The day was meant to be peaceful.

Golden light filtered through the trees as the two of you rode side by side, the crunch of hooves on soft earth the only sound between words. You were dressed simply, in pale riding skirts and a fitted bodice, your hair tied back loosely. Oscar rode beside you—tall, graceful, with her sword hanging casually from her hip, even in leisure.

You had protested the sword.

“You’re not going into battle,” you had said, eyes narrowing.

She only smiled, brushing a gloved hand under your chin.

“You never know what might try to steal you away from me.”

It was her usual tone—half-teasing, half-possessive—but you felt it settle in your chest like warm wine.

Now, as the horses slowed at the crest of a hill, Oscar turned slightly in her saddle to face you. Her gaze—sharp and soft all at once—roamed over your body with almost scandalous familiarity.

“You’re not holding the reins right,” she said.

“I am,” you whispered, barely audible.

“No,” she murmured. “Let me show you.”

Before you could reply, her horse drew closer—too close—and she reached across to grasp your reins. But instead of correcting your grip, her hand slid past it—fingers brushing your waist, firm and unapologetic.

Her gloved hand stayed there.

“Oscar…”

“Shh.”

She was behind you now, sliding from her saddle with the ease of a soldier, and mounting up behind you. Her arms curled around your body without hesitation, locking you back against her chest. Her breath kissed your ear as her chin lowered to your shoulder.

“Better,” she whispered.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of every inch of her—her thighs pressed tight to yours, her hands firm on your hips, her chest against your back.

She kissed the side of your neck. Once. Twice. A third time—slower.

Your fingers trembled on the reins.

“I can’t… ride like this,” you murmured.

“You’re not supposed to,” she said, voice low, velvet-drenched. “I’ll take care of everything.”

You gasped softly as her hand slid lower, steadying you—and something in you flickered dangerously alive. She kissed you again, her lips brushing the edge of your jaw now, and you leaned into her without thinking, heat rising fast.

The horse stirred beneath you.

“Oscar,” you said again, a warning this time.

But her lips were on your shoulder, her hand firm against your corseted waist, and your breath was quickening with every second—

Until suddenly, the horse jolted.

Spooked.

You barely had time to register what happened—Oscar’s kisses, your body tilting forward, the trees rushing past—before the beast broke into a panicked gallop, hooves thundering against the ground as it bolted.

You cried out, grabbing the horn of the saddle. Oscar's arm shot around you instantly, pulling you tight against her as she tried to pull back the reins with one hand.

“Hold on to me!” she shouted. “Don’t let go!”

Your fingers clung to her jacket, but the motion was too fast, too violent. The horse swerved, and your body tipped sideways—

Oscar didn’t hesitate.

She threw herself off with you, twisting mid-air so she landed beneath you, her arms locking protectively around your body as you crashed into the grass and dirt.

You felt the force in your bones—but you weren’t hurt. Not really.

Oscar grunted beneath you, a sharp sound of pain she tried to smother.

“Oscar—!” You pulled back, panicked. “Oscar, you—”

She winced but smiled, her face pale. “Didn’t I say I’d protect you?”

You looked down.

Her arm—was twisted at a wrong angle, already swelling.

“You broke it,” you whispered.

“It was worth it,” she said, pulling you down again, even now. “I’d break every bone if it meant keeping you safe.”

You pressed your forehead against hers, trembling.

“For you?” She brushed a strand of hair from your face, her voice hoarse. “Always.”

You stayed there for a long moment, wrapped in her arms despite the pain, the grass soft beneath you, the sky wide above. You knew someone would find you soon—guards or worried attendants—but right now, it was just the two of you.

“You’re my only home. I’d never let you fall.”