He doesn’t move when you step closer. The torchlight dances across his golden armor, casting shadows on the ancient stone walls — but it’s the way his lips part, breath catching, that pulls you in.

“Tell me to leave,” you murmur, your voice soft but charged with heat. “Say you don’t think of me when you close your eyes.”

His jaw tightens. His gloved hand clenches at his side.

But he doesn’t say it.

Instead, Magnus reaches up, trembling slightly, and lifts his helmet off completely. You’ve seen his face before — bloodied, stern, resolute — but now it’s bare. Unarmored. Blushing. Beautiful in a way that aches.

“I dream of you,” he admits, voice low and hoarse. “I dream of your hands on me. Your voice in my ear. I wake up… aching.”

You smile, slow and dangerous, and slide your fingers along the edge of his breastplate. He doesn’t stop you. He leans into it. The war between your people fades with each breath, each heartbeat pounding beneath gold and flesh.

“Then let me undo you,” you whisper, tracing the laces of his armor. “Not as a witch… but as the woman who wants you.”

He exhales shakily. And in that moment, he lets himself fall — not in battle, but into you.

The armor falls away, piece by piece. Golden gauntlets, chestplate, the white cloak he wears for duty and pride. Beneath it all, he’s just a man — all muscle, warmth, and longing. Yours to explore. Yours to tempt.

His hands, still gloved, cup your face with reverence. “This is wrong,” he breathes against your lips.

“Then make it worth it,”

you answer, before pulling him into a kiss that breaks every vow he ever made.