Enraging his majesty

Michael stared at the stack of reports in front of him, but his mind was far from the pages. He couldn't focus. Couldn't think straight.

Lylie's words kept echoing in his head.

You can't ignore me forever.

He hated that she was right.

He hated that she refused to let him retreat into the cold walls he had carefully built around himself. He had chosen this path—his duty, his kingdom, his isolation. He couldn't afford to be weak. And weakness, in his mind, came in the form of feelings. And his father was right.

But Lylie? She didn't play by any rules.

She was loud, and bright, and relentless.

Everything he had told himself to avoid.

And it made him want to do things that were dangerous.

His fingers curled into fists on the desk. The need to shut everything out, to keep her at arm's length, was overwhelming.

Yet every time she spoke, laughed, breathed near him, something inside him shifted.

Something he didn't know how to handle.

He had married her for one reason only—duty.

Like his father said that a king always prioritizes duty over anything and must be willing to sacrifice his happiness and provide whatever the kingdom wants and they wanted a queen,so he gave them a queen. Not his wife.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, he had hoped that she would be a quiet, compliant wife who wouldn't ask for more. That she wouldn't challenge him.

But that was the last thing she was.

And now, he was paying the price for his own choices.

His jaw clenched as he tried to focus again. He couldn't afford distractions.

He couldn't afford her.

—

The next day, Michael found himself in the throne room, presiding over yet another council meeting. The men who surrounded him spoke with reverence, as they always did, but he couldn't concentrate.

Lylie was everywhere.

He had seen her at breakfast—laughing, flirting with the lords like she was one of them, completely unaffected by his coldness. She seemed to thrive on the attention, her voice loud and filled with so much life.

How the hell did she do that?

Why couldn't he just ignore her like he had been doing before?

Michael glanced at his advisor, Lord Grenewood, as the man droned on about some diplomatic alliance with a neighboring kingdom.

He had no interest in that right now. His mind kept returning to the image of Lylie—her stubborn eyes, her unwavering presence. She was everywhere.

Everywhere he looked.

Everywhere but here.

His gaze flickered toward the entrance of the throne room, where Lylie had just entered. She was talking to one of the guards, her hands animated as she waved her arms, telling some long-winded story about the weather.

Michael's breath caught in his throat.

And then she noticed him.

Her eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, the room seemed to pause.

Lylie smiled brightly, a smile that could light up an entire room. And then, she waved.

Not subtly, not demurely. No, she waved with everything she had.

She was mocking him.

Michael could feel his control slipping. His hands clenched, nails biting into his palms. But instead of staying calm, instead of brushing it off like he should, something in him snapped.

He rose from his throne abruptly, startling everyone in the room.

"Leave," he said to Grenewood and the rest of the council members.

The room went silent. No one dared question him.

They filed out quickly, and soon, it was just Michael and Lylie.

He crossed the room to her, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

Lylie, still grinning, didn't step back when he approached her. She stood there, waiting, as if daring him to say something.

"Must you always act like a child?" Michael hissed, his voice low and sharp.

Her smile never faltered. "If acting like a child means enjoying life, then yes. Yes, I will."

"Is that what you're doing? Enjoying life? Because it seems to me like you're making a fool of both of us," he spat, his temper rising.

Lylie didn't flinch. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, that playful glint still in her eyes. "And what are you going to do about it, Your Majesty? Lock me in a tower? That seems so... old-fashioned."

He was so close to her now, their faces inches apart. He could feel the heat of her breath on his skin.

"You don't understand," he growled. "You never will."

Lylie narrowed her eyes. "I understand perfectly, Michael. You hate being here with me. You hate me."

The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

He stared at her for a long moment, his heart hammering in his chest. "It's not you I hate," he said slowly, a quiet bitterness in his voice.

Lylie raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Then what is it?"

He clenched his fists. "It's me."

Lylie blinked. "What?"

Michael's breath hitched. For the first time, he let his mask slip completely. He didn't care anymore. Not about anything. "You're everything I've spent my whole life avoiding. You're the one thing I can't control. And that terrifies me."

For a moment, silence stretched between them.

Lylie stood motionless, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Then, slowly, she took a step forward. "Michael," she said softly, her voice unexpectedly gentle, "you don't have to be terrified. You don't have to push me away."

He didn't move. His body was rigid, every muscle locked in place.

But her words... They stung.

He wanted to scream. To yell. To push her away. But instead, all he could do was stand there, staring at her.

Her hand reached out, just barely grazing his arm. And the simple touch sent a jolt through his entire body.

She was so close.

And yet, still, he couldn't let himself cross the distance.

"I don't know how to do this," he whispered, his voice broken and raw.

Lylie's smile softened. "Then let me teach you."

For the first time since their wedding, Michael felt something stir in his chest—a flicker of hope.

And he hated himself for it.