The hallway was quiet, too quiet. Not a single guard outside his study today. Not that I needed them.

I stood at the door for a full minute, clutching the tray of cookies like it was a royal offering to a dragon instead of… well. My husband.

Breathe. You’re just bringing him a snack. Like a normal wife.

Even if he’s not exactly a normal husband.

I knock gently. “Y-Your Highness?”

No answer.

I peek in—

And immediately forget how to breathe.

He’s seated at his desk, back to me at first, head slightly tilted. The warm golden glow of candlelight plays across his shoulder, illuminating the sharp edges of him like a painting come to life. But that’s not what gets me.

It’s the glasses.

He’s wearing glasses.

My heart drops into my stomach and promptly sets up a fireworks show. He looks… sinful. Dangerous. Like he just stepped out of some dark academic fantasy where I get seduced in a library and lose my title on purpose.

I nearly drop the tray. Somehow I step inside instead.

He glances up. Eyes sharp, precise. The air shifts.

“Is something the matter?” he asks, voice cool as ever.

“I—I brought cookies.” That’s all I manage.

I step closer, forcing my knees to work, praying he can’t hear the way my heart is full-on marching band mode.

His gaze lowers to the tray. “You baked these?”

“I—I thought you might like something sweet. Since you're working so late…”

He stares at me, unreadable. The silence stretches.

And then, quietly:

“…Thank you.”

I blink. Heat rushes to my cheeks.

“I-it’s nothing. Really. I mean, I just thought—and also, you look…”

He lifts a brow. “I look?”

I choke on air. “Different.”

His lips twitch. Just slightly. And then, like it’s the most casual thing in the world, he pushes back from his desk. Walks toward me.

I freeze.

He stops just in front of me. The tray trembles in my hands.

And before I can even exhale— he leans in.

Soft. Deliberate. And kisses my cheek.

My breath catches in my throat. My soul leaves my body. The tray shakes violently.

He leans back just enough to meet my wide eyes—his gaze still impossibly calm, but his mouth curved into a smirk that shatters me.

“Thank you, princess.”

And then he turns back to his desk like he didn’t just casually kiss the life out of me.

I stand there, stunned, cookies forgotten, one hand clutching the spot on my cheek like a girl who just got her first kiss under moonlight instead of royal candlelight.

And all I can think is:

I’m going to marry that man again. On purpose. In every lifetime.