Johan POV

The doors to the chamber slammed shut behind the last of the lords. The echo rattled like distant thunder, then faded, leaving only the two of us in the vast, empty room. North’s eyes were still wet, his breathing uneven.

I turned to him, my anger not at him but at the situation that had forced his tears.
He looked small against the long table, the massive throne-like chair dwarfing his frame. For a moment, I hated this palace—the politics, the viper’s nest of lords who would rather devour than build.

“Come,” I said, my voice low but unyielding. “You’re leaving with Typhoon, Dao, and Easter. They’ll take you to the Avenlor markets.”

North blinked at me, still processing. “The markets?”

“You need air. Light. People. Not this nest of vipers.” My tone left no room for argument. “Go with them. I’ll handle the rest here.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but the tremble of his lips silenced him. He only nodded, his eyes downcast.

I stepped closer and smoothed a thumb over his jaw, gentle where my words had been harsh. “Go,” I said again, softer now. “I’ll find you later.”

He rose, gathering his composure as Typhoon, Dao, and Easter appeared at the doorway, waiting like silent sentinels. I gave them a look—one that carried weight and unspoken orders.

Typhoon gave a small bow. “We’ll keep him safe.”

I nodded once. “See that you do.”

When they had gone, the air shifted. The quiet became heavier, thicker, like a storm gathering. I turned back toward the far side of the hall where Arthit and Tonfah still stood, waiting, their eyes sharp and alert.

I flicked my fingers—one small gesture, but they both understood. Without a word, we slipped out of the chamber through the side corridor, down the narrow stairway that led to my private study.

The door shut behind us with a muted thud. Here, in this smaller room lined with dark wood and shelves heavy with maps and scrolls, the tension of the council chamber transformed into something colder, more deliberate.

Arthit stayed by the door, a sentinel in shadow. Tonfah, ever direct, followed me to the heavy desk at the center of the room, his eyes flicking to the rolled parchments in my hands.

“Show me,” he said.

I spread the council reports across the desk, the false numbers glaring at me like an open wound. “Not North’s handwriting,” I said, my voice clipped. “The ink’s fresher than it should be. Different cut of parchment. Someone switched them after he submitted them.”

Tonfah leaned over the table, his eyes narrowing. “This is deliberate sabotage.”

“Yes.”

For a moment there was only the sound of parchment shifting under our hands. Then Tonfah spoke again, voice low and careful:

“Do you think it’s Lord Holan?”

“No.” My answer was immediate, without hesitation.

Tonfah’s brow furrowed. “You’re sure?”

“Holan is bitter,” I said, my tone measured, “but not a fool. He wouldn’t risk open tampering—not with his position already fragile. His poison is in words, not in ink.”

Arthit stepped closer from his post by the door. “Then who?”

I let out a slow breath, my hands tightening over the parchment until it crumpled. “Someone who wants Holan to take the fall. Someone patient enough to frame a man already too loud to defend himself.”

Tonfah’s eyes sharpened. “And someone who wants North humiliated.”

My jaw clenched. “Yes.”

For a heartbeat, the three of us were silent, the only sound the crackle of the hearth in the corner. I could feel their eyes on me, waiting for orders.

I looked up, my voice quiet but lethal. “Find out who. Follow every parchment, every ink bottle, every scribe. Discreetly. I want names before the next council convenes.”

Arthit inclined his head, already moving toward the door. Tonfah straightened, his mouth a grim line.

“And Tonfah,” I added as he turned to go.

He paused. “Yes?”

“If they so much as breathe wrong in his direction again,” my voice dropped into a growl, “I want to know before the second breath leaves their lungs.”

Tonfah’s eyes flickered with something between respect and grim amusement. “Understood.”

They left, the door shutting behind them with a muted click.

For a moment, I remained in the study alone, my fingers pressed to the parchment North had so carefully written. The ink of his true work was still etched in my mind from last night—his diligence, his effort, his quiet determination to stand on his own.

I closed my eyes, my jaw tight.

They would learn, soon enough, what it meant to touch what was mine.

✿✿✿

North POV

The sun had dipped lower in the sky by the time we reached the Avenlor markets.

The air was thick with the scent of spices, roasting meats, and the sweet tang of fruit stalls.

The chatter of merchants mingled with the clatter of carts and the soft jingle of coins, a living symphony that contrasted sharply with the stifling silence of the council chambers.

Typhoon, Dao, and Easter moved confidently through the crowd, weaving between shoppers and traders.

I followed behind, my hands clasped lightly in front of me, trying to steady my heartbeat.

Everything here was loud, chaotic, alive—and yet my thoughts kept straying back to the chamber, to Johan, and the weight of his protection.

I paused at a stall where small trinkets and crafted items were displayed.

My eyes fell on a delicate, finely wrought metal pendant in the shape of a falcon.

Something about it caught my breath—it reminded me of Johan, of his precision, his watchfulness.

Without thinking, I drew a few coins and bought it, hiding it carefully in my palm. My cheeks warmed as I realized the thought that had crept into my mind: He would like this.

I tucked it into the folds of my sleeve, determined that no one—not even Typhoon, Dao, or Easter—would know. A private offering, a secret gesture of gratitude and… something deeper.

Typhoon glanced back at me, brow raised. “You’re quiet,” he remarked, voice low but teasing.

“I’m… fine,” I murmured, forcing a small smile.

Easter smirked, tossing a bag of dried herbs from one hand to the other. “Markets not your usual battlefield, eh? Relax. Enjoy the air.”

I nodded, but my gaze kept drifting. The colors, the smells, the noise—it all felt too bright, too loud. And yet, for a moment, I allowed myself to breathe, to exist somewhere that wasn’t shadowed by lords or false reports.

We wandered through stalls selling silk ribbons, hand-forged blades, and carved wooden figurines.

Dao paused at a fruit cart, picking out plump berries with the care of a collector. Typhoon haggled over a length of cloth, his voice loud and confident.

I lingered near the falcon pendant again, tracing the fine etching with a finger.

When the sun began its slow descent behind the city walls, we made our way back toward the palace. The air cooled, carrying the faint scent of evening fires and the soft rustle of leaves stirred by a gentle breeze.

I kept the pendant hidden, heart light and heavy all at once. I would give it to him later, a small token of my care. For now, I carried it with me like a secret flame.

As the palace gates loomed ahead, I felt the shift back into shadow and duty, the weight returning to my shoulders.

But for a few fleeting hours in the market, I had been just North: a prince, yes, but also a person capable of small, private joys. And for that, I allowed myself a secret smile.

__________________

As the night came.

The palace was silent.

No voices drifting from the halls, no rustle of servants’ footsteps, only the distant hum of night insects through the open balcony doors.

The room was steeped in silver moonlight, soft shadows stretching long across the bed.

And yet, for all its stillness, I couldn’t sleep.

Johan’s arms held me too firmly, heavy around my waist, as though I was something fragile he dared not release. His breath warmed the back of my neck, steady, constant, like the rhythm of a tide. It should have felt suffocating. It should have reminded me that I was bound, tethered, claimed.

But it didn’t.

I shifted carefully, turning in his embrace until I faced him.

His hold never loosened. Even asleep, his body knew mine, keeping me pressed to him, his chest a wall of warmth against me.

Johan’s face in sleep was different—stripped of the storm, the fire, the unyielding command that cowed entire rooms into silence.

His jaw, so often set in tension, was relaxed now. His lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks. His lips, usually pressed into some hard line, parted slightly, soft. He looked… almost gentle.

I raised a hand, hesitating for only a moment before letting my fingers brush lightly against his skin. Warm. Solid. Real.

I traced the line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the faint crease of his brow. Each touch was careful, almost reverent, as though I was memorizing him for the first time.

And the strangest thing was… I didn’t feel afraid.

Why? Why had his touch—once heavy, terrifying—become the one thing that eased the weight pressing against my chest? Why did his arms around me feel less like a cage now… and more like shelter?

My fingers hovered over his lips. The thought unsettled me, yet steadied me at the same time.

I poked his cheek gently, unable to stop myself. It gave way under my fingertip, warm and firm.

A small laugh slipped from me, soft and breathless. The kind of laugh I hadn’t had all day.

Johan stirred faintly at the poke, brows furrowing before his arm tightened again, pulling me flush against him, as though his body refused to let me drift even an inch away. His nose brushed against my hair.

“You really…” My voice was barely a whisper, a confession to the dark. “You really won’t let me go, will you?”

The words should have felt heavy. Instead, they warmed me.

I leaned closer, pressing my forehead to his for a moment, letting my eyes close. My chest ached with something unfamiliar, something that frightened me even more than Holan’s insults had.

And before I could stop myself, I tilted forward, brushing my lips softly against his cheek.

It was quick. Chaste. Almost hesitant. But the warmth lingered on my lips long after I pulled back.

My hand stayed on his face, fingers tracing him again and again, as if the steady curve of his cheek could explain why I suddenly felt so safe here—why my heart no longer pounded with fear, but with something else I couldn’t yet name.

“Why do I feel this way under your touch?” I whispered into the quiet, my eyes stinging faintly. “Why do I… trust you?”

He didn’t stir. His breathing remained steady, even.

But still, I whispered the words only for him, letting them sink into the night as my eyes finally grew heavy. “Thank you, Johan… for today.”

And with that, cocooned in his warmth, I let myself drift into sleep.