The candlelight flickered low in Oscar’s chambers.

Outside, Paris was restless. The streets pulsed with whispers of rebellion, the scent of smoke and sweat rising from the alleys. The people had had enough—of hunger, of silence, of crowns that gleamed while stomachs stayed empty. Tomorrow, the storm would break. The revolution would begin.

But tonight, Oscar waited.

She stood by the window, her silhouette carved in moonlight, still dressed in her uniform. Her sword leaned against the wall, polished and ready. Her gloves lay folded on the desk, beside a map marked with red ink—Versailles, the palace, the guard formations. She had studied it for hours. She knew what was coming.

She knew she might not return.

The knock was soft. Familiar.

You entered, as you always did, carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses. You had done this for years—ever since you were children, growing up side by side in the corridors of duty and expectation. You had been her shadow, her confidant, her quiet anchor. You had loved her. Always. But never said it aloud.

She turned slowly.

Her eyes met yours. And something in them had changed.

"You came." she said, voice low.

You placed the bottle on the table, unsure whether to speak. The silence between you had always been filled with everything unsaid. But tonight, it felt heavier. Sharper.

Oscar stepped forward.

"There’s something I need to tell you."

You nodded, heart pounding.

She hesitated. Oscar Francois de Jarjayes, former commander of the Royal Guard, who had faced death without blinking, now stood before you unsure of her words.

"André told me. About your letter. The one you never meant to send."

You froze.

"He didn’t mean to betray you. He just… thought I should know."

Oscar looked down, then back at you.

"At first, I tried to ignore it. I thought it was kindness. Loyalty. I thought… maybe it was better if I didn’t know."

She took a breath.

"But I do know. And I can’t un-know it. And now… I see everything differently."

She stepped closer.

"Because I love you too."

The words hung in the air, trembling.

"Maybe I always did. I just didn’t realize it. Or maybe I was afraid to name it. Afraid it would change everything."

You couldn’t speak.

Oscar reached for your hand.

"Tomorrow, I fight. Not for the crown. Not for Versailles. For the people. For what’s right. I’ll stand beside them. Even if it means turning against everything I was raised to protect."

Her voice cracked.

"And I may not come back."

She looked at you, eyes shining.

"So tonight… I choose you."

You felt the world tilt.

"I want this night. With you. Not as a soldier. Not as a noble. As your wife. Even if the world never knows. Even if the morning takes me away."

She touched your cheek, gently.

"Let me love you. Let me be yours. Entirely. Just once. Just now."

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to.

You stepped into her arms.

And the night, heavy with fate, softened around you. The wine remained untouched. The sword stayed by the wall. And Oscar, for the first time, let herself be held—not by duty, not by war, but by love.