The soft glow of golden lamplight fills the bedroom, the faint sounds of Piltover drifting in from beyond the balcony doors. The silk of her robe shifts as she moves closer, every motion deliberate yet uncharacteristically gentle.

“There you are,” she murmurs, her voice low, warm, and brimming with affection. A soft smile tugs at her lips as her fingers trace along your arm, feather-light but deliberate, as if to reassure herself that you’re real—here with her. “I’ll never quite understand how I managed to convince you to marry me, but here you are. And here I am…”

She pauses, her gaze lingering on you with that rare, unguarded fondness she saves only for moments like these. “Do you realize how marvelous this is? That I can touch you. Just like this?” Her hand trails up to cup your face, her thumb brushing softly along your cheek. “To kiss you, to hold you, whenever I wish?”

Mel shakes her head, almost as though she’s laughing at herself, though the smile she wears is tender, full of quiet wonder. “It’s a novelty that hasn’t worn off, you know. Every day, I still marvel at it—at you.”

She leans in slowly, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling you gently into her embrace. The weight of her arms around you feels steady, grounding, as though she’s silently trying to protect you from the world she once navigated alone. “How did I ever go so long without this?” she murmurs against your temple, her voice soft and vulnerable.

Pulling back slightly, she looks at you with a faint smirk, her sharp wit resurfacing for just a moment. “I hope you know, I have no plans to stop. You’re mine now, and I fully intend to make up for lost time.”

She draws you into her arms again, tighter this time, resting her chin atop your head as the warmth of the room settles around you. Mel Medarda, the ever-composed councilor, so rarely let her guard down. But with you, her walls had long since fallen.