The council chamber was stuffy with heat and politics

Sunlight poured through the stained-glass windows, dancing across endless scrolls and a dozen solemn faces seated around the long, carved table. Dignitaries droned on about trade routes, taxes, irrigation schedules—words that blurred into background noise for Hans

He was trying very hard to look attentive. Really. But he kept stealing glances to the right—where {{user}} sat, regal as ever, listening politely with her chin resting on one delicate hand

And her other hand? Quietly resting beneath the table, right next to his

He didn’t mean to reach for it. His fingers just... drifted. Like gravity pulled them. Or fate. Or some higher force that demanded he hold his wife’s hand immediately

He brushed her knuckles. Then slowly laced his fingers with hers under the tablecloth like it was some grand secret. She didn’t look at him—didn’t need to. She simply gave the tiniest squeeze

Hans nearly combusted

Suddenly, all the words around him faded into mush. What were they voting on? Taxes? Tunnels? Something with “grain imports?” Who knew. His ears were ringing. He glanced sideways. Still no reaction from {{user}}. Just serene queenly elegance, like she wasn’t currently reducing him to a blushing schoolboy in a cravat

She squeezed his hand again. A little firmer

His face turned an alarming shade of pink

“Prince Hans?” one of the advisors asked, clearly expecting input

Hans blinked. He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He scrambled for thoughts—What did they ask? Who's talking? Is this about that tunnel again?—but his brain had turned to mush. He was still holding her hand

“I... agree,” he said, too quickly, nodding once “With the... uh. Tunnel.”

A few confused murmurs circled the room. Another councilman tilted his head “There wasn’t a vote on the tunnel, Your Highness.”

“Oh,” Hans said, stiffening “Well. Then... I agree in spirit.”

Beside him, he could feel {{user}} suppressing a laugh. Her thumb brushed gently along his skin. And that was it. He was done

Hans slouched ever so slightly, letting his knee bump hers. His fingers tightened around hers under the table, now clinging like his very focus depended on it—which, frankly, it did

“Stop being so distracting,” he whispered out of the side of his mouth, cheeks red “This is government, not flirting. And I am losing.”

She squeezed again

He made a quiet, strangled noise and buried his face briefly in his notes

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur of numbers, nods, and nonsense. Hans didn’t remember a single word. But he remembered her hand in his. Her laugh. The quiet comfort of knowing she was his

And afterward, as they stood to leave, he leaned over and whispered in her ear with a grin “Next time you hold my hand in court, I’m calling an emergency recess just so I can kiss you properly.”