After Mika stormed up the stairs like a furious little hurricane, the entire dining hall went silent.

My guards kept glancing between me and the staircase.

My maids froze like statues.

Everyone clearly expected me to snap, shout, or send someone to drag him back down.

I just leaned back and let out a slow breath.

So dramatic.

So stubborn.

So… him.

"Y–Your Majesty… should we—" one of the guards started hesitantly.

"No," I said calmly. "Leave him."

They bowed immediately, relief written all over their faces.

They truly feared Mika had just signed his death warrant.

If only they knew.

I stood up from the table and began walking toward the staircase. I wasn't going to his room — not yet — but I wanted to be near enough in case he fainted from being too angry. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised.

On the way up, I caught myself smiling like an idiot.

This was ridiculous.

I don't smile at people.

People smile at me — out of fear, not affection.

But with him?

One insult. One annoyed look. One threat of him poisoning me…

And suddenly I'm smiling.

Pathetic.

When I reached the top of the stairs, I paused for a moment. The hall was quiet, the lights dim, and the air still carried the faint scent of jasmine and coco from earlier.

His scent.

The same scent no omega has ever made me tolerate — yet for some reason, my body let Mika's settle into me like it belonged there.

I walked toward his door.

It wasn't fully closed.

Just cracked open slightly, like he didn't care enough to shut it properly.

Typical.

I knocked softly.

Nothing.

"Mika?" I said, just to test if he was still mad.

Silence.

Then—

"Go away," he snapped from inside.

I smiled again.

God help me.

"You didn't lock the door," I said.

"I don't care. Leave me alone."

"So hostile," I muttered, leaning against the doorframe. "We just had our wedding. Shouldn't we bond a little?"

"If you open this door, I'll show you bonding in the form of murder."

His voice was muffled but sharp.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting the urge to laugh.

This boy…

"I came to check on you," I said calmly.

"I didn't ask you to."

"You were angry."

"I still am."

"Good," I said, surprising even myself.

"…What the hell do you mean good?" he asked through the door.

"It means you're finally being yourself."

Silence.

Long silence.

Then, softer—

"I don't want to talk."

And that tone…

That wasn't anger.

That was exhaustion.

I straightened slightly.

He wasn't just angry.

He was overwhelmed.

Not surprising.

His parents controlled him his entire life.

Now he's in a new house, new marriage, new expectations…

Anyone would crack.

I lowered my voice.

Calm. Steady.

"Mika… you're safe here."

Another pause.

"You can be however you want in this house. Angry. Loud. Quiet. Anything. I won't hurt you."

The door stayed closed, but I heard his breathing shift — just a little.

Not acceptance.

Not trust.

But… confusion.

I'll take that.

"Good night, Mika," I said finally.

"Good night," he muttered back—so low I almost missed it.

I walked back down the hall, my chest unexpectedly warm.

He didn't slam the door.

He didn't insult me again.

He didn't threaten to kill me.

That was progress.

Small… but progress.

And gods, I wanted more.

So much more.