War did not pause for love.
Yet somehow…
Love bloomed anyway.
The battlefield lay eerily quiet beneath a pale evening sky. Smoke still lingered in the air, curling like ghosts reluctant to depart. The clash of steel had faded hours ago, replaced by the low murmur of weary soldiers and the distant crackle of dying fires.
Selara sat upon a weathered crate, armor loosened but not removed.
Blood traced thin lines down her arm.
Not hers.
Never hers.
Mostly.
Aren knelt before her.
Again.
"You attract injuries with impressive consistency," he muttered.
Selara scoffed lightly. "They attract me."
His fingers worked with practiced precision, cleaning the shallow cut along her shoulder. Even now, surrounded by remnants of violence, his touch remained steady — infuriatingly gentle.
Selara watched him.
Too closely.
"You stare."
"I observe."
"That's a polite word for it."
Selara smirked faintly.
Aren paused.
Just slightly.
As though registering something rare and fleeting.
"You're in a strangely agreeable mood."
"I survived another battle."
"You always survive."
Selara tilted her head.
"And you sound remarkably certain."
Aren resumed his work.
"I am."
The simplicity of it unsettled her.
No grand declarations.
No dramatic reverence.
Just quiet, unwavering belief.
Selara's voice lowered.
"Why?"
Aren finally looked at her.
Really looked at her.
And for once…
There was no battlefield between them.
"Because," he said calmly, "you fight like someone who refuses to die."
Selara's breath hitched.
Subtle.
Dangerous.
Silence settled between them, thick yet strangely fragile.
Aren finished dressing the wound.
But did not move away.
Selara did not look away.
Something shifted.
Slow.
Unspoken.
Inevitable.
"You're reckless," he murmured.
"And you're repetitive."
"You terrify half the army."
"Only half?"
Aren's lips twitched.
Then—
Soft laughter escaped him.
Quiet.
Warm.
Unarmed.
Selara froze.
Because laughter had become rare currency in her world.
And his…
His felt dangerously intoxicating.
"You should smile more," he said absentmindedly.
Selara blinked.
"…What?"
"It's less frightening."
"I am not concerned with being less frightening."
"I am."
Selara stared.
Then, unexpectedly—
She laughed.
Low.
Unrestrained.
Real.
Aren stilled.
Eyes widening slightly.
As though witnessing something he had never truly seen before.
"There," he murmured.
Selara's pulse stumbled.
"…There what?"
"That."
His voice softened.
And suddenly the battlefield, the war, the bloodshed — all seemed impossibly distant.
Selara looked away first.
A rare surrender.
And Aren, mercifully, pretended not to notice.
But something had changed.
Something neither of them could now undo.
Far away…
Beneath golden ceilings and perfumed air…
Jealousy stirred.
The palace gardens bloomed in flawless beauty, petals dancing beneath the golden glow of afternoon light. Ophelia sat gracefully among them, laughter drifting like music upon the breeze.
Merideth watched.
Always watched.
"You're glowing again," Merideth said lightly.
Ophelia smiled, fingers resting against the twins playing near her skirts.
"They were particularly restless today."
"I was referring to you."
Ophelia laughed softly.
"Happiness suits you."
Merideth's smile remained flawless.
Perfectly measured.
Perfectly warm.
Yet beneath that polished elegance…
Something sharp twisted.
Because Ophelia's joy was effortless.
Because Ophelia's love was abundant.
Because Ophelia was adored without trying.
Because Ophelia had everything.
Merideth's gaze lingered on the twins.
Perfect heirs.
Perfect life.
Perfect queen.
And then—
Ophelia spoke.
"I received another letter from Selara."
Merideth's chest tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Oh?"
"She writes about a medic now."
Merideth's brows lifted slightly.
Amusement masking curiosity.
"A medic?"
Ophelia nodded, laughter bubbling instantly.
"She pretends irritation."
Merideth's smile flickered.
Barely.
"She always pretends."
Ophelia grinned. "I think she's in love."
The words landed like a silent blade.
Merideth's fingers curled subtly.
Love.
Even Selara found love.
Even Selara, forged from war, was granted something tender.
Merideth's voice remained honey-smooth.
"How charming."
Ophelia's eyes sparkled.
"I hope she's happy."
Merideth's gaze hardened for a fraction of a second.
So brief.
So hidden.
Then vanished.
"Yes…"
Her smile deepened.
But something dark whispered quietly beneath it.
"Some people," Merideth murmured softly, "are simply blessed by fate."
Ophelia tilted her head gently.
"I don't believe that."
Merideth blinked.
"No?"
"I believe happiness is fragile."
Ophelia smiled.
Soft.
Unknowing.
"And must be cherished."
Merideth's breath stilled.
Because somewhere deep within her chest…
Something had already begun to rot.On distant battlefields…
Love bloomed.
Within gilded gardens…
Envy took root.
And destiny…
Silent, patient, merciless…
Continued weaving threads none of them yet saw tightening.