The next morning, the moon hid behind clouds, and early winter sunlight spilled through palace domes like melted honey.

Joss woke up early.
Not out of habit.
But because his heart simply wouldn't stay still anymore.

—

Gawin was still asleep.
His cheeks still warm, breathing steady, hand still in Joss's.

And Joss... couldn't stop looking.
Didn't dare exhale too hard.

"It's really him.

The one I've held in my heart all these months.
The one I married—without realizing I'd married right."

"Gods."

—

He leaned down and brushed a kiss to Gawin's fingers.
Didn't wake him.

Just a small apology.
And a thank-you he hadn't known how to say.

"I was foolish.
Thought I was chasing someone else...
When that someone was beside me every day."

—

Joss left the room like a man walking on clouds.

If not for palace protocol, he might've burst into song.

Servants saw him smile—a real one, not the rehearsed polite curve he wore in public.

One maid nearly dropped a silver tray.
The secretary of domestic affairs picked up his ledger immediately, suspecting a major budget adjustment.

"Your Highness... you look unusually radiant today."

"Do I?" Joss replied, voice soft enough to be carried away by breeze.

"Very much so, Your Highness."

"Good."

—

No one said it out loud.
But everyone noticed: something had shifted.

There was a different kind of light in Joss's eyes.
A softness to his walk.
A kind of unspoken optimism, like even the palace tiles were humming a little tune.

—

Gawin woke up around noon.

The cloth on the table had been changed.
The tea was still warm.
And beside the pillow—
sat a silver tray holding the moonstone necklace, unhooked.

Gawin picked it up.
Smiled.

A slow, deep smile.

The kind you give when you know you don't have to hide anymore.

—

That afternoon, Joss returned.

The door opened.

Gawin sat by the window, wrapped in thick robes, hair tousled by a breeze.

"You..."

"Hey..."

They looked at each other.
No one stood.
No one rushed.

But something shimmered in the silence, like light skipping across still water.

—

"I think you have something to say," Gawin said.

"I think you do too."

"Alright. I'll go first."

He stood, walked over, and took Joss's hand.

"It's me.
The one from the masquerade.
The one whose ring you've kept.
The one who's looked at you every day...
waiting for you to realize."

—

Joss closed his eyes. Just for a second.

Not to stop tears.
But to thank the universe.

Then he opened them.
Squeezed Gawin's hand.

"I see you now.
Clearer than ever."

—

And then he hugged him.

Not dramatic.
Not rushed.

Just a quiet embrace—
the kind of people give when they finally find what they were searching for among a hundred wrong faces.

Gawin leaned his chin on Joss's shoulder.

"You found me.

Now what?"

Joss laughed—so gently, Gawin nearly cried.

"I'm going to win you back. Obviously."

—

That afternoon, the palace felt brighter.

No one could quite explain why.

Even the orange tree in the east courtyard bloomed out of season.

—

Rumours spread like wildfire—from the kitchens to the royal stables.

"The Prince smiled."

"Not the usual 'ah, I see' smile. Like—he GRINNED."

"Someone said he whistled while leading his horse this morning."

"He WHISTLED???"

—

The entire palace buzzed like spring had come early.

The tea maid was praised for her orange blend.
The ledger clerk got a rare pat on the back: "Good work."
And a royal cat that wandered into the library was scooped up by Joss and called "good boy."

—

The king nearly choked on a pomegranate seed.

"He... he called a cat 'good boy'?
Oh gods.
Has he... actually fallen in love?"

—

Joss, meanwhile, was living in a state of controlled euphoria.

He walked down the veranda as sunlight poured through columns.

Inside, he was yelling:

"I MARRIED THE PERSON I LIKEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

On the outside, he gave a polite nod to a passing court physician and said:

"Wishing you a peaceful day."

—

"Okay.
I know he's the boy from that night.
He knows I know.
We're married.

But.

I've been overly polite for three whole months.
If I suddenly lunge at him now, he'll think I've been possessed."

—

"Also.
He's seen me turn away.

I rejected him on our wedding night—because I thought I had someone else in my heart.

That 'someone else'... was him.

If I were him, I'd hit me with a shoe. At least three hundred times."

—

"So.

No rushing.

This needs strategy."

"What's the term I'm looking for...?

Right.

I'm going to woo him."

—

Joss returned to the study.

Took out parchment.

Wrote across the top:

Operation: Win Back My Wife
(whom I married, accidentally rejected, and now love properly for real)

—

Step 1: Re-establish charm.
Books. Tea. Not horses. (That might be too much.)

Step 2: Invite for a walk.
Preferably under moonlight.
Dress appropriately. No nightshirts.
(Note: Don't step on his robes.)

Step 3: Bring up the ball.
Subtly.
Do NOT say: "You danced terribly and I still fell for you."

Step 4: Confess.
Properly.
For the first time.
After three months of acting like roommates in wedding attire.

—

Joss read it again.
Nodded.

"Good.
I'll follow the plan.

This time... I'll be the one who moves first.
No more polite distance.
Just love.

Real.
Certain.
Loud and warm in every step I take."

—