Arne's Pov:
*The chill of the morning stone seeped through the thick leather of my boots, a familiar comfort in the quiet solitude of the shrine. The scent of old incense and damp earth filled the air, a smell that had become the very essence of my penance. My knuckles were white where I gripped the cold, carved railing, my knuckles a stark contrast to the fading heat of memory still clinging to my skin. She was gone. Again. The space beside me in the balcony when i woke up, the warmth of her body on mine when we kissed, the sound of her voice—it was all a ghost, a taunting spectre that made the cold stone of this place feel almost warm by comparison.*
*Anger, hot and corrosive, coiled in my gut. A fool. That's what I was. A king who had forgotten his duty, his honour, the sacred memory of the woman who had given her life for me. I had let a fleeting moment of weakness, of base lust, betray her memory. And for what?**My gaze fell upon the small, weathered effigy of my beloved, its stone features serene and forgiving. A bitter laugh escaped my lips, harsh and grating in the sacred stillness. Forgiveness. I had none to offer myself, and yet I begged for hers. I dropped to one knee, the rough stone scraping against my breeches, and bowed my head, the heavy weight of my crown feeling like a millstone around my neck.*
"For what I have done," *I began, my voice a low growl that was swallowed by the vastness of the shrine.* "I have sinned against your memory, my queen. I have let my eyes wander and my body betray the sacred vow I made to you."
*The air outside the tent was cold, biting at my exposed skin. I ran a hand through my hair, the familiar, heavy braid feeling like a shackle. My gaze, hardened and distant, fell upon the four small, weathered tents pitched in a neat row. They were not tents for the living, but monuments. Silent, empty shrines to the children I had never held, the heirs who had never drawn breath. A wave of icy sorrow, sharp and clean, cut through the fog of my anger.*
*I walked towards them, my boots making no sound on the cold stone. I stopped before the one in the center, the smallest, and knelt. My voice, when it came, was a raw whisper, meant only for the wind.* "I hope you will forgive me," *I murmured, my throat tight.* "For my weakness. For failing you all."*Rising to my feet, I brushed the dust from my knees, a gesture of finality. The decision crystallized in my mind, sharp and cold as the winter air. It was a vow, a fortress I would build around my broken heart. I would not waste a single thought on her. She had made her choice, leaving me in the night, a memory of passion to be burned away by duty. It was fine. I told myself the word, tasting it like ash, but forcing it down. It had to be fine.*
*With that silent promise locked away, I turned my back on the tents of my lost children and strode back towards the main hall. My steps were heavy, but my purpose was clear. There was work to be done. There was always work. It was the only thing that did not betray.*
*The weight of the crown was a constant, physical presence, a band of cold iron pressing down upon my brow. It was a weight I had chosen, a burden I was meant to bear alone. And yet, for moons now, I had been waging a different kind of war, a silent battle waged within the confines of my own mind. It was a war I was losing.*
*On the coldest nights, when the wind howled like a damned soul and the fire in the hearth was but a memory, the urge would strike me with the force of a physical blow. I would find myself staring at a map, my finger tracing the borders of my kingdom, and my thoughts would drift, unbidden and treacherous, to her. I would imagine my most trusted riders, cloaked in shadow, galloping across the land. I would picture them finding her, dragging her back to the castle, forcing her to her knees before my throne. And then what?**The question echoed in the grand, empty halls of my mind, a taunt from a ghost. She didn't even know I was the king. To her, I was just a man. A stranger she had shared a night with, and then discarded. The thought was a humiliation, a brand upon my pride. A common thief, a woman who lived by her wits and her fingers, would she have spared a second glance for a king? Would she have been charmed by my title, or would she have seen it just as another thing to be taken?*
*I tried to bury these thoughts under mountains of parchment and the roar of the council's debates. I threw myself into trade disputes and border skirmishes, my days a blur of decisions and decrees. But my duties were a sieve, and these flimsy, maddening thoughts always seeped through. They were a poison, a secret shame that gnawed at me even as I sat upon my throne, a symbol of the absolute power she had so casually ignored.*
*It was madness. Utter, consuming madness. A king did not obsess over a thief. A king did not allow a fleeting passion to fester into a wound that would not heal. I was the sovereign, the law, the heart of this realm. My duty was to my people, to my legacy, to the memory of those I had lost. Yet, here I was, a prisoner of my own mind, haunted by a woman who was little more than a beautiful, dangerous memory.*
*The councilors would drone on about grain yields and new tariffs, their voices a dull buzz in my ears. I would nod, my gaze fixed on some distant point on the wall, while my mind was elsewhere. I saw her face—her defiant ember eyes eyes, the curve of her smile,which exposed her gap teeth, the way her hair had fallen across her shoulder, the way her smooth dark skin had illuminated under the moon that night. I could still feel the ghost of her touch, a brand that seared through my royal robes and into my skin. The memory of her was a sweet, intoxicating poison, and I was addicted.*
* A thief. The word was a bitter pill, a taunt I had been feeding myself for moons. And yet, the question that followed it was a serpent, coiling around my thoughts and squeezing until all reason was gone.*
*Did she steal my heart? The idea was an insult to my very being. A king's heart was not a trinket to be pocketed by some common cutpurse. It was a fortress, a bastion of duty and honour. And yet... the memory of her laughter, the feel of her hand in mine, the fire in her eyes when she looked at me—it was all there, a warmth that refused to be extinguished by my will.The sharp crack of my fist against the carved lion's head echoed through the silent chamber, a sound of pure frustration. The stone was cold and unyielding, a stark contrast to the inferno raging in my chest. The sound making the elders flinch as if I had struck them.*
*The elders, frozen in their seats around the long table, flinched as one. The sharp crack of my knuckles against the cold stone was a gunshot in the suffocating silence of the council chamber. A few of them paled, their eyes darting between my clenched fist and my storm-clouded expression. They saw a king displeased, a tyrant about to erupt, but they saw nothing of the war I was truly waging within myself.*
*One of the bolder alders, a man whose jowls had a habit of quivering when he was nervous, cleared his throat and leaned forward.* "Your Majesty," *he began, his voice thin and reedy,* "is anything the matter?"*My gaze, sharp as a newly forged blade, cut across the chamber and locked onto the alder who had dared to speak. I didn't answer him directly. Instead, my eyes flickered to Frederick, my most trusted advisor, who stood silently near the hearth. He saw the look—the raw, barely leashed fury that had nothing to do with grain tariffs or border disputes—and understood instantly. He stepped forward, his voice a calm, steady counterpoint to the tension crackling in the air.*
"The King is merely under the weather," *Frederick said smoothly, his tone brooking no argument.* "A long morning of difficult decisions. I think it would be best if we adjourned this meeting and reconvened on the morrow."*A low murmur rippled through the chamber. The elders exchanged glances, their faces a mixture of confusion and thinly veiled resentment. They were not accustomed to being dismissed so summarily, especially on the say-so of a mere guard. One of the more stubborn elders, his face flushed with indignation, opened his mouth to protest, to remind Frederick of his place.*
*But I cut him off, my voice a low growl that silenced the room more effectively than any shout could.* "Everyone. Leave." *The command was simple, absolute. There was no room for debate, no room for their wounded pride. For a tense moment, no one moved, a silent standoff between a king and his courtiers. Then, one by one, they rose, scraping their chairs back against the stone floor with grating noises. They filed out, their whispers and dagger-like stares aimed squarely at Frederick as they passed him by, their confusion and anger a palpable cloud in the air.*
*Once the heavy oak doors had closed behind the last of the elders, shutting them and their judgmental whispers away, the silence in the chamber became profound. It was just Frederick and me, the air still thick with the tension I had created. He turned from his post by the door, his expression one of loyal concern, his hand resting near the hilt of his sword as if expecting trouble from within the room itself.*
"My King," *he began, his voice lower now, meant only for me,* "are you alright?"*I gave a single, sharp nod, my jaw still clenched tight. The fury had receded, leaving behind a hollow ache and a profound weariness. I could not put into words the tempest that had torn through me—the memory of her, the bitter taste of rejection, the gnawing question of whether a thief had plucked the very heart from my chest and walked away with it. There were no words for such a thing, and I would not voice my weakness to my most loyal man.*
"I will be taking a stroll in the gardens," *I said, my voice flat and devoid of its earlier fire.* "No one is to disturb me."*Frederick's posture relaxed slightly at my command, the professional mask of concern settling into one of dutiful obedience. He gave a respectful bow, his gaze steady and unwavering.* "Yes, my lord." *He didn't press for more. He knew me well enough to understand that some storms were not to be spoken of, only weathered in silence. He turned and held the great door open for me, the cool draft from the corridor washing over my heated face. As I passed him, I could feel his loyal concern like a physical presence, a silent vow that he would guard my solitude as fiercely as he guarded my life.*
*Several moons have past and i was moving on fine , until one faithful night. I was in my chambers asleep dreaming of my beloved. The dream was a warm, golden thing, a fragile bubble of peace I hadn't allowed myself in months. In it, she was there, her presence a familiar comfort. We walked through a sun-dappled forest, her hand tucked trustingly in the crook of my arm. She was laughing, a sound like wind chimes, her eyes holding a warmth that had long since vanished from my waking world. For a few precious moments, I was not a king, not a man consumed by a bitter obsession. I was simply… happy. The memory was so vivid, so real, that I could almost feel the phantom warmth of her touch, the scent of her hair on the air. It was a sanctuary I had foolishly wandered into, and the abruptness of its shattering was all the more violent for it.*"My lord," *he blurted out, the words tumbling over each other in his haste. He didn't wait for me to respond, didn't give me time to process the intrusion.*"She's here,"
*The words were a physical blow, striking me in the chest and stealing the air from my lungs. The dream, the memory, the carefully constructed wall of indifference I had built over these long months—it all crumbled into dust at his feet.*
*The words hung in the air between us, a phantom echo of a voice I had heard only in my dreams. My heart, which had been a cold, heavy stone for months, seemed to lurch in my chest. I stared at Frederick, my agitation momentarily forgotten, replaced by a sharp, disbelieving confusion.* "The lady from the balcony..." *The phrase was a key turning in a lock I had sealed shut. My mind raced, trying to grasp the impossibility of it. Was this some cruel trick? A fever dream brought on by my own obsession?**I stood frozen, the chill of the floor forgotten. The world seemed to tilt on its axis.* "The lady from the balcony..."
*The words were a key turning in a lock I had sealed shut. My mind, still thick with sleep, struggled to grasp the meaning, to reconcile the impossible with the reality of Frederick's grim expression.* "Is this a sick joke?" *The words were a low growl, more a threat than a question. I took an involuntary step forward, my eyes boring into his, searching for any hint of deception, any flicker of mockery. But there was none. Only a raw, unvarnished truth that settled over me like a shroud. The look in his eyes confirmed it. This was no jest. She was here.*
*A part of me, a foolish, treacherous part, surged with a wild, desperate joy. She had come back. After all this time, she had sought me out. But that fragile spark of happiness was instantly smothered by a colder, harder emotion. The hurt, the anger, the deep, festering wound of her absence and her betrayal roared to life, drowning out any trace of relief. My pride, the thick, unyielding armor I had forged over these long, bitter months, clamped down with a suffocating force. It would not be broken, not by her, not now.* "Tell her to leave," *I commanded, my voice a low, dangerous rasp. I focused on the grain of the wood in the doorframe, anything but the loyal confusion on Frederick's face. I was trying so hard not to care, to rebuild the walls she had so casually walked out of.*
*Frederick's posture stiffened, his confusion hardening into a flicker of disbelief. He had seen my heart laid bare in the aftermath of her disappearance, had been the one to help me piece together the shattered remnants of my pride. He knew this command was a lie, a desperate attempt to cling to a control that was already slipping away.* "My lord," *he pressed, his voice firmer now, laced with a quiet insistence that bordered on insubordination.* "She's in the infirmary. She was badly wounded... bleeding. She rode here in the dead of the night, looking for you." *He laid out the facts, each one a sharp stone in the path of my denial, a testament to her suffering and her unwavering, reckless need to find me.*
*The words, 'badly wounded' and 'rode here in the dead of the night,' struck me like a physical blow. A primal, protective instinct, one I thought I had locked away, roared to life within my chest. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my body tensing as if to launch myself toward the door, toward her. The image of her injured, alone, in pain, was a spear through the armor of my pride. Every fiber of my being screamed to run to her, to see for myself that she was alive, to hold her and erase the fear that her pain had ignited.*
*But I stopped myself. I planted my feet, forcing the muscles in my legs to lock, to refuse the command my heart was screaming. I took a slow, deliberate breath, the air feeling thick and heavy in my lungs. I had to ground myself, to hold onto the rage, the betrayal, the cold emptiness I had lived with for so long. It was the only thing that could shield me from the tidal wave of emotion threatening to drown me. Pride was the only anchor I had left.* "When she heals," *I said, my voice a strained, brittle thing that barely sounded like my own,* "she should leave."
*The words tasted like ash in my mouth, but I forced them out, each one a hammer blow to the fragile hope that had just begun to bloom.**Frederick stared at me, his confusion now melting away into something else. It was a look of profound disappointment, a flicker of the annoyance you'd feel when watching a dear friend act against their own best interest. He saw the lie for what it was—a pathetic, transparent attempt to save face. He opened his mouth, probably to argue, to tell me I was being a fool, to remind me of the weeks I had spent moping like a wounded animal.* "My lord—" *he began, his tone a mix of pleading and frustration.*
*But I cut him off. I couldn't bear to hear it. Couldn't bear to have my own pathetic weakness reflected back at me by the one man who knew it too well. The command was a whip-crack, sharp and final.* "Go," *I ordered, my voice regaining some of its icy edge, though it trembled ever so slightly.* "And I don't want to know anything about her again. Is that understood?"
*I turned my back on him, staring at the cold stone of the fireplace, a monument to the solitude I had so carefully cultivated. The silence that followed was thick with unspoken argument, but Frederick knew me well enough to know when a battle was lost. He held his breath for a moment, a silent testament to his frustration, before giving a sharp, clipped bow.* "Yes, my lord." *The sound of the door clicking shut behind him was a gunshot in the silent room.*
*The moment he leaves the carefully constructed facade of indifference I had presented to Frederick evaporated. The rage and pride that had been my anchors dissolved, leaving me adrift in a sea of suffocating confusion. I slammed the door shut again, not with a warrior's force, but with a desperate, wounded sound that echoed in the empty chamber. The sound was swallowed by the oppressive silence that followed. I stumbled back, my legs giving out, and collapsed onto the edge of the bed, the same one I had just vacated. The cold linens felt like a shroud. I buried my face in my hands, the rough texture of my scarred skin a stark contrast to the turmoil churning inside me. I was suffocating. The stone walls, once familiar and comforting, seemed to be closing in, pressing in on me from all sides. She was back? Why now? After I had finally, painstakingly, forced myself to move on, to accept that she was gone for good? And wounded?*
*Days bled into one another, a slow, monotonous march of duties and decisions. I threw myself into the governance of my lands, into strategy and trade, into the endless, grinding work of a king. It was a purposeful distraction, a way to fill the hollow spaces she had left behind. But the mind is a traitor, and no matter how I filled my hours, my thoughts would invariably drift back to her. It became a private, shameful ritual. I would find myself, as if by some unseen force, strolling past the infirmary under the guise of inspecting the castle's defenses. My eyes, against my better judgment, would find the narrow slit in the door, and I would watch her. She was still unconscious, a still, pale form on the bed. But sometimes, she wasn't still. She would toss and turn, her face contorted in a silent struggle against whatever demons haunted her dreams. On one occasion, I paused for longer than I should have, my ear almost pressed to the door.*
*I thought I heard a whisper, a single name torn from her lips in a voice so full of sorrow it felt like a physical blow.* "Ax..."
*It wasn't a name I knew. A cold knot of something unpleasant tightened in my gut. Another man? A lover? A brother? The possibilities, unwelcome and bitter, flickered through my mind. But I quashed them immediately. To dwell on it was to acknowledge that I cared, that her past, her life before me, was a matter of importance. My kingly pride, the very thing I had used to build a wall around my heart, recoiled at the thought of such pettiness. A king does not waste his time on trivialities. I turned away from the door, my jaw set, and forced my feet to carry me back to my chambers. I would not think of it. I would not think of her.*
*Yet, the image of her pained face, the sound of that broken whisper, lingered. It was a seed of doubt planted in the fertile ground of my pride. To counter it, I needed armor of a different kind. I decided to wear a royal guard's uniform. It was not for her, I told myself sternly. It was a symbol of my duty, my station, my role as a protector and a sovereign. It was a statement. If she were to awaken, she would not see the king, the vulnerable man who had nearly thrown away his pride for her. The commander. It was a performance, and I would play my part flawlessly. I dres, the familiar weight of the leather. It felt like another layer of skin, another shield to hide behind.*
*One day, after a week or two of this torturous dance, I finally found the courage. It was a foolish, reckless courage, born of a weakness I could no longer deny. I quietly entered the infirmary, my steps silent on the stone floor. The physician, seeing the set of my jaw and the unspoken command in my eyes, gave a respectful bow and excused himself, leaving us in a heavy, suffocating silence. I pulled a stool close to her bedside, the wood scraping softly against the floor. I sat, my gaze fixed on her face. She was so pale, so still. My hand, moving of its own volition, reached out. My fingers hovered over the bandaged wound on her arm before I, with a gentleness that surprised even myself, traced the line of the stitches just beneath the clean linen. Her face contorted, a reflex to the phantom pain, and I snatched my hand back as if I'd been burned. Guilt washed over me.*
*My gaze then fell to her brow, beaded with a cold sweat. Without thinking, I lifted my hand and brushed the damp strands of hair from her forehead, my thumb stroking her temple in a soothing motion. She began to toss her head on the pillow, her brow furrowed in distress, caught in another nightmare. My heart clenched. My own hand, the one I had just used to comfort her, came to rest gently on top of hers, my thumb stroking her knuckles. It was the only way I knew to offer solace in her silent suffering. The questions tumbled out of me, a whisper meant only for her ears, raw with a concern I had tried so hard to bury.* "Who hurt you?" *my voice was a low rasp.* "What nightmares are you having? What pain are you going through?"
*The worry was a tangible thing in the room, a heavy cloak I had draped over us both. And then, the absurdity of it all crashed down on me. What was I doing?**I was the king. I had wanted her to be gone. I was the man who had built a fortress of pride around himself, brick by painful brick. And here I was, whispering to the unconscious woman, my heart laid bare on my sleeve. This was weakness. This was a betrayal of everything I had worked so hard to become. The warmth in my chest turned to ice, and I recoiled from my own actions as if she had burned me. I started to pull my hand away, to stand, to retreat back into the safety of my cold indifference, when her eyes flew open. They were wide with terror, her breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps. She was trapped, not just in a nightmare, but in the sudden, terrifying reality of finding an infirmary looming over her. I froze for a split second, my own panic warring with hers. Then,my instinct to protect, took over. I immediately sat back down, my movements careful and deliberate.*
*I reached out and gently placed my hands on her shoulders, my touch firm but not restraining. My voice, when it came, was low and steady, an anchor in the storm of her fear.* "Easy now," *I murmured, my gaze locked on hers, trying to project calm.* "You're safe. You're in the castle infirmary."
*I kept my hands on her, a steady presence, feeling the frantic, fluttering beat of her pulse beneath my thumb. I scanned her face, searching for recognition in those wide, terrified eyes, but all I saw was raw farfetched thinking eyes .The uniform felt like a lie now, a costume I had foolishly worn for a play that had suddenly become terrifyingly real.*
*I kept my hands on her shoulders, my grip firm but not painful, a silent anchor in the sea of her panic. Her breathing was still ragged, her eyes darting around the infirmary as if looking for an escape route. When she finally found her voice, it was a raw, broken thing.* "What happened?" *I asked, my own voice low and even, though a storm was brewing inside me. She hesitated, her eyes becoming calculating, assessing me. And then she said it. The words were a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.* "I'm pregnant."
*The other words she spoke—the story of discovering it, coming to me, being attacked, the physician's care—they became meaningless background noise. My mind seized on that single, earth-shattering declaration. Is it true? Is this some ploy? A desperate lie to gain favor, to secure a place ? The cynical part of my brain, the part that had survived years of courtly intrigue, screamed at me to be wary.*
*But the memory of that night was a tidal wave, washing away all suspicion. I remembered her, shy and yielding, a virgin who had given herself to me completely. I remembered the feel of her skin, the taste of her tears, and the overwhelming release as I had spilled my seed deep within her, thanking her for the gift before collapsing into an exhausted sleep. The thought of her with another man, especially that name from her nightmares—* "Ax"
*—was a brand of hot jealousy on my soul. I could feel my jaw clench, a low growl building in my chest. I wanted to shake her, to demand the truth, to force her to admit it was mine. But then I saw her eyes and the anger died as quickly as it had flared. This was not a woman crafting a scheme. This was a woman who had been broken and was now facing an even more terrifying future. The thought of her carrying my child, a piece of me, was a revelation so profound it stole my breath. It was mine.*
*A wave of such profound, dizzying happiness crashed over me that it left me breathless. Finally. After the crushing weight of my four lost children, a secret sorrow I had carried alone for so long... this was a chance. A true chance to be a father. To hold a child that was undeniably mine, a part of my own flesh and blood. The joy was so immense, so all-consuming, that it broke through the carefully constructed dam of my reserve. A single tear escaped, tracing a hot, unfamiliar path down my cheek. And then another. I was weeping, openly and without shame, my heart laid bare before her. The king, the commander, the man of ice and steel was gone, replaced by this raw, vulnerable joy. I saw the shock register on her face, her eyes widening as she stared at my tears. She had clearly braced for rejection, for anger, for dismissal. She had expected the king to deny the child, to cast her out. But what she saw was something else entirely.*
*I pulled myself back from the precipice of my own elation, forcing my expression into one of calm composure. The joy was still a roaring fire in my chest, but I needed to be the king for her, for this fragile new beginning.* "Forgive me," *I said, my voice regaining its steady command, though it was still thick with unshed emotion.* "You must rest. That is an order."
*I gave her a final, reassuring look, a silent promise in my eyes, before turning and stepping out of the infirmary. The heavy door clicked shut behind me, and the moment I was out of sight in the quiet corridor, the mask fell away. A wide, triumphant grin spread across my face. I leaned my shoulder against the cool stone wall, a low, incredulous laugh escaping my lips. I couldn't contain it. I felt like a boy again, bursting with a secret too wonderful to keep. I ran a hand through my hair, a gesture of pure, unadulterated joy. A child.*