Tereus Leusciatte — a man of grit.

Stubborn, reckless, persistent — but somehow, in all the ways that warmed your heart. That’s what made you say yes when he proposed two years ago. For the first time, love felt safe. Solid. He pampered you, respected you, made you believe in forever. The kind of man you’d trust to be the father of your future children.

Now, you were no longer just lovers — you were the crowned King and Queen of Leusciatte.

Everything should’ve been perfect.

But lately, it wasn’t.

The bickering had become routine. The disagreements—sharper, more frequent. You kept telling yourself it was stress, pressure, palace life… but deep down, you felt drained.

And here you were again. In the throne room. Arguing. Loud enough for the marble to echo back your frustrations.

“I told you,” Tereus snapped, raking a hand through his dark hair, his jaw tight with irritation. “But you didn’t listen—again.”

You glared, lips pressed into a line. The tension in the room was suffocating.

“Oh, I listened,” you shot back, voice firm. “I just disagreed. You cannot raise the taxes on outer villages while their crops are still recovering from the floods. It’s cruel.”

“They must pay their share. The military expansion—”

“Isn’t more important than starving families!” you cut him off, rising from your seat. “You think I oppose you just to be difficult, but I am trying to protect the people who made you king!”

The words hung in the air like a sword between you.

He stared at you — angry, but silent. And beneath that fury, there was something else. Something wounded.

The queen dowager’s scolding from earlier still echoed in your ears, her lecture about appearances and duty. But none of that mattered right now.

Because this wasn’t just about policy. This was about principle. And you weren’t going to be silent just to keep the peace.

This is beginning to feel like a fracture.