought. Quiet. Well-behaved, like a bird in a gilded cage. A creature shaped by survival rather than strength.

It amused him, at first. The way she carried herself, always with a rigid composure, as if expecting the world to collapse around her at any moment. But as the hours passed, he began to see the cracks—the faint hesitation in her steps, the way her fingers clutched at the edge of her cloak when she thought no one was looking.

Pity, he thought, the word curling through his mind like smoke.

But pity was not the only thing that lingered.

That evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon and bathed the desert in hues of gold and red, Doflamingo followed Y/N. It was not a conscious decision, not at first. He had been wandering the halls, his sharp mind turning over the events of the day, when he caught sight of her moving down one of the fortress’s quieter corridors.

She carried something in her arms, cradling it carefully like a mother with her child.

Curiosity flickered in his chest, and before he realized it, his feet were carrying him forward, his long strides closing the distance between them with ease.

Y/N didn’t notice him at first. Her attention was focused on the objects in her arms—three smooth, scaled eggs that glinted faintly in the fading light. Their surfaces were textured and warm, their colors rich and vibrant—red, green, and black, like jewels from some forgotten age.

Doflamingo stopped abruptly.

For the first time in years, something twisted in his chest, sharp and unrelenting. It wasn’t fear, not exactly. No, this was something else—something primal and ancient.

Dragons.

The word echoed through his mind like the tolling of a bell, loud and impossible to ignore.

He had dismissed the stories, of course. Everyone had. Dragons were a relic of a forgotten age, creatures that had burned themselves out centuries ago. Yet here, in the arms of this quiet, frightened girl, were three dragon eggs—alive.

He could see it now, the faint shimmer in the air around them, the pulsing warmth that radiated from their cores. The eggs were not mere relics. They were waiting.

Waiting to hatch.

Y/N froze when she finally noticed him. She turned slowly, her breath hitching as her gaze met his. Her arms tightened instinctively around the eggs, shielding them as though she could protect them from the Warlord’s piercing gaze.

“Fascinating,” Doflamingo murmured, his smirk curling wider.

Y/N didn’t respond, her heart pounding in her chest. She had been told to avoid him, to stay far away from the man in the pink coat with the predatory grin. Yet here he was, standing before her, his presence as oppressive as the desert heat.

“What are those?” he asked, though his tone carried more curiosity than threat.

“They’re mine,” Y/N said quietly, her voice steadier than she expected.

Doflamingo chuckled softly, the sound low and unsettling. “Yours?” he echoed, tilting his head. “Do you even know what you’re holding, little princess?”

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away. “Yes. I do.”

His grin faltered ever so slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. “Dragons,” he said, the word rolling off his tongue like poison.

Y/N nodded, her arms tightening further around the eggs.

For a moment, Doflamingo said nothing. He simply stared at her, his mind racing. The implications of what he was seeing were staggering. Dragons. Real dragons. If these eggs hatched, the balance of power in the world would shift in ways no one could predict.

And yet… as he looked at her, standing there with defiance in her eyes and vulnerability etched across her face, something else stirred within him.

She was no threat. Not yet.

But the eggs? The eggs were a promise.

A promise of fire and blood, of power that could not be controlled.

He took a step closer, his smirk returning. “Does Crocodile know what you’re holding?” he asked, his voice soft but pointed.

Y/N hesitated, her silence betraying her answer.

Doflamingo chuckled again, shaking his head. “Of course he does,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “He wouldn’t let you keep them otherwise. He must think he can use them—use you.”

Y/N flinched, the words cutting deeper than she cared to admit.

Doflamingo’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned, his coat sweeping dramatically behind him as he strode away.

“You should be careful, little princess,” he called over his shoulder. “Not all power can be tamed.”

Y/N stood frozen in the corridor, her arms still cradling the eggs as her heart raced.

Doflamingo’s words echoed in her mind long after he disappeared, their meaning as heavy as the warmth pulsing from the eggs in her arms.

For the first time, she felt not just fear… but something else.

Something that felt like fire.

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Speaking of fire.

The streets of Rainbase buzzed with life, the city pulsing with its usual energy as the desert sun poured down like molten gold. Vendors called out from stalls brimming with spices, fabrics, and trinkets, their voices blending with the chatter of townsfolk and the clinking of coins exchanging hands.

Children darted between the crowds, laughing as they chased one another through the marketplace, their bare feet kicking up small clouds of sand. Guards patrolled the streets, their weapons gleaming in the sunlight, keeping a watchful eye on the bustling activity.

Rainbase, the heart of Crocodile’s territory, was thriving.

Among the crowds, a man walked with a carefree swagger, his bare chest exposed beneath an open shirt, a hat tipped low over his face to shield him from the sun. A confident grin tugged at his lips as he took in the sights and sounds of the city, his dark eyes gleaming with curiosity.

Portgas D. Ace, the second division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, had arrived.

But not as a pirate.

For once, Ace wasn’t here on business—or trouble. Dressed simply, with none of the fanfare or chaos that usually accompanied his name, he blended seamlessly with the crowd. No one recognized him, nor did they give him a second glance as he wandered the marketplace, taking in the vibrant energy of Rainbase.

Ace loved exploring new places. Every island, every town held something unique, something worth discovering. Rainbase, with its sprawling streets and lively crowds, was no exception.

He stopped at a vendor’s stall, examining a display of fruit with mild interest. The vendor, a stout man with a broad smile, began rattling off prices, but Ace’s attention drifted elsewhere.

It wasn’t the fruit. It wasn’t even the vendor.

It was the whispers.

“Queen Y/N… Have you heard?”

“They say she’s beautiful. A Targaryen princess married to Crocodile, can you imagine?”

“Did you hear about the dragon eggs? They say she carries them with her like treasures from the gods.”

“And Doflamingo’s still here, isn’t he? Makes you wonder what he’s up to.”

Ace’s head tilted slightly, his grin fading as the words reached his ears. He turned away from the stall, his dark eyes scanning the crowd as he listened carefully.

The whispers were everywhere. Citizens of Rainbase spoke in hushed tones about their new queen, their words tinged with awe, curiosity, and speculation. Y/N, the Targaryen princess—now Queen of Alabasta. Married to Crocodile.

Ace’s brow furrowed faintly. He hadn’t expected to hear about royalty during his visit, let alone royalty tied to Crocodile, one of the Warlords. The name Targaryen tugged at something in the back of his mind, a faint memory of stories he’d heard during his travels—tales of dragons and a bloodline steeped in fire and power.

But it was the mention of the dragon eggs that truly caught his attention.

Dragon eggs?

The idea sounded ridiculous, almost laughable. Dragons didn’t exist—they were creatures of legend, nothing more. Yet the way the townsfolk spoke of them, their voices hushed but excited, made it clear that they believed the rumors.

Ace’s lips curved into a faint smile, his curiosity piqued.

“Queen Y/N, huh?” he muttered under his breath.

He continued walking, his steps slow and deliberate as he allowed the buzz of the city to guide him. The marketplace was alive with color and sound, but Ace’s thoughts were focused elsewhere.

Crocodile wasn’t the type to marry for love. If he had taken a wife—a queen, no less—there was more to the story than met the eye. And the mention of Doflamingo lingering in Rainbase only added another layer of intrigue.

Ace wasn’t here to stir up trouble, but the whispers of dragon eggs and a queen who carried them… He couldn’t ignore it.

His wandering eventually brought him to a shaded corner of the market, where a small group of townsfolk had gathered near a fountain. They were talking animatedly, their voices low but audible enough for Ace to catch snippets of the conversation.

“…the eggs are real, I tell you. My cousin saw them himself when he delivered supplies to the fortress.”

“Dragons? Impossible.”

“Impossible or not, the Queen has them. You’d think Crocodile would be the one carrying them, but no—she holds them like they’re her children.”

“That’s why Doflamingo’s here, isn’t it? He’s after the eggs.”

Ace leaned casually against a nearby wall, his arms crossed as he listened. The more he heard, the more curious he became.

He had never met Crocodile, but the man’s reputation was enough to paint a vivid picture. Ruthless, cunning, calculating—those were the words most often associated with the Warlord of the Sea. A man like that didn’t do anything without a reason.

And yet, the rumors of his new queen… Ace couldn’t help but wonder what kind of woman Y/N was to stand beside someone like Crocodile.

“Dragon eggs, huh?” Ace muttered to himself, his grin returning as he pushed off the wall. “Guess I’ll have to see this queen for myself.”

As he made his way deeper into the city, his steps light and purposeful, Ace couldn’t shake the feeling that Rainbase held more secrets than it was letting on.

And he intended to uncover every single one of them.

But.

As he walked.

He wasn’t walking with the leisurely pace he’d had earlier. The rumors swirling in the air had taken root in his mind, weaving together into a tapestry of intrigue that he couldn’t resist unraveling.

The Queen of Alabasta. A Targaryen princess. A forced marriage to Crocodile. Dragon eggs. And now, whispers of seven nations beyond the Grand Line, of an iron throne, and even a possible war.

Ace was no stranger to the weight of power or the games people played to seize it, but the scope of these rumors was something else entirely. His curiosity had shifted into something more—a need to know what was true.

And for that, he needed to meet her.

Not as a pirate. Not as a threat. Just as himself.

The sun dipped lower in the sky as Ace slipped through the bustling streets, moving with a predator’s ease. He kept his hat low, his movements unassuming, blending into the crowd with the practiced grace of someone who had spent his life evading attention.

Rainbase’s sprawling marketplace gave way to narrower streets, quieter corners where the fortress loomed larger with each step. The closer he got, the heavier the air seemed to grow.

By the time he reached the outer perimeter of the fortress, the crowds had thinned to almost nothing. Guards patrolled the area, their weapons gleaming under the fading sunlight. Ace crouched behind a stack of crates, his grin widening as he watched them from the shadows.

“Too easy,” he muttered under his breath, his confidence unwavering.

Getting past the guards was laughably simple. Ace had slipped through tighter security in far more hostile places. These men, though alert, weren’t expecting someone like him—someone who moved like a ghost, leaving nothing but whispers in his wake.

Inside the fortress, the atmosphere was even heavier. The grand halls were dimly lit, the air cool and thick with the faint scent of smoke and incense. Footsteps echoed faintly in the distance, but the corridors near Ace were eerily quiet.

He moved with purpose, his instincts guiding him as he navigated the labyrinthine halls. The rumors he’d overheard played over in his mind, piecing together an image of the woman he was about to meet.

A princess. A queen. A woman who carried dragon eggs.

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but he couldn’t deny the excitement thrumming in his chest. There was something thrilling about sneaking into a fortress ruled by one of the most dangerous men in the world to meet the woman who shared his throne.

The room he found was smaller than he expected, tucked away in a quieter wing of the fortress. The faint glow of a fire flickered from beneath the door, casting dancing shadows along the stone floor.

Ace hesitated for the first time. He hadn’t planned this far ahead, and now, standing outside what he assumed was the Queen’s chamber, he realized he had no idea what he was going to say.

“Hi, I’m Ace. Just wanted to see if you really have dragon eggs.”

The thought made him grin, but he knew he’d have to tread carefully.

Pushing the door open just enough to slip inside, Ace stepped into the room as quietly as possible.

It was warm, the air heavy with the faint smell of burning wood and something faintly sweet. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting a golden glow across the room.

And there she was.

Y/N sat near the fire, her back turned to him. She wore a simple robe, the fabric pooling around her as she leaned forward, her hands carefully cradling one of the dragon eggs. The other two rested on a padded surface nearby, their scaled shells glinting faintly in the firelight.

Ace’s breath hitched, his grin fading into something softer as he took in the sight.

She was unlike anyone he’d ever seen. Her figure was fuller, her form soft where most others he knew were hardened by battle and survival. Yet there was a quiet strength in the way she moved, a tenderness in her hands as she stroked the surface of the egg, her fingers tracing its ridges as if memorizing every detail.

Ace stepped forward, his boots silent against the stone floor. He didn’t want to startle her, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“Those are real, aren’t they?” he asked softly, his voice breaking the silence like a ripple across still water.

Y/N froze.

Her shoulders tensed, her fingers stilling against the egg as her head turned slightly, just enough to glance at him over her shoulder. Her eyes widened, her breath catching as she took in the sight of the man standing in her chamber—a stranger, yet somehow not a threat.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice steady despite the faint tremor in her hands.

Ace held up his hands in a gesture of peace, his grin returning as he stepped closer. “Just a traveler,” he said lightly. “Name’s Ace.”

Y/N turned fully now, her grip tightening slightly around the egg. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her tone firm.

Ace shrugged, his grin unfaltering. “Probably not,” he admitted. “But I couldn’t resist. I’ve been hearing all kinds of rumors about you—and those.” He nodded toward the eggs.

Y/N’s gaze flicked between him and the eggs, her expression cautious. “What do you want?”

“To meet you,” Ace said simply. “And maybe find out if the stories are true.”

Y/N frowned, her brow furrowing. “What stories?”

Ace tilted his head, his grin softening. “That you’re a queen. A Targaryen. And that you’re carrying the last dragon eggs in the world.”

Her silence was answer enough.

Ace stepped closer, his movements slow and unthreatening as he crouched beside her. He kept his eyes on the egg in her hands, the firelight dancing across its surface.

“They’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and genuine.

Y/N watched him carefully, unsure of what to make of this man who had appeared so suddenly, yet seemed so at ease. “They’re not just beautiful,” she said softly. “They’re alive.”

Ace’s gaze snapped to hers, his eyes widening slightly. “Alive?”

She nodded, her fingers brushing against the egg’s warm surface. “I can feel their hearts beating,” she said. “They’re waiting.”

Ace exhaled slowly, his grin fading into something more serious. “That’s incredible,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the room fell silent again, the weight of her words settling over them both.

Finally, Y/N spoke. “Why are you really here, Ace?”

He met her gaze, his dark eyes steady. “Honestly? I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I think… maybe I just wanted to see something real. And you—” He gestured toward her and the eggs. “You’re about as real as it gets.”

Y/N’s lips parted slightly, her expression softening. She didn’t know what to say, but for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t feel alone.

Ace grinned again, his boyish charm returning as he leaned back slightly. “So, think we can be friends?”

Y/N blinked, startled by the question.

“I mean, I know you’re a queen and all,” Ace continued, his tone light. “But I’m pretty good company. And I make a mean campfire stew.”

Despite herself, Y/N felt a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“We’ll see,” she said quietly, her voice carrying the faintest hint of warmth.

Ace’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The fire crackled softly between them, the tension in the room easing as they sat together, the weight of their worlds momentarily forgotten.

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