My head whipped up at his response, my breath catching in my throat. For a moment, the world seemed to be still, my breath catching in my throat with the words I had waited so long to hear. His expression was a blend of surprise and something softer, almost tender, as though he hadn’t expected me to say it but was glad I had.

The usual forest green of his eyes seemed brighter, glimmering with flecks of gold as the sunlight caught them. His relaxed posture and easy smile made him look so open, so genuine. But as I studied his face, a niggling doubt crept in, unravelling the fleeting joy I had felt.

Did he think I meant it as a friend?

The thought struck me like a blow, and my heart sank. He seemed genuinely happy, but there was a lightness to his demeanour, a casualness that didn’t match the gravity of what I had just confessed. Was it possible he didn’t understand?

My thoughts raced, a flurry of panic and uncertainty. How could I make him see? How could I show him that what I felt for him went far beyond friendship, that it was something deeper, more profound?

The fear of misunderstanding gnawed at me, fueling a sudden, reckless determination. Desperate to convey the love that had burned inside me for so long, I tightened my grip on his hand, my fingers trembling slightly as I pulled him closer.

Caught off guard, Zaydon stumbled forward, his arms flailing in a futile attempt to steady himself. The movement brought him crashing into me, and in that split second, all my hesitation vanished.

Our lips met in a sudden, unexpected kiss, the contact sending a jolt through me that felt like lightning striking my very soul. His lips were warm and soft, and for a moment, he froze as if unsure how to react. But I didn’t stop.

I leaned into the kiss, pouring every ounce of emotion into it, relishing the raw intensity of the moment. Tentatively, I pressed my tongue against his lips, silently asking for more.

To my surprise, he let our kiss deepen. As I pushed him back into a sitting position, straddling hislap, my fingers tangling in his blue-black hair. His hands gripping my hips with a ferocity I hadn't known I yearned for. His touch sent shivers down my spine, the firm pressure of his fingers grounding me even as my emotions threatened to overwhelm me.

My fingers acting with a mind of their own tangled deeper in his soft hair as his arms wrapped around me, pulling me flush against him. Every barrier between us seemed to dissolve in the heat of that kiss, leaving only the raw, unspoken emotions that had lingered between us for so long.

We paused only briefly to catch our breath before diving back in. The kiss was passionate, rough, and filled with an urgency that seemed to consume him. Each brush of his lips against mine ignited a fire within me, and I found myself clinging to him like he was the anchor keeping me from falling apart.

His intensity left me breathless, each movement of his lips, his hands, and his body a silent declaration that he wanted this too—wanted me too. The vibrations of his low moans rumbled against my chest, sending a new wave of heat through me as my hands slid from his hair, down to his neck and to his chest.

As our bodies pressed together, the heat between us grew unbearable. I could feel his arousal hardening beneath me and pushing against my core, a physical confirmation of his desire that amplified the flush on my cheeks. The ache building between my thighs was undeniable, and I knew he could feel the way my body responded to him.

I think he understood what I meant now. There was no mistaking the depth of my feelings—the love I had held onto for so long. All he needed to do was say it back—but for real this time.

The world seemed to slow, the air around us heavy with the weight of everything unspoken. For a brief moment, all that existed was the warmth and connection between us, the unrelenting pull that had always been there.

But the fragile bubble of intimacy shattered with the sharp crack of a twig snapping nearby.

Zaydon froze beneath me, his body going rigid as his senses sharpened. The warmth in his touch turned cold with tension, and his arms instinctively tightened around me as though shielding me from a threat I couldn’t yet see.

Zaydon’s muscles stiffened beneath my hands, the warmth in his eyes instantly replaced by a hard-edged alertness. Gently, though almost reluctantly, he lifted me off his lap, his hands lingering for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before setting me down on the grass. Rising to his feet, his movements were fluid, controlled, and purposeful as he prepared to confront the source of the disturbance.

His broad shoulders formed an impenetrable wall between me and the direction of the sound. With practised ease, he reached behind to lift the hem of his grey shirt, revealing the glint of a sheathed dagger tucked into the waistband of his black pants. The hilt was worn, a clear testament to frequent use, and his fingers curled around it with a firm, confident grip, though he refrained from drawing the blade—yet.

Despite the potential danger, a pang of loss settled in my chest at the sudden distance between us. The warmth of his touch, the safety of his arms, was gone, leaving behind an emptiness that felt almost unbearable. My lips tingled from our kiss, and I could feel that they were also slightly swollen, a lingering reminder of the connection we had shared just moments before.

"Zay, please come back. It was probably just an animal or—" I began, my voice tinged with concern and fear, but my words faltered as a figure emerged from the shadows of the trees.

Riyal stepped into view, his expression composed as always, though the faintest blush coloured his pale cheeks when his gaze flickered from Zaydon to me and back again. He wore the black military garb of the kingdom, the fabric clinging to his lean frame like a second skin. The stark white of his slicked-back hair contrasted sharply with the deep, piercing blue of his eyes—eyes that seemed to avoid meeting mine directly, as though the scene he had walked in on was something he was not meant to witness.

Zaydon didn’t relax. His hand remained poised over the dagger’s hilt, his stance unwavering. A frown creased my brow. Was this level of caution truly necessary? Riyal was Zaydon’s second-in-command, one of the few people he trusted implicitly.

Riyal, seemingly unfazed by Zaydon’s tension, dipped into a formal bow in my direction. His movements were stiff, though whether from discomfort or the weight of the situation, I couldn’t tell. As he straightened, his gaze fixed firmly on my face as though avoiding any part of me that might provoke Zaydon further.

"Apologies, Princess Azalea," Riyal said, his voice measured and formal, though there was an underlying tension in his tone. "The king has requested Zaydon’s presence in his chambers urgently."

I nodded in acknowledgement, but my attention lingered on Zaydon. He hadn’t looked at me since he’d stood, his focus entirely on Riyal. The silence between us was heavy, fraught with unspoken emotions that neither of us seemed willing to address.

The connection we had shared—the tender, passionate moment that had taken years to build up to—felt like it had shattered into a thousand pieces. A chasm of uncertainty now stretched between us, and Zaydon seemed determined to widen it further.

Slowly, I stood, brushing the remnants of grass from my dress. My fingers trembled as I readjusted my clothes and smoothed my hair, trying to regain some semblance of composure. I couldn’t resist one last glance at Zaydon, hoping for a sign—anything to show that our moment hadn’t been entirely lost.

But he remained resolute, his back turned to me, his shoulders stiff as though bracing himself against the weight of something unseen. The distance between us was now more than physical, and it left an ache in my chest that I couldn’t ignore.

Before I could fully process what was happening, Riyal moved swiftly. His arms encircled me, lifting me off the ground with an ease that was almost unsettling. A startled gasp escaped my lips as I found myself cradled against his chest. His sharp, clean scent of citrus replaced the smoky, exotic fragrance of Zaydon that still lingered in the air.

Being in Riyal’s arms felt foreign—wrong, even. I forced myself to relax, though the tension in my body refused to fully dissipate. Riyal’s feathered wings unfurled from the slits in his uniform with a graceful snap, their pristine white feathers catching the fading light.