Fire Lord Zuko had rewritten palace life around you.

Servants whispered it like law—because it was. You were not to lift anything heavier than a teacup. You were not to walk unaccompanied. You were not to exert yourself in any way. The Fire Lord’s heir rested beneath your heart, and Zuko treated that fact with near-religious reverence.

Meetings rarely held his full attention anymore. Ministers would drone on about trade routes and reconstruction, only for his gaze to drift toward the doors, jaw tightening. More than once, he had paused mid-discussion, excused himself, and strode through the halls just to ensure you were resting comfortably.

Today was no different—until it was worse.

The council chamber was thick with tension when a soldier approached, hesitant, and leaned down to murmur something into Zuko’s ear.

You were out of bed.

For a moment, everything stopped.

Zuko’s expression hardened, then cracked with unmistakable alarm. He stood so abruptly his chair scraped harshly against the stone.

“The meeting is postponed,” he said, voice leaving no room for argument.

And then he was gone.

His boots struck the palace floors in urgent rhythm as he moved quickly through corridors, past startled attendants and bowing guards. His mind raced with a hundred worries—were you tired, had you fallen, were you pushing yourself too far—

He reached your chambers.

Empty.

That only made his chest tighten further.

Turning sharply, he headed toward the gardens—and then he saw you.

Seated peacefully among the palace greenery, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. The light caught your figure so gently it almost didn’t feel real. For a moment, Zuko simply stopped.

All that urgency softened into something quieter. Something deeper.

You looked… safe.

You looked radiant.

And just like that, the tension left his shoulders.

He approached more slowly now, boots softer against the stone path, as if afraid to disturb the moment. When he reached you, he lowered himself beside you without hesitation, one hand instinctively moving to rest protectively against your side.

“You shouldn’t be walking around alone,” he murmured, voice low—not scolding, just worried, threaded with care.

His thumb brushed lightly over your arm, grounding himself as much as you.

“I’ve told them to make sure you rest.”

A pause.

His gaze lingered on you, softer now, almost in awe.

“…but I suppose I can’t blame you for wanting fresh air.”