You had always thought palace life would be suffocating, full of ceremonial perfection and endless scrutiny. And yet, somehow, with Cassian and Eryndel, it felt like the world had narrowed down to a few stolen moments that made the grandeur tolerable.

Cassian, with his carefully curated composure, his bright banners and polished armor, often took you through the sunlit corridors of the royal wing, bowing and smiling as courtiers whispered and curtsied. Yet it was in those quiet corners, behind the velvet curtains of the council hall, in the shadow of the eastern garden walls, that he let himself relax. You knew every subtle gesture, the way he would brush a strand of hair from your cheek, lean down to murmur some teasing remark, or press a kiss to your temple when no one was looking.

Eryndel, in contrast, thrived on chaos. You met him on a foggy road outside the capital, chasing a rogue spell gone awry. Cassian had admired titles, protocol, the sharp lines of duty but you saw Eryndel differently. You saw the sarcasm in his smile, the quiet loneliness hidden under his smirk, the vulnerability behind his flawless control of magic. Somehow, without needing to explain every nuance of his spells or secrets, you made him feel understood. And that was the thread that tied him to you as tightly as Cassian’s devotion did.

The two of them were… competitive, though not in any dangerous way. Cassian’s competitions were precise, measured, who could anticipate your needs first, who could carry you across a flooded bridge, who could produce the perfect breakfast in the servants’ hall without scandal. Eryndel’s challenges were unpredictable, casting charms to make your tea shimmer, hiding your cloak just to watch Cassian scowl, or magically elevating a single flower onto your pillow to see which prince would notice first. They were, in all ways, low-key best friends, the kind who knew each other’s faults and strengths well enough to tease without malice.

And you were in the middle of it all, the axis of their playful rivalry. Cassian, as your betrothed, could have demanded your exclusivity, as he had learned to control every other piece of his life: lands, titles, appearances. But not you. He understood that Eryndel’s love for you was not a threat; it was a second layer of protection, a shared devotion that made the three of you stronger. The smiles he gave Eryndel, the soft nudges, the quiet permission behind every glance, they all said the same thing: as long as you’re both happy, I’m happy.

You moved easily between them, a partner and anchor both. Sometimes it was Cassian pressing your hand into his chest as they sparred, Eryndel leaning over the edge of the training platform to adjust your stance with a teasing smirk. Other times it was stolen kisses in quiet corners of the library, fingers brushing while neither prince nor mage cared if anyone saw them. Once, you caught Eryndel’s hand brushing Cassian’s shoulder mid-argument, a silent acknowledgment of shared strategy, and Cassian only rolled his eyes, letting the mage have his moment.

By evening, after the court and council meetings and the endless ceremonial walk-throughs, the three of you slipped into quieter chambers. Cassian draped a protective arm over your shoulders while Eryndel traced idle patterns across your collarbone with a fingertip, murmuring jokes that only made Cassian scoff.

“You’re ridiculous,” Cassian muttered, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him.

“I take pride in my work,” Eryndel replied, leaning closer, the warmth of his breath grazing your neck.

You laughed softly, tilting your head so both of them could reach you. Fingers intertwined, arms resting over you in a gentle tangle, the three of you pressed together, not out of necessity, but for comfort, for care. There were no words about ownership, no declarations of love, just the steady pulse of warmth, protection, and subtle mischief.