Dude!You Had A Duchess?

I hadn't seen Dude in two years. Not since he left my bed, my castle, and my very dignified heart behind with only a wink and an empty teacup.

So of course he came back just as the palace was burning.

"Nice to see nothing's changed," he said, stepping over a flaming tapestry.

"You're late," I replied, stabbing a man with my letter opener.

He grinned. "You're welcome."

We fought side by side—me with my poisoned hairpins, him with that damned charming chaos.

"Still single?" he asked, ducking a sword.

"Still allergic to stability?" I shot back.

He laughed. I hated how much I'd missed that sound.

We stood among smoldering ruins. I was bleeding. He was bruised. Somehow, we were both smiling.

"I came back," he said.

"You always do. Eventually."

He reached for me. I let him.

But I knew better than to hope.

We didn't talk. We didn't undress carefully. It was fast, hungry, years of tension unraveling in moans and gasps and half-torn silk.

His hands were rough and familiar, tracing every curve like they'd never forgotten. My nails left marks down his back, dragging every groan out of him like a confession.

He lifted me onto the table, knocking over maps and silver trays. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him in deep, full, relentless. We kissed like we were at war.

He whispered my name like a prayer. I bit his shoulder when it became too much.

When we finally collapsed into bed, tangled and trembling, his arm curled around my waist like a shield.

He stayed until dawn.

He kissed me like goodbye.

He left again.

He always will.

But the fire in the hearth burns a little brighter when he's near.

And my door, traitor that it is, never remembers how to lock when he knocks.

Because even when he leaves, he leaves a little of himself behind.

And I'll take every piece.