Negotiations dragged into their second week.
The Rubellum nobles were shrewd—dangling vague promises of allegiance while probing Clover's vulnerabilities. Yuno was diplomatic and poised, his words cool and clipped. But under the surface, Asta could feel the tension coiling tighter in him.
Lady Sorella hadn't relented.
She'd shifted tactics. No longer overt. No more flirtation in public. Instead, she worked in whispers, in passing notes through servants, in invitations left in Yuno's quarters under the guise of "official business."
Asta saw every one of them.
And Yuno never answered a single one.
Still, the pressure was wearing thin on both of them. Politics by day. Pretending nothing burned beneath the surface. And always—always—those eyes watching Yuno like he was a prize to be won.
Until it finally snapped.
That evening, Yuno returned to their quarters late—jaw tight, eyes storm-dark. He tossed his cloak aside with a flick of magic, pacing the stone floor like a caged wolf.
Asta sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, shirtless as usual, watching.
"She cornered me again," Yuno said, voice low. "In the library. Said I was 'wasting myself' on someone beneath my status."
Asta stood.
"She touched me," Yuno added. "Didn't ask. Just did."
That was all Asta needed to hear.
In two steps, he was in front of Yuno, gripping his face with both hands—not roughly, but firmly. "Are you okay?"
Yuno blinked, startled. "I—yeah. Just... tired. Angry. Sick of pretending I'm not yours."
Asta's eyes darkened. "Then stop pretending."
He slammed their mouths together, no buildup, no hesitation. It wasn't gentle. It was fire. Teeth. Tongues battling for dominance until Yuno finally gave in—melting, pressing against him like he couldn't bear the space between them.
Clothes were torn, not removed. Boots kicked off blindly. They crashed into the bed in a tangle of limbs and hunger.
Yuno gasped as Asta bit down on his neck—possessive, claiming. Asta's hands roamed freely, finding every line of tension in Yuno's body and unraveling it with force and purpose.
"You're mine," Asta growled against his throat, voice ragged. "Say it."
Yuno's back arched as Asta pressed against him, hard and unrelenting. "I'm yours," he gasped. "Only yours."
That was all it took.
The night that followed was rough. Intimate. Raw.
Asta took the lead—guiding, commanding, owning—while Yuno surrendered, not in weakness, but in trust. Every moan was a confession. Every kiss was a vow. They didn't hold back. Not with words. Not with bodies. Not with anything.
Hours passed. The fire dimmed to embers. And still, they held each other in the dark, sweat-slick and breathing heavy.
Yuno's head rested on Asta's chest again—heart racing but full.
"You okay?" Asta murmured, brushing hair from his lover's face.
"More than okay," Yuno whispered. "You remind me who I am. Every time."
Asta smiled, kissing the top of his head. "And you remind me why I fight."