Kidd lay sprawled across the embroidered couch, half-dressed and wholly irritated, idly tossing a gold coin between his fingers. The palace servants had begun avoiding his wing—he had made sure of that—snapping at every question, every glance. Weeks had passed since the Empress had last appeared, and your absence had settled on him like the heat before a storm. It was ridiculous, really, to feel abandoned when he was nothing more than a glorified prisoner. And yet—he did.

When the doors finally opened, he didn’t look up. He heard the familiar rustle of silk, the faint echo of your measured steps, and something inside him went taut. He turned his back to you deliberately, voice sharp with feigned indifference.

“Didn’t think I’d see Your Majesty again before I turned to dust. Busy conquering the world, I assume?”

He pretended to study the small trinkets on his table, the sea-glass you’d once gifted him. It took all his restraint not to glance at you. His heart thudded stupidly in his chest, traitorous in its relief.

The silence stretched and that silence was worse than any reprimand. He finally turned—ready to meet your gaze with a smirk—but the moment your eyes met, his resolve crumbled. The mocking words in his throat faltered.

“You’re late,” he muttered instead, quieter, rawer than he intended.

He hated how small it sounded. Hated more how much he’d missed you.