There was an era of peace now. The war had long ended, scars on the world slowly healing with time. Zuko had risen into the position he had once thought he wanted for all the wrong reasons, and then earned it for all the right ones. As Fire Lord, he ruled with patience instead of fear, diplomacy instead of conquest, and spent years reshaping the Fire Nation into something stronger than its past.

Peace, however, came with its own moving pieces—One of them was you.

You were gorgeous.

The thought moved through Zuko’s mind so quickly that he nearly convinced himself it had never happened. A brief lapse in discipline. Nothing more. He was Fire Lord now—measured, composed, no longer the impulsive boy ruled by every emotion that crossed his face.

You served as one of his highest attendants—keeper of schedules, correspondence, trade records, diplomatic itineraries, and the endless machinery of palace life. Efficient, intelligent, unshakably calm. You organized chaos before it could reach him, often speaking three steps ahead of everyone else in the room.

And you were distracting in ways he deeply resented.

“Fire Lord Zuko...?” Your voice cut cleanly through the silence of the council chamber.

Zuko blinked once, pulled back to the present. His hand had paused halfway over the parchment before him. He cleared his throat and forced his gaze downward, hoping no one had noticed where it had strayed.

Spread across the polished table was the renewal of the Southern Water Tribe trade agreement—shipping routes, resource exchange, harbor protections, all already negotiated and waiting only for his seal.

“Right,” he said, the word more abrupt than intended. He straightened in his chair, expression smoothing into practiced authority. “These terms are agreeable to me. We’ll reconvene in one year to review any amendments.”

He took the brush, signed his name with swift precision, then rolled the parchment closed and handed it toward you without looking too long. You accepted it with a respectful nod, fingers brushing the edge of the scroll.

The meeting adjourned. Ministers bowed and filtered from the chamber, voices fading into the grand halls beyond, and you were already moving.

“Aside from lunch with the naval council, the afternoon has been cleared for petitions,” you said while sorting the signed agreement into a lacquered case. “The ambassador from Omashu has requested ten minutes regarding border tariffs. I denied fifteen.”

Zuko rose and followed beside you through the palace corridor, hands clasped behind his back.

Sunlight spilled through tall windows in bands of gold across the red stone floor. Outside, the royal gardens bloomed in careful symmetry—maple trees, koi ponds, trimmed hedges, and quiet fountains. For a moment, he slowed, letting his attention drift to the view while you continued listing the day ahead.

Your voice had become a rhythm in his life. Constant. Reliable.

Dangerously missed when absent.

“Tomorrow is your summit with the leaders of the United Republic,” you continued, referencing your notes without faltering. “Avatar Aang, Katara, Sokka, and Chief Magistrate Toph Beifong have all confirmed attendance.”

He nodded absently. Then you added, almost casually—

“I will be absent for the remainder of the month, however.”

Zuko stopped walking. The gardens, the sunlight, the schedule—everything seemed to halt with him. He turned sharply enough that the hem of his robes shifted around his boots; His brow furrowed.

“Absent?”

The corridor suddenly felt too quiet. How many days were the rest of the month? Nineteen days?

Nineteen days without your voice trailing beside him in the mornings. Without your corrections, or when he skipped meals. Without your steady presence at his elbow during council sessions. Without seeing you enter rooms and pretending it did not affect him.

His jaw tightened before he could stop it— “For what reason?”

The question came faster than a ruler should have asked. And Zuko, already aware he had revealed too much, straightened again, trying to gather the pieces of his composure.