Lucina
The light around us felt soft and strangely sacred, almost blinding in its gentleness. It glowed like moonlight bending through water, wrapping the world in a shimmering haze. In that feeling of suspended time, I became acutely aware of the man holding me.
My palm rested on his bare, solid chest — warm beneath the intricate gold jewelry draped across it. His skin carried the faint scent of incense and steel, and the black tattoo flowing over his shoulder looked alive in the pale glow. For the first time in what felt like days, the tension knotted in my stomach began to unravel.
"You can relax now, I," he murmured.
His voice rumbled through me, deep and quiet, like a distant storm softened by the horizon. I shut my eyes, heat blooming across my cheeks. His fingers threaded gently through my hair, applying a light, reassuring pressure at the back of my head.
He had acted for my sake — even when his actions frightened me.
You did that… for my sake, after all.
He pulled away slightly. When I opened my eyes, his dark irises — shadowed by the red paint lining them — held an unguarded sincerity rarely seen on his face. A fleeting smile flickered across his lips, one that seemed to hurt him even as it softened me. Blue roses, delicate and unreal, appear to bloom around him, like an illusion made by the night itself.
"I'm sorry about what I said last time," he began.
The words were simple, yet each one carried weight — the kind of weight that a prince who commanded armies wasn't accustomed to acknowledging. I stayed still, breath caught in my throat, listening as he continued.
"I'd had something to drink because I had a lot on my mind… and ended up raising my voice at you in my anger."
His jaw tightened — not in defensiveness, but shame.
"I wanted to apologize, but I didn't know what to say. Before I knew it, a long time had passed because I kept putting it off."
A different kind of pain flashed across his features.
"I said I would visit the palace often… but I ended up breaking my promise."
His words dragged a memory out of the shadows — a memory of blood splattering across marble. His hand gripping a blade. A body collapsing to the ground.
The fear I had felt that day, the instinct to flinch, returned for a heartbeat.
He saw it.
Of course he did.
"Were you scared?" he asked quietly.
"…I-I was," I whispered.
The admission trembled in the cool evening air.
He turned his gaze toward the towering golden palace, glowing like a sun captured in metal. That place held the story of everything between us — the anger, the distance, the confusion.
WHAT IF I APOLOGIZE AND SHE FORGIVES ME?
But then his thoughts stumbled into darker territory.
A shadow crossed his eyes.
Do I still have to tell her that she might die if she sleeps with me?
The world around him dimmed with the weight of that fear, the light fading into swirling darkness. His silhouette sharpened against a backdrop of stars that suddenly felt cold and indifferent.
WHAT IF SHE… STARTS TO DESPISE ME?
She might think I dragged her here and trapped her.
WHAT IF SHE WANTS TO GO BACK HOME?
Would I never see her again?
The thoughts echoed like storms in a cavern.
Outside the palace walls, under the golden sunset, he halted mid-step — a rare moment of hesitation from a man who never showed doubt. He gathered a breath, forcing his resolve into place, before turning sharply toward the palace gate.
And there I was.
A small figure framed by the vast blue stone archway, clad in red and gold. My head was bowed, hands clasped gently in front of me, as if holding something fragile. The air felt thick with everything we hadn't said.
He approached slowly, the faint tap of his sandal on polished marble announcing his arrival.
When he reached me, he lifted his hand to my arm, holding me with surprising gentleness.
"I wanted to find you and apologize…" he said, the words low and rough.
My hands, hidden between us, fidgeted nervously. His tunic smelled faintly of smoke and desert wind; the steady beat of his heart pulsed beneath it, grounding me. His presence, so overwhelming to others, felt strangely safe in this moment.
"…BUT I WAS WORRIED THAT I MIGHT SAY SOMETHING WRONG AND MAKE YOU ANGRY AGAIN."
The vulnerability in his voice tightened something inside my chest. I lifted my face to look at him. There was fatigue in his eyes, yes — but also hope. A fragile, tentative hope aimed only at me.
My cheeks burned hotter, and guilt pricked at me as I realized how my own silence had created distance.
"I'M… SORRY AS WELL," I said softly.
His surprise was visible — a small widening of the eyes, a slight parting of the lips. Then relief washed through his expression like dawn breaking across storm clouds.
A simple exchange, only a few words.
But in that moment, beneath the palace archway, they shattered the lingering shadows between us.
We both had mistakes to forgive — and for the first time, we truly did.
…we had.
Hakan lounged on the plush crimson sofa like it was a throne meant only for him, one strong arm draped casually over the backrest. The warm glow of the chamber's lanterns caught the polished gold of the two jeweled goblets in his hands. When he set them down on the table, the delicate CLINK echoed through the room as if announcing the start of something far more dangerous than a simple conversation.
"SIT DOWN," he said, not harshly, but with the kind of quiet authority that left no room for refusal.
I obeyed, my black dress whispering against the richly woven carpet as I walked. The gold threading shimmered with each step—far too boldly, in my opinion. I clutched the ornate jewelry box in my hands so tightly the edges dug into my palms.
I NEED TO STAY CALM AND REMEMBER WHAT I PRACTICED WITH TITI!
The reminder practically screamed in my head, but my heartbeat drowned it out.
GULP.
I sat opposite him at the small table, the tall candelabra flickering between us. Hakan leaned back, looking obscenely relaxed—tattooed forearm resting on the armrest, broad chest rising and falling in an easy rhythm. His dark eyes were unreadable, though I swore I saw a spark of amusement waiting to pounce.
"So," he asked smoothly, "what do you want to know about me?"
Oh no. This was it. The question I had prepared for. The moment I needed to prove myself.
Hakan's gaze locked onto mine.
And everything I rehearsed with Titi evaporated.
Just—gone.
A humiliating silence stretched. My lips parted, but my mind was blank white static.
"Hakan… h-how…" The words stumbled out like a baby deer tripping on its own legs.
My straight, queenly posture crumpled instantly. I wilted in my seat like a dying flower. I could feel my lower lip trembling.
!*
I'M DOING IT AGAIN…
My chest squeezed painfully. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill at any moment.
Panicking, desperate, I focused on the first object I could reach: the small bottle of spirits sitting innocently on the table, still warm from Hakan's hand.
Without thinking—without ANY thought at all—I snatched it up in a chibi-flail of frantic motions.
Then I tilted my head back—
GULP.
The burn shot down my throat like liquid fire. My eyes widened.
WIPE—WIPE—WIPE.
I scrubbed at my mouth with the back of my hand, trying to look composed while absolutely failing at it.
I set the bottle down with trembling fingers.
"I—I want to try again," I whispered, rallying the last fragments of my dignity.
I forced myself upright, hands clenched, staring him straight in the eye.
"Hakan," I said, the words finally forming. "…how old are you?"
He blinked, clearly thrown by both the sudden question and the chaotic frenzy leading up to it. One dark eyebrow arched upward, amusement glinting in his eyes.
The heat in my cheeks flared even hotter—so hot it felt like my face might combust.
And that was exactly where it ended.
I raised the jeweled goblet again, taking another long GULP GULP of the rich Tayar wine. The liquid was warm, sweet, and spicy all at once, sliding down my throat with a heat that settled low in my chest. It steadied me—or at least, it made me think I was steady.
Hakan, now momentarily in his ridiculous yet adorable chibi form, fluttered over with a tiny ornate pitcher nearly as large as his entire body. With exaggerated seriousness, he refilled my cup to the brim. His face, even in miniature, was practically glowing with amusement.
He reverted to his full, imposing form and returned to the sofa, lounging like the luxurious red cushions had been crafted solely to cradle his tattoos and golden jewelry.
"You seem to like Tayar wine," he observed with a playful tilt of his head. "Would you like some more?"
NOD. NOD.
My head moved before I could think. Yes. I needed it. Desperately.
"So this is Tayar wine," I murmured, looking into the shimmering ruby liquid. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment remembering the frantic way I had chugged it earlier. Of course he'd watched. Of course he'd been entertained.
Hakan leaned back, the dim candlelight glimmering against the curve of his muscles and the sharp lines of his necklace. His lips curled into a knowing smile.
"I'm only realizing that now."
I tried to ignore the flutter in my stomach that his voice always caused and forced myself to focus on the goal—Titi's coaching. I needed to learn about Hakan. The real Hakan. Not just the man who overwhelmed me with kisses and heated whispers, not just the king with power pulsing through every confident movement.
"I also want to know a lot more about you," I said, my voice steadier now thanks to the wine's boldness. I lifted my chin, trying to convey seriousness instead of the messy nervousness beneath it. "Are you going to answer me honestly if I ask you?"
Hakan's teasing smirk softened. His eyes—dark, deep, and warm—held mine. For a brief moment, there was no game, no flirting, no intimidation. Just sincerity.
He considered my question for a heartbeat, then two.
"T-that depends on what you ask," he finally replied, his voice low, velvety, and edged with challenge. The sentence felt like an invitation—and a warning.
Before I could respond, he straightened. His entire posture shifted, flowing from seductive ease into something more focused, more electric. And then he smiled.
A real smile.
A breathtaking smile.
One that hit me like a physical force—bright, genuine, utterly disarming.
"Lucina," he said, my name warm on his tongue, "would you like to play a game with me?"
A game? My heart skipped.
The way he said it wasn't casual. It wasn't a suggestion of cards or dice or a board. It was a promise. A spark. A doorway into something deeper—his thoughts, his heart, his truths. A chance to learn him in a way Titi's stiff Q&A could never achieve.
A game… to get closer to him?
A small, nervous smile curved my lips. My wine-warmed cheeks tingled with anticipation.
This might actually work, I thought. This might be a much better way to learn about the man I'm going to marry.
I wondered what kind of game he had in mind, feeling a mix of apprehension and excitement.