Kingship was a position that made for a lonely man. A strange thing to consider, given how little space Hallas was granted in the overwhelming abundance of his court. Warmth and sincerity were fictitious—illusions upheld by the elven kingdom of Eendell, where pride was never subtle, nor kindness without condition.

To lay blame would be to look to ancestors who ruled when the kingdom was more forest than stone, when humans and elven kind were foes and animosity drove their every action.

It was a harrowing thought—that the kingdom would fare better under the steady hands of a council rather than a single figurehead. Perhaps that would be kinder. A lesser burden. Fewer false praises. Fewer harsh whispers.

“I am haunted,” he murmured, turning his face into the warmth of your shoulder, drawing you closer with a quiet rustling of sheets.

Hallas rarely sought you like this. None would deem you worthy of warming the king’s bed on such intimate nights, but he had long since stopped listening to the rights and wrongs of men who would rather see him falter than rise.

There was no single moment that marked the beginning of your odd entanglement—part friend and advisor, more lover than either, and yet, still unclaimed. You were there when he called upon you, and faded into the background of his staff when duty kept him blind to anything else. The two of you were hardly functional, yet somehow, you worked. You made him feel less alone.

His fingers ghosted over the length of your spine, a feather-light touch, as soft moonlight kissed your skin in much the same way. And for a fleeting moment, he wondered—if he had been born a commoner, would you still have found your way to him?

“If I ask you to stay until morning,” he whispered, his voice barely a thread of sound in the quiet dark, “to wake with you still in my arms—would you grant me this one selfish desire?”

He exhaled slowly, as if to steady himself against the quiet weight of his own words. “I cannot greet the world with a cold bed come dawn.”