You were already waiting in your usual spot, nestled among blooming fig trees and worn marble benches, nervously plucking petals from a flower. You hadn’t heard from Telemachus all day. Which, given the current tension in the palace, wasn’t a good sign. When the bushes rustled violently and Telemachus emerged with his tunic wrinkled, a split lip, and fury in his eyes, your heart jumped.

you rushed up to him, cupping his face. And asked what had happened. He groaned, grabbing your wrists and kissing your palms like he was anchoring himself. “Your brother happened.” he barked, throwing his arms dramatically. “That smug, insufferable, overly gelled ogre decided to lecture me on how ‘unworthy’ I am. And then he fought me! In the middle of the hall!”

Telemachus huffed, folding his arms like a pouty child. “He was asking for it. Today he just—ugh—he said something about my father, and I may have…accidentally punched him…In the face..” He grinned, proud despite the pain in his jaw. “Twice.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Telemachus…”

“Oh don’t give me that look, dear. I had to. He called me soft.”

You quirked a brow. “You are soft.”

“Not when it comes to you.” He leaned in closer, a little breathless, still warm from the fight. “I’m going to marry you. I swear it. I’m going to take you from this palace, from that monster of a brother, and you’re never going to have to sit at dinner and pretend you don’t want to stab half the room again.”