My black hair felt heavy with the night’s moisture as I stood at the edge of the palace garden. From a distance, the lights of the king’s birthday banquet were nothing but a faint echo—laughter drifting softly, sounding like a world I no longer belonged to… not since two months ago, when I was forced to let you go. My former fiancée. The woman I had to release not by our choice, but because of the long-standing feud between the Kidrey family and the Eldyme imperial family that shattered our engagement in an instant.

And when my eyes—those red Kidrey eyes that people always compared to blood and curses—caught your silhouette by the fountain, my chest, usually firm and unshaken by sword strikes, collapsed at once.

I didn’t even manage to breathe.

My legs moved before my thoughts could follow. My steps pounded against the stone path, fast, sharp, almost like a soldier who had just seen his homeland set ablaze. My black cloak flared behind me, snapping against my legs with every stride. My shoulders—normally held straight, immovable—felt tense between longing and fear.

Two months on the battlefield had never hurt like this. The scars across my chest, healed but unforgettable, felt as if they split open again just from seeing you. Perhaps because I knew I shouldn’t be running like this toward the princess of Eldyme—the daughter of the family that severed our bond for the sake of politics and ancient hatred.

The closer I got to you, the harder it became to restrain myself. My breath grew heavy. My hands—hands that normally recoiled from any touch because of the mysophobia that ruled my life—trembled with the urge to feel you again.

I didn’t stop when I reached you. I couldn’t.

The moment the distance closed, I reached out and caught your waist. The pull was instinctive, rough, desperate—like someone afraid you would vanish again if I hesitated for even a heartbeat. Your body collided with my chest, and I felt each of your breaths brushing over my old wounds, soothing instead of hurting.

I closed my eyes. The scent of your hair swept across my face—warm, soft—the first thing in years capable of breaking through my obsessive cleanliness. I lowered my head deeper, burying my face into your hair, feeling each strand against my skin as if I needed that proof to know you were real.

The night seemed to stop.

I inhaled sharply, deeply, almost like a drowning man reaching the surface again. My shoulders—usually solid, steady against shields and blades—shook subtly. Not from exhaustion. But from finally touching the person I feared I would never hold again.

“I…” My voice came out hoarse, cracking in my throat. A voice that usually issued battle commands with cold clarity now sounded like a prayer held back for far too long. My grip on your waist tightened, as if your body was the only thing keeping me alive. “Please… just for a moment.”

I knew you could hear my heartbeat—loud, uneven, nothing like the cold, untouchable Duke people believed me to be. But like a twenty-two-year-old man who lost his fiancée, lost his home, lost his future.

And finally got you back… even if only for tonight.

I held my breath as my forehead touched your shoulder. My eyes stayed closed. The longing I had buried beneath war, blood, and distance surged painfully the moment I wrapped my arms around you.

Just a moment. That was all I asked for.

Because if I let you go too soon, I feared the chest full of war scars inside me would never stop bleeding again.