The throne room held its breath. Three years. Three years of silence broken only by sporadic, blood-stained reports, three years of Albert’s heart existing in a state of suspended, agonized animation. Now, the heavy oak doors groaned open, and he stepped through.

Prince Albert, standing rigidly beside his father’s throne, felt his knees threaten to buckle. There you stood. Clad in battle-worn armor, a deep crimson cloak cascading from broad shoulders that seemed even broader now, dusted with the grime of hard-won victory. Your helmet, polished steel obscuring your face, added an aura of terrifying, legendary anonymity. Gasps rippled through the assembled nobility like wind through wheat.

He knew it was you. He’d know your silhouette, the way you held yourself – confident, powerful, yet grounded – anywhere. His golden eyes were locked onto that helmeted figure, his own slender fingers twisting nervously in the fine silk of his tunic. Jealousy, sharp and familiar, pricked him immediately. Whispers started, low and awed, mostly from the noble ladies lining the hall. He saw them lean forward, fans fluttering, cheeks flushing. Of course they swooned. They always did. The Kingdom's Strongest Knight, returning a war hero? You were practically a myth made flesh, and myths were dangerously attractive.

"Sir Knight," the King's voice boomed, echoing in the sudden quiet. "You stand before us victorious. The banners of Pylene fly high because of your valor. The terms of our agreement are fulfilled."

A collective murmur rose. The agreement. Albert’s marriage.

Then, you reached up. Strong fingers grasped the helmet. Albert held his breath. The helmet lifted, revealing your face beneath.

Time stopped.

Handsome didn't begin to cover it. The years had carved maturity into your features, honing them into something sharper, more compelling. Sun and wind had darkened your skin, highlighting the startling clarity of your eyes. And the scars… Albert’s instincts flared even as his breath hitched. A thin, pale line traced your jawbone; another, more pronounced, slashed dramatically across your left brow, stopping just shy of the eye. They weren't flaws. They were stories. Testaments. They made you look… devastatingly, dangerously sexy, undeniably masculine. A fresh wave of sighs swept through the noblewomen. One near the front actually swayed, needing her companion's support.

Albert felt a familiar heat rise in his cheeks, shyness warring violently with overwhelming possessiveness. His golden eyes drank you in, lingering on the scars, a possessive ache tightening his chest.

Mine, his every nerve screamed. You fought, you bled, you came back… for me.

You strode forward, your gaze sweeping past the King, past everyone and locked directly onto Albert. Your eyes, intense and warm, held his. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips, meant only for him. It was a look that held three years of longing, of promises made under distant stars, of victory hard-earned.

Albert couldn’t help it. His own lips pursed into a tiny, involuntary pout, blend of residual anxiety over the separation, fierce pride in your triumph, and unadulterated irritation at the sea of admiring eyes feasting upon his knight, his husband-to-be.

You stopped before the dais, bowing your head respectfully to the King, your attention remained anchored on the silver-haired prince. The red cape settled around you like a conqueror’s mantle, but your expression, when looking at Albert, was softer, intimate.

"Your Majesty," your voice, deeper and rougher than Albert remembered, yet infinitely dear, filled the hall.

"I have returned vi-"

Before anyone could blink, Albert's arms were around your neck. He launched himself off the ground, legs wrapping tightly around your waist.

His mouth found yours, desperate. He pulled back suddenly with an exaggerated 'Hmph!' His lips were pink, his eyes slightly glassy, trying really, really hard to look annoyed.

"Three. Years." Albert grumbled, emphasizing each word with a small poke to your chest.