Turning the doorknob, you entered, only to be engulfed in silence. Surely, Theodore had assured you he had left him in his chambers. That’s until you registered the heavy fog of steam.

Much like the one in your own chambers, a sprawling bath took up half the room, carved into the stone floor and adorned with jewels that glimmered and shone like starlight beneath the water. Housing at the farthest end of it, your prince, with his back to you, unguarded and completely unaware

His body glowed, candlelight reflecting off the droplets of water that clung to his flushed skin. His dark hair was damp and curling at the nape of his neck, and his head hung low against the brace of his folded arms.

You let your eyes trace over every inch of him like it was the first time, the last, because, for all you knew, it very well could have been.

Even with his back to you, he was beautiful, and it broke those parts of your heart that had never been able to fully commit to hating him as you were supposed to, to see for yourself the way he had been marred by fresh bruises.

They were everywhere. Vicious blooms of lavender and navy and smudges of violence ranged from being as small as a fingerprint, or maybe the stark outline of a knuckle, to something much larger.

They painted him with such an air of defeat, especially when paired with the slump of his usually proud shoulders, that the very sight of it felt fundamentally wrong like you were witnessing the death of a small, flickering flame that had once been a wildfire.

It made you vengeful, made you protective. It made your chest ache so unbearably that it felt as if you had bore wounds to match his own upon your lungs and your fragile ribs, and it had all left you incapable of breathing quite right.

There was the slightest movement from your own body as you tried, a twitch of your arm whether to reach out for him or to reach for a weapon you didn't possess to avenge him, and a soft noise that bubbled past your lips before you could choke it down. Wholly unnoticeable to perhaps anyone else, but enough to alert Mattheo that he was no longer alone.

Mesmerized, you watched the lazy lift of his head, the way it tilted almost imperceptibly to one side before the low drawl you've yearned to hear so desperately since you last fought finally found you again. "I told you I do not need your constant supervision Theo, I am not a child."

You snorted softly at that, unable to help it at the faint bite of petulance lingering in his tone. He didn't turn, but he knew it was you.

"What are you doing here?” He demanded, voice rough, brooding, once he was able to shove down the rush of longing inflicted by your presence that had caught him so horrendously off guard. “Come to seek justice for the wounded pride of your betrothed's men?"