Johan POV

I woke with a faint smile curling on my lips. The room was quiet except for the soft rhythm of North’s breathing, even and untroubled.

He lay curled against me, lips slightly parted as he slept, unaware that he had dared to brush a kiss against my cheek in the dead of night.

A soft chuckle escaped me, and I shook my head in quiet amusement.

My eyes drifted to the pale curve of his neck, my mark beautifully visible, and without hesitation,

I bent down and pressed a tender kiss against it.

A shiver ran through his body, though he remained deep in slumber, and I straightened, my palms lingering briefly against the warmth of his cheeks.

There was something achingly fragile about him in these moments, something that drew protectiveness from the depths of me I didn’t know existed.

As I attempted to rise, I felt a soft tug on my robe. My gaze fell down, and I found North’s small hands gripping the fabric, the faintest tension betraying a subconscious desire to hold onto me even in sleep.

Carefully, I lifted the robe to inspect what had caught his attention. Nestled in his palms lay a small, shining pendant, faintly catching the morning light spilling through the curtains.

My brows furrowed. Why hadn’t he kept it in a box? Why carry it like this? I didn’t press the question—there was no need. He was asleep, and whatever thought had led him to cradle it in his hands, it was his secret.

Standing upright, I took a slow breath and allowed myself to take him in fully.

Even in sleep, he was breathtaking—his chest rising and falling, the soft shadow of lashes against his cheeks, the subtle tension of muscles that had yet to release even in rest.

The light caught the faint glint of the pendant in his hand, though I didn’t know its meaning, and for a moment my attention wavered between the object and the boy himself.

And then I noticed something else. A warmth, low and insistent, threading through my body in a way that was both foreign and impossible to ignore.

My chest felt tight, heat pooling in my limbs. My hands tingled, my skin prickled as if alive, and my heart beat a fraction too fast, erratic in its rhythm.

I shifted slightly, adjusting my stance, trying to shake off the sensation, but it lingered, pressing against me, demanding acknowledgment.

I stared at him again, my mind racing even as my body betrayed me. His presence, his scent, the soft brush of his hair against the pillow—all of it seemed to ignite a fire I had not expected.

My chest tightened further, my fingers curling reflexively as if reaching out to him, and a strange awareness of my own body swelled inside me.

Was it?

✿✿✿

North POV

I wandered through the garden, lips pressed into a thin line, boredom weighing heavily on me.

The scent of blooming roses and the faint rustle of leaves did little to lift my mood.

Johan had taken over the council work for the time being, insisting I relax, adjust, and allow myself a reprieve.

But the freedom felt strangely empty, the sunlight too bright, the air too warm.

My fingers brushed against the pendant nestled in my palm, and I closed my hand around it, hiding it as if the world might claim it from me.

My thoughts churned. How was I supposed to give this to him? Why did the simple act of offering it make my chest tighten and my cheeks burn? The idea of handing it over—small, private, meant only for him—felt terrifying and thrilling all at once.

I slumped onto the edge of a stone bench, staring down at the pendant. The intricacy of the falcon’s wings, the smooth glint of the metal, the subtle weight of it in my hand—it was perfect, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to move.

My fingers twisted the chain nervously, and I let out a soft huff.

Frustration bubbled up, sour and sharp. I had planned this as a small, secret gesture of gratitude—and perhaps something more—but now it seemed impossibly complicated.

Why did such a simple thing feel like a mountain I could not climb? I chewed the inside of my cheek, tugged at a loose strand of hair, and sulked, wishing the thought of giving him the pendant could feel easier.

I glanced up at the garden, sunlight scattering over the neatly trimmed hedges and fountains.

Birds chirped lazily in the trees, oblivious to my indecision.

I should have been able to enjoy this moment of peace, to savor the quiet after the storm of the council.

Yet all I felt was a restless, gnawing impatience.

And then I noticed it.

A subtle shift, almost imperceptible at first.

The maids moving along the stone paths, their hands lingering at their skirts a beat too long.

The guards stationed at the edges of the garden, eyes narrowing, postures stiffening.

Whispers seemed to ripple through them like a quiet current, and every so often, they glanced toward the palace gates with tension coiled in their shoulders.

Something had changed.

I straightened abruptly, the pendant tightening in my palm as a prickle of unease crawled up my spine.

The garden, so serene just moments ago, suddenly felt charged, alive with unspoken caution.

Even the air seemed heavier, as though the wind carried a warning.

I looked at the maids again. Their faces were pale, lips pressed into thin lines. The guards’ hands hovered near the hilts of their weapons.

Every step they took was careful, deliberate. Every glance was sharp, alert.

My heart thumped, a mix of anxiety and curiosity.

Something was happening—or about to happen—and even here, in the calm of the garden, I could feel the pulse of it, low and insistent.

I clenched the pendant in my hand, unsure whether it should comfort me or anchor me in place.

Something was stirring within the palace, and the tension radiating from the staff was impossible to ignore.

The sunlight glittered on the fountain water, but for the first time, the garden felt like no safe haven.