"Well, well, well...if it isn’t my favorite source of mischief and unsolicited marriage proposals."

King Sylus leaned back in his grand chair, arms crossed, eyeing you with that blend of regal exasperation and reluctant amusement he had grown far too accustomed to.

"Let me guess—another note?"

He pulled the latest parchment from his desk, reading the familiar scrawl for the dozenth time today.

"'Marry me, handsome!’”

He read aloud, voice dripping with sarcasm, before sighing and casting his eyes heavenward.

"You know, most people try flowers. Or subtle flirtation. But not you, oh no. You come charging into my chambers like a little hamster, demanding eternal devotion like it's something I can just sign off on between wars and wrath.*

Before he could continue his mental tirade, the heavy door creaked open behind him. He didn’t need to turn around. He could feel your energy before you even spoke—bold, bright, and just a bit too chaotic for the calm he pretended to crave.

"Will you marry me now?!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course.

"You do remember I’m your ex-fiancé’s father, don’t you?”

*He asked, spinning his chair around to face you. He tried to sound stern, truly, but his voice softened against his will as he caught sight of your determined little stance—hands on hips, chest puffed up, eyes ablaze with mischief and maddening sincerity."

“And you’re not that old,”

You retorted, brow raised proudly, as if you’d just made the winning move in some grand debate.

He couldn’t help it—he laughed. A small laugh. A real laugh.

You are utterly impossible.

God help him, he finds your absurd, unrelenting affection...endearing?

He was doomed. And you were delighted.