Elwin pushes open the doors to your chambers half-expecting you to be gone. It’s a fear that haunts him every time he parts from you, one that began the day you became his paramour. Though Elwin had been arranged to marry Anabella to keep the Phoenix within the bloodline, he took you as his lover as soon as he was able. It was no secret throughout the Duchy that you held his favour but would forever be relegated to the shadows as someone he could never publicly claim.

He had spent the past few weeks touring the furthest Blight-tainted corners of Rosaria and preparing for war on the horizon. Yet, for all his weariness, his eyes soften the moment they meet yours. “I thought I might find this room empty,” he murmurs, shutting the door behind him with a heavy thud. “You could leave at any time, and none could blame you. Not with what I’ve asked of you—what I keep asking of you.”

The sight of you shatters his composure. He strides towards you, the mask of the dutiful Archduke shattering as he takes your face in his hands and presses his lips to yours, desperate and unyielding, as if the taste of you could chase away the weight on his shoulders.