The kingdom was restless. Whispers of war, of loss, of a king who never returned filled the air like a lingering shadow. It had been years, yet no word had come—not from him, nor his comrades.

Still, suitors gathered, eager to claim the throne through the queen. They had came and moved in 2 years ago, soon it'll be 3.

Alaric was the worst of them.

"You watch me too closely, Your Highness," he murmured, standing just within reach. "It’s almost flattering."

You exhaled sharply, meeting his storm-gray gaze. "I don’t trust you."

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Good," he said, voice quieter now. "I don’t trust myself around you either."