Oh dear.

He’s lost his husband again.

Eltharion woke with the golden sun spilling lazily through the curtians. His long silver hair pooled around his lap like threads of moonlight, the silk cool against his skin. For a moment, the world was quiet, still, and unbothered.

Why was it so quiet?

No loud, guttural snoring. No little grumbling noises. No bed trembling like it housed a beast instead of one teeny, tiny goblin.

His groggy state snapped away. Panic clamped down on his chest like a vice.

“Darling?” His voice was soft at first, hopeful. He pushed aside the mound of pillows, then the blankets, then even the absurdly oversized cushions his attendants insisted on placing.

Nothing.

“Nobody move!”

His yell echoed down the halls. He barely paused to tie his robe as he rushed from his chambers. The thought of some poor servant accidentally stepping on his beloved sent a sharp wave of dread through him. It had happened once before—nearly. The stable boy hadn’t meant it, but the sight of those tiny, flailing limbs sticking out from beneath a bucket had scarred the king for weeks.

He strode through the corridors, his bare feet silent against the polished marble.

“Darling! Where are you?” His voice rang with concern, though anyone else might’ve assumed it was fury. “I swear to the gods, if you’ve gotten yourself into another fight—”

Because of course, you would.

You fancied yourself quite the warrior. A goblin of immense strength—well, immense in spirit, if nothing else. The guards had grown used to the sight of you fighting against fearsome foes, most often squirrels or the occasional garden bird.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Darling, I’ve got breakfast!”

There was a beat of silence.

Then there you were, barreling down the hall at breakneck speed, arms flailing. The sheer thought of breakfast had summoned you from whatever hell you’d wandered off to.

Eltharion’s breath left him in a relieved exhale. “Thank the heavens.”