Strength in Unity: Realisation

A knock at the door startled her. Micheal's voice, gentle but insistent, came through. "Magda, open the door. I need to speak with you."

Her response was immediate and sharp. "Go away! Maybe you should chat up some maids if you're so desperate for company."

Outside, Micheal leaned against the door, panting slightly after frantically searching the library, dining hall, and other places Magda might have been, causing him to be late in reaching her.

Her cutting words stung, but the hint of jealousy behind them sent a thrill coursing through him. She cared—deeply. He intended to relish this realization, savoring the moments slowly, as if it were a delicacy meant just for him.

Running a hand through his hair, Micheal allowed a faint, mischievous smile to tug at his lips. "If she keeps being this adorable," he muttered under his breath, "she'll drive me to madness."

He knocked again, softer this time, his tone warm and steady. "Magda, please. May I come in? I want to apologize."

Inside, Magda froze mid-step. Her heart pounded as conflicting emotions surged through her. She considered ignoring him, but something in his voice gave her pause.

Reluctantly, she moved to the door and opened it just a crack, her crimson eyes locking onto his. "What do you want, Micheal?" she demanded coldly, though her voice wavered slightly.

Micheal met her gaze, his expression soft but unwavering. "I came to apologize," he began, his voice calm and sincere.

"Not for what you saw—you know I'd never betray you. But for making you feel this way. I should have been more cautious."

Magda stared at him, her emotions warring within her. The genuine regret in his voice softened the edges of her anger, though she tried to cling to it.

Finally, she stepped aside, letting him into the room. "You shouldn't apologize for what wasn't your fault," she said quietly. "But… thank you for saying it."

She crossed her arms, fixing him with a measured gaze. "You do realize, Micheal, that if someone else had seen that scene, you might have been forced to marry that girl. Our… circumstances don't leave much room for scandal."

Micheal's eyes flickered with understanding, but his reply was deliberate. "We don't need to prove anything to anyone, Magda. You're my wife, regardless of what others think."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her anger flaring again. "You're infuriatingly calm about all this," she muttered, her tone laced with frustration. "Do you even realize what—"

He looked at Magda, noting her crossed arms and the subtle changes in her dressing since he arrived at Valenhart.

He knew she was trying to win him over, but in his mind, he pitied the poor thing who was trying to win what was already her's.

Micheal stepped closer, his calm demeanor concealing a flicker of amusement. "Magda," he said, his voice dropping slightly, "No one is taking me from you. Not a servant, not a noble, no one. Understand that."

To get a reaction from her, Micheal added with a feigned innocence, "You know, Magda, when I was a child, I used to get jealous too—of other kids who stole my elder brothers' attention. It's funny how those feelings can bubble up even when they don't matter."

His tone was light, but his eyes gleamed with a deliberate spark.

Magda stiffened, her internal frustration growing. She hated when anyone, especially Micheal, implied their bond could be compared to the affection between siblings or childhood playmates.

Her crimson eyes narrowed slightly, though she forced herself to remain composed. "That's hardly the same thing," she snapped, her voice clipped.

Micheal's lips twitched in amusement, savoring her reaction. "Oh, is it not?" he teased gently, leaning in slightly. 

Her cheeks flushed with indignation, but she refused to take the bait. Instead, she turned away, crossing her arms tightly.

Micheal leaned back with a faint, satisfied smile. Magda's simmering frustration was precisely what he had hoped for, though he didn't push her further—for now.

Her breath hitched at the intensity of his words, and for a moment, she couldn't meet his gaze. "You're impossible," she mumbled, her cheeks warming.

She wondered fleetingly if he didn't understand the seriousness of their unconsummated marriage… or if he simply didn't see her as a woman.

Micheal's chuckle was soft, almost teasing. "Are you angry?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "Or perhaps… jealous?"

Magda's head snapped up, indignation flashing in her eyes. "I am not!" she retorted, though her voice faltered.

His smile deepened, the predator behind his calm facade briefly surfacing. "Good," he murmured. "Because if you were, I might have to… do something about it."

The tension between them hung thick in the air, her heart pounding in her chest.

Then, as if sensing her turmoil, Micheal stepped back, his expression softening. "I'll leave you to your thoughts," he said, moving toward the door. But before he left, he glanced over his shoulder with a playful smirk. "For what it's worth, Magda… you're adorable when you're jealous."

Magda stood frozen, her emotions a tangled mess. As the door clicked shut behind him, she sank onto the edge of her bed.

Her chest tightened, her feelings for him overwhelming. Watching his retreating figure, one thought solidified in her heart: she loved him, fully and irrevocably.

 -----

Micheal walked briskly through the dimly lit hallways of Valenhart Castle, his expression contemplative.

The earlier confrontation with Magda lingered in his mind, but now he had another matter to address. He stopped at an inconspicuous door near the servant's quarters and knocked softly.

The door opened slightly, revealing a shadowed figure.

Without preamble, Micheal spoke in a low voice. "The girl from the camp… ensure she's looked after. She was foolish, but she doesn't deserve to be discarded entirely."

The figure nodded, their face remaining in the shadows. "It will be done, your Highness."

Satisfied, Micheal turned on his heel and made his way back to his chambers, the faint sound of his boots on stone the only echo in the empty halls.