A Trip Down Memory Lane

The next morning, Azrya awoke alone. The other side of the bed was cold.

"I wonder where he spent the night," she thought to herself, brushing silver curls out of her face as she sat up.

She crossed the room and looked out of the window. Below, Akio's men were already busy loading supplies onto wagons, preparing for the journey to the Kingdom of Magnus—the land Akio had been gifted by the king as a reward for his triumph in the Great War. Among them, she spotted him.

Akio stood tall, overseeing everything with calm precision. The morning sun bathed him in golden light, casting a soft glow over his frame. His usually jet-black hair shimmered with a subtle blue hue under the sun's rays. She understood now why the maids, and even her own sisters, found it hard not to stare. He carried an undeniable presence—like a warrior carved from steel and fire.

As if sensing her gaze, Akio suddenly turned and looked directly at the window.

Panicked, Azrya ducked, crashing onto the floor with a thud. Mortified, she began to crawl away, hoping he hadn't seen her—just as her maids walked in.

Startled, Azrya scrambled to recover, muttering awkwardly, "Oh, don't mind me—I dropped my earring."

She reached for an invisible object and stood up quickly. "Found it!"

The maids exchanged a knowing glance but said nothing, getting straight to work preparing her for departure.

Earlier that morning

Akio had slipped out of the room long before dawn, his body aching with restless desire and restraint. Despite the burning need inside of him, he'd held back. His feelings for Azrya weren't born of lust—but of years of silent, longing admiration. To quell the storm within him, he sought out the cool air of the castle courtyard.

There, beneath a sea of stars, he sat on a stone bench and poured himself a cup of wine, letting memories of the past wash over him.

Azrya hadn't recognised him. But he had never forgotten her—not since the first time they met, six years ago.

They had crossed paths more than once at noble gatherings—feasts, galas, ceremonies. Yet Akio had always kept his distance, content just to see her from afar. Even when he was forced to play the part of servant—squire, stable boy, cupbearer—he never missed a chance to be near her. All for a glimpse of the girl with silver hair.

One memory stood out more than the rest.

It was at a grand ball in the Kingdom of Volos. Akio had been working in the stables, tending to the horses of arriving lords. Exhausted, he'd fallen asleep in a hay pile when a soft giggle stirred him awake. He jolted up, half-thinking a knight had caught him slacking.

But instead, standing beneath the dim lantern light, was her.

Azrya, no older than thirteen, stood petting one of the horses, her silver curls cascading over her shoulders. The gentle way she smiled, her eyes bright with mischief—it stole the breath from his lungs.

"Oh my, I'm sorry I woke you," she said with a light laugh. "I thought I was being quiet."

He blinked, flustered. "It's fine. I wasn't asleep. Just... resting my eyes."

Azrya turned back to the horse. "Of course. My mistake. Though most people don't snore while resting their eyes."

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Her teasing was lighthearted, sweet—not cruel like the mockery he usually endured. Her laughter was full of life, not venom.

"It's okay," she said, grinning. "I won't tell anyone. It'll be our little secret."

Akio laughed with her. 

In that moment, nothing else mattered.

But all too soon, they were interrupted.

"My lady," a guard called sternly, stepping into the stable. He shot Akio a disapproving look. "You shouldn't be out here alone. Your father would not be pleased."

Azrya's expression dropped, her light dimming. Without protest, she followed the guard—but not before turning to Akio one last time. With a cheeky smirk, she stuck her tongue out at him.

He had stood there, stunned, then smiled to himself, shaking his head.

Now, years later, that same girl was his wife.

Akio stared into his empty wine cup and sighed. "Time to go back," he murmured, rising slowly.

Back then, he had no title, no name—just a dream. But he worked relentlessly, carving a path through war and hardship, rising through ranks until he could finally ask the king for her hand in marriage. That first step was done. She was his, legally. But that wasn't enough.

Now, his true battle began.

He would earn her love—not with force or duty, but patience. If it took months or even years, he would wait. And when they finally came together, it would be because she wanted him. Because she chose him.

Yet, even with all his conviction, he still struggled. The emotional scars of a loveless childhood ran deep, and expressing affection didn't come easily. Would he be able to overcome that darkness? Or would it consume him, keeping Azrya at arm's length?

He didn't have the answers. But for now, he returned to the room.

Quietly, he opened the door. Azrya was asleep, curled up under the covers, her expression soft and peaceful. Gently, he pulled the chair closer to her bedside and sat down, watching her.

To him, she looked like something out of a dream—fragile, radiant, untouchable.

"I will protect you. No matter what," he whispered. "I'll give you the world... and more."

Carefully, he reached forward and brushed a strand of silver hair from her face, his fingers barely grazing her skin. Then he leaned back in the chair, guarding her like a silent sentinel.

Sometime later, before dawn, he stirred.

Rising from the chair, he glanced down at Azrya one last time. The duvet had slipped off her shoulders, and he pulled it gently back over her, tucking her in.

"Don't catch a cold," he murmured.

And with that, Akio left the room to prepare for their journey to Magnus—where their story would truly begin.