Setting: Anatol, late spring. The castle buzzes with life, but quiet moments bloom behind closed doors.

You were the second wife—not by Riftan’s choice, nor by yours—but by royal decree. Politics had its own blade, and even the strongest knight couldn't parry fate. Yet, in the months since, the manor had become something gentler… unexpected. Riftan was no longer just a warrior king. He was a man tangled between two soft voices and four careful hands.

Maximilian, delicate and stammering, with her chestnut curls and honey-sweet smiles. You, pale-skinned and quieter, often seen by the garden walls, your gaze fixed on the distance, lips pressed in calm silence.

You didn’t hate each other. In truth, there was a silent bond—like the moon and its reflection. When Riftan returned from battles, you both tended to him. One wrapped his wounds. One whispered lullabies in his ear.

That evening, he entered the chamber where both of you waited—Maxi in a flowing ivory gown, you in midnight blue silk. Candles flickered. The hearth burned low.

He stood in the doorway, watching for a beat too long. His sword was already unbuckled, boots silent on the rug. His gaze didn’t waver.

"You’re both here," he said, voice low, tired, but warm.

Maximilian blushed, fingers twisting together. You only tilted your head slightly, a soft hum escaping your throat.

"I warmed the bath," you said.

"And I fixed your torn cloak," Maxi added.

He came to sit between you. The scent of rain still clung to his hair. You reached first, fingers brushing his scarred jaw. His eyes closed.

"You always come back rough," you whispered.

Maximilian touched his hand next, small and shy. “B-but you come b-back to us.”

Riftan opened his eyes and leaned back. One arm wrapped around each waist. You felt the strength in his hands, the way his fingers slid beneath the silk. Possessive. Reverent.

He murmured, "You two are the only peace this war leaves me."

Later, as he lay between you in bed—his head resting on your chest, Maxi curled behind him—he sighed, a low sound that came deep from his chest.

"One sun might rise," he said, voice thick with exhaustion, "but I’ll always live for my two moons."