A/N:
The remaining flashback of the last chapter. 
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Princess Ravenna's body aches from a day spent in sword practice, every muscle strained, her mind worn thin. She bids her maid goodnight, locking herself away in her chambers at last. Solitude wraps around her like a comforting shroud—until she sees him.

The figure is unmistakable. The pale light of the moon spilling through her window only sharpens the angles of his face, the sweep of his dark lashes, the cruel perfection of his beauty. Morpheus, Lord of Dreams, sits on her bed, watching her as if he never left. Her heart stutters, caught between the rapid beats of shock and something else—something far more dangerous. Those piercing eyes, that face like carved marble—he is too real, too much for her to bear.

For weeks, his presence has haunted her, lingering in the corners of her mind, invading her dreams. She convinces herself this must be an illusion, a cruel trick of her weary brain. Why else would he appear now, after weeks of silence? She crushes the flicker of hope before it can ignite. Hope, after all, is a foolish thing.

He rises, moving with the grace of a shadow. His gaze is intense, but there’s a hesitation in the way he looks at her, a nervousness she never imagined he could possess. A tentative smile tugs at his lips, but it does little to mask the worry etched in the lines of his face.

“Ravenna,” he murmurs, his voice soft, yet it slams into her with the force of a thousand unspoken words. She flinches at the sound, her walls rising instinctively to shield her fragile heart. His eyes, usually so unreadable, flicker with something raw, something vulnerable. It almost breaks her.

“What brings the Lord of Dreams to my chambers?” Her voice is icy, a sharp contrast to the warmth pooling in her chest. She watches his expression falter, the hurt flashing in his eyes like a wound exposed. She takes a cruel satisfaction in it, and it compels her to twist the knife deeper. “Seeking another diversion? A convenient escape? Perhaps the pleasure houses would better suit your needs.”

“Morpheus,” he corrects, a plea woven into his tone. “And I only wish to talk.”

“You’ve said enough,” she bites back, her words laced with bitterness. She meets his gaze, and the sadness there nearly undoes her. “Tell me, Lord Morpheus, what is left to say?”

“I was wrong,” he says, and the simplicity of the admission disarms her. “I was wrong to push you away.”

“Apology declined,” she snaps, but the tremor in her voice betrays her. She hates herself for it, for the tears that well up unbidden, spilling down her cheeks. Her breath hitches, and she tries to hold herself together, but she is unraveling fast.

In two strides, he is before her, pulling her into his arms. She stiffens at first, then gives in, burying her face in his chest. The scent of him, the feel of him—it’s all too much, too familiar, too necessary.

“Do you want me to leave?” he whispers, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles on her back. The gentleness of the gesture is her undoing.

She shakes her head, her tears soaking into the fabric of his coat. The weeks without him have felt like an eternity, and she hates how deeply she has missed him, how much she needs him now.

“Do you miss me, Ravenna?” he asks, his voice tinged with something fragile, something that might be hope. She nods, her face still pressed against his chest, her resolve crumbling.

He tilts her chin up, brushing away her tears with the pads of his thumbs. His eyes bore into hers, a silent plea within their depths. “I am yours, if you will have me.”

Her silence hangs between them, heavy with unspoken emotion. Then, without warning, his lips capture hers in a kiss that is both desperate and tender. She hesitates for a moment, but then she surrenders, her lips parting, inviting him in.

Relief washes over him, palpable in the way he kisses her, the way he pulls her closer. His mouth moves over hers with a fervor that makes her knees weak, and she melts into him, her hands clutching at his shoulders as if afraid he might disappear.

He kisses her as if she is the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, with a hunger that borders on reverence. His fingers tangle in her hair, pulling her closer still, and she responds in kind, her nails digging into the fabric of his coat.

“Please,” he breathes against her lips, the word fractured, raw. His mouth moves to her neck, pressing a kiss there that sends shivers down her spine. “Forgive me.”

She shudders at the touch, the breathy plea unraveling the last of her defenses. “I forgive you,” she whispers, the words barely audible but carrying the weight of her heart.

He pulls back just enough to study her face, as if he can hardly believe what he’s heard. A small, relieved smile breaks across his features. “I missed you,” he confesses, his voice filled with something akin to wonder.

She lets out a soft, breathless laugh, her own lips curving into a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Only for you,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to her cheek. “Always.”

Her heart swells with something she can no longer deny, something she no longer wants to. She closes her eyes, leaning into his touch as his arms tighten around her. His breath is warm against her neck, his lips trailing soft kisses along her skin, igniting every nerve.

Her hands find their way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, needing to feel him, to lose herself in him. His lips capture hers once more, and the kiss deepens, turning into something more urgent, more consuming.

His hands work to free her from the confines of her gown, the cool air brushing against her bare skin as the fabric falls away. She wraps her legs around his waist as he lifts her, and they fall back onto the bed, their bodies tangling in the sheets, in each other.

And in that moment, nothing else exists but the two of them—lost in each other, in the raw, unspoken emotions that have finally found their voice.