A Gentle Hand

Seraphine's fingers remained over Kaelith's, her touch steady and warm. He did not pull away.

She had seen him fight, seen him command, seen him conquer. But this—this quiet vulnerability—was something he rarely allowed anyone to witness.

And for the first time, she did not see a prince or a warrior. She saw the man beneath the armor.

"You are not alone in this," she murmured.

Kaelith's gaze flicked to her, unreadable, guarded even now.

Seraphine shifted closer, her voice softer. "Your father may have shaped your past, but he does not define you. You decide who you become."

His fingers tightened around hers, as if anchoring himself in those words.

"You trust so few," she continued. "But you do not have to carry this burden alone."

For a long moment, Kaelith said nothing.

Then, finally, his shoulders eased—just slightly.

Seraphine did not press him for more. She simply stayed. A silent promise that, for now, he did not have to bear the weight of his past alone.

And as the night deepened, Kaelith allowed himself—for the first time in years—to accept the comfort of another.

To be continued…

---