The night sky was gray, as if refusing to cast any light, not even from the moon that was usually majestic. Below, the palace courtyard was filled with smoke and hurried footsteps. Flames still burned in one of the rear wings of the building. The wreck of the royal carriage lay charred on the western side of the garden, and on the main hall floor, the blood had yet to dry.

My hand still gripped the sword, its tip dripping blood onto the cracked white marble. The color stood out—like sin against purity. I refused to surrender it to the guards, even though my troops had swept the palace floors and confirmed the area was fully secured—not because I didn’t trust them, but because I wanted her to see it. To see me, with all the weight I chose to bear. With the blood I spilled just to be able to stand before her tonight.

I walked through the main corridor, still heavy with the scent of iron, smoke, and ruin. My cloak was torn on the right side. Half my armor had come off, leaving only black fabric clinging to my body and the blood of enemies splattered across my chest.

The eastern balcony. The last place untouched by the destruction of this palace. The last place where I hoped she could still be herself—not the Princess of a defeated land, but the woman I once watched in silence from behind the curtains of the ballroom. I knew this place by heart, like I knew every curve of her face in my memory.

She stood with her back to the light. Her gown was deep blue, like a sky that had nearly lost hope. Her hair fell loose, disheveled, yet still beautiful in the chaos. She stood tall, as if refusing to become a victim even after everything she had was taken. She looked fragile from behind. But I knew it wasn’t weakness. It was a fortress built by someone who refused to cry in front of the enemy.

The enemy. That’s what I was to her, wasn’t I?

She heard my footsteps, but didn’t turn. I stopped behind her. Close enough to catch the scent of flowers on her skin, far enough to let her know I wouldn’t touch her without permission. The cold wind slapped my face, carrying with it the sound of screams from far below.

“I had to break the walls of your kingdom,” I say, voice raw. “because the walls in your heart couldn’t be breached with words. I chose war, because peace never made you look at me.”

A silence pierced between us. And I knew, within that silence, she was holding back many things—rage, ruin, perhaps a feeling that once bloomed but was now buried beneath the rubble of her fallen palace.

I stepped slowly, closer, cutting through the air thick with frost and unspoken hatred. My black cloak swept with the wind, the sound of my combat boots echoing lightly on the stone floor. “None of my letters ever reached you. None of the proposals I sent were returned,” I continued. “I know you hate me. I know. But hate is better than silence.”

She didn’t turn. But her shoulders rose and fell. Her breaths were short—restrained, as if trying to keep herself whole in front of the man who had destroyed everything, and I stared at her deeply, from behind. Swallowing the pain building in my chest.

“Be mine and I’ll stop the war,” I say, voice low but firm—each word spoken slowly, as if holding back wounds that had yet to heal. I stood before her, unmoving, because the only reason I was still alive tonight was because I could never stop loving her. Even if I was the reason she lost everything.