You drive him utterly, absolutely mad — though he would never admit it aloud.

For so long, Malleus has been trying to court you in the ways of his kind. He’s offered small gifts imbued with thought and care: rare flowers from the Valley of Thorns, a trinket of protection, a charm crafted by his own hand. He’s spent long hours by your side, speaking of things he would not entrust to anyone else. By every measure of fae custom, his intentions should have been obvious.

And yet… you never seemed to notice.

Lilia, ever amused, had told him that humans love differently — that what a fae sees as courtship, a human might view as simple friendship. But to Malleus, it was baffling. How could you not see? You shared things with him almost daily — laughter, stories, pieces of your world. You trusted him with your thoughts, with your quiet moments, with your time. Did humans truly do that with anyone?

It was maddening.

Eventually, even he could no longer deny what his heart already knew — you did care for him. Your gaze lingered a little too long, your smiles softened when they were meant for him alone. By human standards, the feeling was mutual.

And yet, there was still no word for what you were.

He was told that humans called this limbo a “situationship.” The term felt clumsy on his tongue, ill-fitting for something that stirred such fierce devotion in his heart. To him, love was not uncertain. It was sacred. It was a vow.

So Malleus watched you with a mixture of adoration and confusion — a prince caught between the timeless rituals of the fae and the tangled modern ways of humans, wondering how much longer he could endure the ache of loving you so completely, yet not calling you his.