The morning after his face-first into love revelation, Joss woke up with something strange in his chest.

Not a tightness.
Not worry.

Just lightness.
Like his lungs were humming approval with every breath.

—

Sunlight fell through amber-colored curtains, leaving pale shapes on the marble floor.
Gawin was still sleeping.
Pillow slightly askew.
Blanket was draped over one shoulder.

Joss looked at him—
Or more accurately, adored him like a poem he couldn't memorize but kept reading anyway.

"I married him.
And he likes me too.

Gods, I am the luckiest idiot in Solestra."

—

Then Joss stood up.
Eyes sparkling like a knight preparing for battle—
But his heart felt like freshly baked custard.

"Alright.
Time to woo him.
Properly.
Like I haven't already married him."

—

Day One.

At breakfast, instead of sitting across the table like usual,
Joss shifted his chair a little closer. Just a little.

Gawin glanced over.
Didn't say anything.
Just brought his teacup to his lips—
to hide the smile trying to bloom.

—

That afternoon, Joss went to the kitchen.
A place he rarely visited.

"One peach jam tart.
No ginger.
No cinnamon.
Just peach."

"Uh... yes, Your Highness?"

"The Princess likes that flavor."

—

Joss had given public speeches, led negotiations, and drafted economic reforms.
But delivering a tart to his wife made his hands shake.

"What's this?" Gawin asked.

"Nothing.
I just thought... you liked peach jam.

You chose it at the masquerade."

Gawin paused.
Didn't speak.

Just looked down.
Bit into the tart—
Exactly as his cheeks turned pink.

"Oh gods.
He's wooing me.

With dessert."

Joss didn't say more.

Just looked at him—
Like he'd just handed Gawin a map to his heart with no directions.

Gawin took another bite.
Smiled.

Not because of the flavour.

—

That night, Joss left a letter.

Not handed directly.
Just tucked inside the book Gawin had been reading.

Brown paper.
Dark blue ink.
Handwriting is slightly slanted.

"I thought love would be instant.
But I didn't know.
It took three months of living beside you—
to recognize someone not by name,
but by breath,
by furrowed brows,
and by how you tie your shoes."

"Now I know.
And I won't ignore it again.

If you'll let me—
I'd like to woo you.
As a prince learning to love for the first time."

Gawin folded the letter.
Pressed it to his chest.

And sighed—
The kind of sigh people make when they're in love but too stubborn to admit it out loud.

—

Day Two.

Another letter.

No messenger.
No ribbon.

Just a note on the desk.

"I want to dance with you again.
But this time... no masks."

Gawin read it.
Pressed a hand to his chest.

Not for drama.

But because his heart was actually being annoying and beating wrong.

—

That evening, Gawin was reading in the sitting room
when he heard music drifting in.

He looked up.
Joss stood at the doorway, holding a music box.

The tune?
The same waltz as last year.

"This one again?"

"I... remember."

"Remember what?"

"The first steps.
And... the first time you stepped on my foot."

Gawin laughed.

"So you do remember I stomped on you."

"Twice. Totally worth it."

—

They didn't dance.
Just sat beside each other near the fire.
No touching.
But the space between them was warm.

—

Day Three.

Joss invited Gawin for a walk in the royal garden.

No escorts.
Just them.
Under the sun filtering through silver trees.

"You know... I once thought I married the wrong person."

"Mm."

"But I was wrong.
I married the right one.
I just took three months to notice."

"Not bad."

"Really?"

"For someone that dense? Pretty fast."

Joss went quiet.

Gawin giggled.

"I like the way you blush when I tease you.

I like the way you get overly serious when you say something as simple as 'I like you.'"

—

That night, Gawin read by the window.
Joss sat nearby, writing.

"What are you working on?" Gawin asked.

"A... speech."

"For who?"

"You.

For this year's Moonlight Ball."

Gawin blinked.

Joss stood.
Hands behind his back.
Like he was about to propose a constitutional amendment.

"Last year, I asked you to dance... and didn't ask your name.

This year, if you'll still have me—
I want to ask again.

With your name.
With your eyes.
With a promise, clear and unhidden.

With a heart that finally knows—
and has nothing left to hide."

—

Gawin didn't reply.

He stepped forward.

Held out his hand.

"Then ask me again, husband."

—

Joss took it.

No hesitation.

No masks.
No polite distance.

They turned.
Once.
Slowly.

No music.
Just breath.
And golden light falling like a blessing.

—

Gawin leaned his forehead to Joss's.

"I like peach jam."

"I know."

"I like dancing without worrying about stepping on your foot."

"It's fine. My feet are yours to step on."

"I like my husband being honest."

"Then I'll be the most honest version of me—
still loving you like I did
under masks,
and moonlight."

—

Day Four.

Another walk.
No entourage.

Just them.
In sunlight.
Among ripening citrus trees.

Gawin found Joss with dust on his hands and a dirt smudge on his face.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for the best flower.
For the person I'm courting."

"Who?"

"Guess."

Gawin looked down.
Smiled.
Heart pounding like a festival drum.

"Idiot."

—

Day Five.

Gawin passed by the library—
and saw Joss... dancing.

Alone.

No music.
Just careful steps and a face too focused for casual twirls.

"What are you doing?"

"Training.
So next time we dance, I won't step wrong.
Even if you do, I won't let go."

"Really?"

"Really. But you better say yes."

Joss turned.
Held out a hand.

"So... would you like to—

Dance with me again?"

Gawin took his hand.

Looked straight at him.
No hiding.

"Not again.

Let's just pick up where we left off."

—

And they danced.
Slow. Steady.

No grand chandeliers.
No audience.
No ceremony.

Just two people—

And a love, finally placed
into the right hands.