_________
Lucina
I halted my steps by the shimmering blue-tiled fountain. The water rippled gently, catching the sunlight in fragments that danced across the marble floor. The grand palace loomed around me, its white domes and golden accents gleaming like a crown atop the city. Yet, instead of awe, the splendor now weighed heavily, tangled with whispers that seemed to chase me down every corridor.
Titi, my loyal attendant, was flustered, her hands flying in frantic gestures. "Don't listen to that nonsense, my lady! There's always some absurd rumor circulating through the palace. Just the other day, one of the maids claimed—"
"Titi," I interrupted softly, forcing a slight smile. She paused mid-sentence, the frantic energy in her words lingering in the air. I knew she only tried to shield me from the cruel edge of court gossip, but the rumors had already begun to worm their way into my mind.
"O-of course not!" Titi's hands clutched tightly to her chest, her face a mask of distress. She had caught the look in my eyes—the flicker of doubt I tried to hide.
I drew a slow breath, letting my voice barely carry over the fountain's gentle splashes. "If what they say is true… does that mean I'm… useless now?" The words felt foreign on my tongue, but the thought had been gnawing at me for hours. The rumors, claiming His Majesty's affections had shifted, cut deeper than any blade, leaving a hollow ache in my chest.
Titi's grip on my hand was sudden, urgent. "I—I forgot! I have something urgent to do. We should go… before someone notices us here. Okay?" Her eyes pleaded with me, and in that instant, I allowed myself to be led away, away from prying eyes, away from the sting of imagined betrayal.
Once we reached a quieter corridor, Titi finally stopped, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "After all this time, I can see how much His Majesty truly loves you. Don't let their ridiculous stories make you doubt that. If you ask him directly, he'll set the record straight, I'm sure of it."
I gazed down at the courtyard beyond the balcony, the rumor's shadow still lingering. They claimed His Majesty was visiting someone wounded in his chambers—a person he was allegedly close to. My chest tightened, each heartbeat a drum of anxiety.
"But… what if it's true?" I whispered, my hand rising to cover my heart as if the gesture could shield it from the possibility. The fear was paralyzing, a cold weight pressing against my ribs.
Then, forcing a steadying breath, I pushed the thought away. "No. He's busy… I don't want to disturb him." I wouldn't confront the possibility—not yet. Not in this fragile, uncertain moment.
"Let's go, Titi." My voice carried the quiet authority of finality, and together, we turned back toward the familiar comfort of my quarters.
______
Hakan
Elsewhere, a moment of quiet concern played out under a different roof.
Knock, knock.
The double doors to the chamber swung open, letting a warm shaft of golden light fall across the polished floor. A man with long, dark hair, dressed in an ornate purple robe, stepped into the room.
"Greetings, Your Majesty," he said, bowing slightly. "I've come to see whether the medicine I administered has had the desired effect."
I, seated upright on the lavish bed, felt the weight of my body against the soft covers. My injury throbbed faintly beneath the wrappings, but the visitor's professional air reassured me.
"Fine," I said, my voice calm, though my eyes betrayed the lingering fatigue.
"And how are you feeling?" he pressed, stepping closer, his gaze sharp and measured.
"Not bad. Seems quite effective," I replied, letting a faint exhale escape.
He approached with careful attention, his hands skilled as he inspected the wound. "May I have a closer look?" His eyes, dark and intense, flicked up to meet mine, seeking unspoken cues.
Gillai tended to me with a meticulous precision that was almost comforting, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration. The scent of medicinal herbs mingled with the warmth of the chamber. "It's not worsening, which is good. Healing will take time, but I'll ensure it receives proper care."
I watched his focus, yet my thoughts drifted elsewhere. Medicine could heal flesh, but what I needed now was guidance.
Noticing the tension in me, Gillai straightened, his eyes observant. "Is something wrong, Your Majesty?"
I brushed off the question with a wave. "No… nothing," I muttered, but his perceptive gaze lingered. He saw too much, perhaps reading the unease I tried to conceal.
"I'll take my leave, then," he said politely, bowing once more.
"Wait." I raised my hand, forcing him to stop. I sat at the edge of the bed, raking a hand through my hair. The crown I wore felt unbearably heavy. "I… need your opinion on something."
Gillai turned back, expression neutral. "Advice, Your Majesty?"
"Yes." Relief flickered faintly within me at the thought of his counsel. "You're intelligent… I trust your judgment."
He inclined his head slightly, signaling me to continue.
"It concerns… a king of another kingdom," I began, careful not to let my voice betray too much. "He faces succession troubles. No heirs. Opportunists circling the throne."
I paused, studying his expression. There was no hint of surprise—just the patience of a man who listened carefully.
"But to preserve his kingdom, he may need to marry a woman from an enemy kingdom," I continued, each word heavy. "Yet he already loves someone…" My throat tightened. "If he pursues duty, he betrays his heart."
Gillai remained silent, weighing my words. His eyes flicked, calculating. He understood, even without needing explicit names.
"Tell me, Gillai," I finally said, lifting my gaze to meet his, raw vulnerability in my eyes. "What would you do?"
He looked at me then, the simplicity of his reply cutting through the intricate web of politics and duty: "All I've ever wished for is Lucina's happiness… even if it means the kingdom falls."
The weight of his devotion settled over me like a balm—and a challenge. Loyalty to love, even above all else. The answer was simple, yet carried the full force of impossible choice.
Gillai gently tended to my injury, his fingers steady and precise as he examined the wound. The medicinal aroma filled the room, heavy and almost suffocating in its intensity, yet oddly comforting. "But I'm relieved to see that it doesn't seem to be getting any worse," he said, his voice calm and professional. "It's going to take some time, but I'll do my best until your injury has fully healed."
"Sure..." I murmured, my eyes fixed on the floor. Watching his face, so focused and serious, I felt a strange mixture of gratitude and frustration. He was an excellent physician, but what I needed now wasn't medicine—it was counsel, insight, someone who could help me navigate the storm brewing in my heart.
Gillai, perceptive as always, straightened and bowed slightly. "Is something wrong, Your Majesty?" His question was quiet, but beneath it lay a depth of concern I couldn't ignore.
"No, it's nothing." I waved it off too quickly, but I knew he saw through my act. His gaze lingered, sharp and assessing, catching every flicker of my tension. I could almost feel the thought forming in his mind: He's clearly worried about more than just a wound.
"I'll get going now," Gillai said after a brief pause. He began to move toward the door, his robe swishing softly against the floor.
"Wait..." I called, my voice barely above a whisper. He paused mid-step, turning back to look at me.
I sat on the edge of the large, red-draped bed, my fingers running through my hair in restless agitation. The weight of the crown pressed down on me, heavier than any armor. "Could I get your opinion… on something that's been on my mind?" I asked, carefully choosing my words.
Gillai's expression remained neutral, yet his eyes were attentive. "Are you asking me for advice, Your Majesty?"
"Yes…" I admitted, the admission a quiet relief, as though releasing a small piece of my burden. "I feel like you'll be able to offer some good advice because you're so smart."
He nodded, waiting patiently, his presence steady like a rock against the shifting sands of my thoughts. "Yes, well…"
I inhaled sharply, steeling myself. "Before I tell you anything, I want to be clear. This is about someone I know… who is a king of another kingdom. It's definitely about him." I tried to keep my voice neutral, but the edge of concern was unmistakable.
I painted the hypothetical scenario carefully, wary of revealing too much. "He's currently wrestling with the issue of succession. This 'other' kingdom doesn't have any heirs at the moment. There are even those who are scheming to seize the throne for themselves."
I caught the subtle shift in Gillai's eyes, a flicker of recognition—or perhaps understanding. Was he already piecing together the puzzle I laid before him? My chest tightened with the weight of what I hadn't said aloud.
"But the only way he can retain the throne and protect his kingdom… is by marrying a woman from an enemy kingdom." The words were bitter, like swallowing ash. A political match, a strategic marriage—my mind couldn't help but turn inward.
I lowered my gaze, ashamed of my own vulnerability. "However, he already has someone he loves. This means he'd have to betray his beloved… if he wants to protect both the throne and his kingdom."
Gillai remained silent, his dark eyes calm but calculating. I could sense his mind racing, fitting pieces together, perhaps understanding far more than I intended. My pulse quickened. If he had guessed the White Dragon Tribe and the Black Dragon Tribe, if he had connected these strands to my own heart… I couldn't predict his reaction.
Images of Ghiaret, my sister, flashed unbidden through my mind. She was the perfect political match. Could it be that he was considering her, not me? My chest ached, a tight, suffocating pain.
I lifted my eyes to meet Gillai's, the unspoken plea hanging there, raw and desperate. "What would you do in this situation, Gillai?"
His reply was simple, but it struck deeper than any sword or strategy. "All I've ever wished for until now is for Lucina to be happy… even if it means the downfall of this kingdom…"
The weight of his words pressed on me. Every plan, every political advantage, every possible strategy fell away before the purity of his devotion. The contrast between duty and love, between ambition and loyalty, had never been so stark. His answer, though quiet, resonated louder than any decree from the throne: uncompromising, unwavering, and terrifying in its sincerity.
I swallowed hard, my thoughts whirling, the room suddenly too small for the gravity of what had just been said. I could feel the tension in my chest, the conflicted pull between the crown I bore and the heart I could not ignore.
Absolutely! Here's an expanded version of your scene, keeping everything in first-person ("I") for the King/Hakan, amplifying the emotional tension, internal thoughts, and subtle gestures up to the passage you provided, without continuing beyond it:
I waited, gripping the smooth silk of the bedcover, every muscle tense. The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of the curtains and the slow, measured breathing of Gillai as he moved around my wound. His words, when they finally came, struck with the quiet force of inevitability.
"All I've ever wished for until now is for Lucina to be happy… even if it means the downfall of this kingdom."
The air seemed to thicken around me, as though the chamber itself had stiffened to bear witness. He would choose Lucina over the very stability of this realm, and the simplicity of his devotion was terrifying. It cut through the intricate webs of politics I had been weaving in my mind for weeks.
"I would protect the woman I love," he continued, his voice firm and unyielding, a statement both personal and irrefutable.
He softened slightly, adopting the calm cadence of a scholar recounting history. "There must be other ways to protect this kingdom. Rulers throughout time have revived failing realms…" His gaze, almost apologetic, lingered on me. "However, I've never heard of a ruler who managed to win back their beloved… after betraying them."
The words hung between us, heavy and absolute. My chest tightened as I pictured Lucina's hurt face, that fragile expression I had glimpsed too often in secret. He was right. No political maneuver could repair a heart shattered by betrayal.
"You're right," I muttered, the sound weak even to my own ears. I shifted on the bed, wincing as my wrapped torso protested the movement. "People's hearts don't heal that easily."
I rose slowly, the weight of my decision pressing down on me. I crossed the distance to Gillai and placed a hand on his shoulder—a rare, unguarded gesture. "Thank you," I said, and for a moment, I allowed myself the comfort of his presence.
Gillai's usual reserve melted into a rare, warm smile. "You seem in good spirits, Your Majesty. I thought we were speaking of someone else."
I froze, my hand still on his shoulder, eyes widening. "Ah, no… that's—" I quickly withdrew my hand, covering my face with the other in a rush of embarrassment. "This is about someone I know. It has nothing to do with me."
He chuckled softly, a knowing sound that both amused and unsettled me. "You must be very close to this 'king'."
I tried to maintain my composure, but it failed spectacularly. Gillai had seen through my careful facade from the very start. "I understand, Your Majesty," he said smoothly, accepting my half-lie, bowing deeply. "I hope you're able to patch things up smoothly with my lady."
As the door closed behind him with a soft clack, I flopped back onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands. "Sigh… He knew from the start."
And yet, despite the sting of humiliation, the clarity of his words lingered. The fog of political calculations, the endless "what-ifs" that had weighed on me for days, now seemed trivial. Gillai's unwavering conviction in prioritizing love over duty had stripped away the pretense.
I lifted my head, adjusting the simple linen garments that felt suddenly insufficient for the gravity of my thoughts. "But thanks to him, my mind feels a lot clearer now."
The path forward was unmistakable. There was only one choice that mattered.
"I'll go and speak to Lucina tonight."
Later, the palace halls were quiet, a soft, muted glow spilling from wall sconces. The air was still, carrying only the distant hum of the night. My chest, wrapped and tender, ached faintly with each step, but it was nothing compared to the storm of apprehension churning inside me.
I reached her door, my hand hovering over the polished wood. The sound of my heartbeat felt louder than the drums that once heralded the Black Dragon Tribe.
I knocked twice, firm but measured. Knock, knock.
"Are you there, Lucina?" I called softly.
Silence.
My fist clenched at my side, nerves twisting tighter. The quiet was an answer in itself—a wall I was not sure I was ready to scale.
"Lucina…" I tried again, voice lower, coaxing.
The door creaked open. She appeared, framed by the soft candlelight, ethereal as ever. Yet, something in her posture betrayed her. She was composed—too composed—and her pale hair caught the light like frost, sharp and distant.
"What brings you here at this hour?" she asked, voice calm, almost carefully measured.
I stepped closer, my chest tightening at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes. "Have you been crying, Lucina?"
"No," she replied quickly, averting her gaze. A lie so transparent, it stung more than honesty ever could.
I softened my voice, gentle, coaxing. "Please… come in."
She stepped aside, and I entered, shutting the door behind me with deliberate care. We sat on the edge of her luxurious couch, the softness of the cushions almost mocking the gravity of what I was about to say.
"Why did you want to see me?" she asked, eyes wary.
I turned to her, taking her hand in mine. "I need to talk to you about something." My breath caught, but I pressed on. "I've been thinking about it all day… and I had to come and tell you."
A stray strand of hair fell over her face. I brushed it away gently, watching her eyes flutter closed for a fleeting moment. "How do you feel… about leaving this kingdom with me, Lucina?"
Her eyes snapped open, wide, startled, and I spoke before she could respond. The words poured out, unfiltered and urgent, the decision I had wrestled with finally freed from my chest.
"I'm done with all these things like power and honor. I want to go somewhere where it's just the two of us… you and me."
I searched her face, desperate for a sign—approval, rejection, anything. I had made my choice. Now, it was hers.