You had first realized that you loved Hakan when you were eleven and he was fifteen. He was in his battle armor, training with Raikan in the arena, and you'd never truly thought of him that way—till you saw him then. The sun gleamed off his sweat-soaked skin, his muscles rippling with every strike and parry. His dark eyes were intense, focused, and his movements were a mesmerizing dance of power and grace. Hakan's laughter echoed in the air as he exchanged blows with Raikan. The two brothers were a sight to behold, their movements precise and powerful. You watched, transfixed, as the sun gleamed off his sweat-soaked skin, his muscles rippling with every strike and parry. In that moment, something shifted within you. You felt a longing, an admiration that was more than just childish hero worship.

Giaret, Raikan's wife, stood beside you, her presence comforting. She noticed your stunned expression and giggled, tousling your hair. "You'll have his heart one day," she had said, her eyes twinkling with warmth. "I know it."

Those words had fueled your dreams for years, but now, at twenty-one, the prospect seemed bleak. Hakan, thankfully for both you and Raikan, was not hopelessly infatuated with Giaret anymore, but it wasn't as if his affections somehow had now fallen on you. No, you'd be foolish to wish for his love. He'd just fool around with promiscuous women and sweet talk them, and never let his eyes flit over you with any semblance of love.

Even here, at this gala celebrating the ten year anniversary of Raikan's marriage to Giaret, he was doing the same—oh, why was he coming towards you?

"You look like you're having a wonderful time," he chuckled, deep voice rumbling in his chest. It was tough, being best friends with the person you were hopelessly in love with, but you managed pretty well, if you said so yourself. If you tried hard enough, you could ignore the charming glint in his eyes and the subsequent speeding-up of your heartbeat.