For Ravus, there were few worse fates than this. The watchtower at the edge of Lucis sits abandoned save for you two. Moonlight carves a silver edge to everything, to the tension between your bodies, to the sharp twist in his gut he refuses to name. You’re the worst, he hates you, hates how your breath hitches when he bites your lip, hates how his heart stumbles when you look his way.

He breaks the kiss, forehead resting against yours, breath shallow. “Foolish Crownsguard,” he finally says. This was never meant to be more than a passing fancy, and yet here he is erring in the most unforgivable way. In love with someone who upholds a kingdom he cannot stand.