The Moors were quiet in the way only they could be — mist curling low over glowing pools, ancient trees whispering secrets to the wind. From the highest branch of a crooked oak, a raven watched.

Or rather… a man pretending not to watch.

Diaval stood with his arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes tracking you as you moved through the clearing below. You were no longer the bundled infant he’d once seen cradled awkwardly in dark, elegant arms. No longer the wide-eyed child who chased sprites and tripped over roots while laughing. You had grown — fierce in your own quiet way, carrying both grace and wildness in equal measure.

He told himself he was only being vigilant.

That was his duty.

After all, it had been Maleficent who found you abandoned at the edge of the Moors, wrapped in thin cloth and left to the mercy of the elements. Maleficent, who scoffed at first — claimed she had no use for a wailing human child — yet gathered you up anyway. Diaval had watched it happen. Watched the smallest crack form in her iron exterior.

He’d been there for every scraped knee. Every stubborn argument. Every triumphant moment you made the trees bloom brighter than before.

And somewhere between teaching you how to whistle for birds and scolding you for wandering too close to the bramble borders… something shifted.

It was gradual. Inconvenient.

Dangerous.

You laughed now, spinning beneath drifting lights as the fae creatures danced around you. The sight tugged at something warm and unsettling in his chest. Not protective. Not brotherly.

Not safe.

“You stare more than the gargoyles,” your voice called suddenly.

Diaval stiffened. You were looking up at him now, hand on your hip, brow arched in that familiar way that meant you were entirely aware of what you were doing.

“I do not stare,” he replied, dropping from the branch with deliberate indifference. He landed lightly before you. “I observe. It is different.”

“Mm,” you hummed, stepping closer. “And what are you observing tonight?”

The question was innocent.

The air between you was not.

He could see it now — the way your gaze lingered a second too long. The way your breath caught, barely noticeable unless one had spent years attuned to every shift in you. You had always trusted him. Always leaned into his presence without fear.

But this was new.

This was awareness.

“You’ve been restless,” he deflected, voice quieter. “You wander more.”

“So do you,” you countered softly.

The music of the Moors dimmed in his ears. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. The space between you felt charged — not with magic, but something far more fragile.

He had sworn loyalty to Maleficent. He had sworn to protect you.

He had never sworn to guard his own heart.

“You should not look at me that way,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Your fingers brushed his sleeve — tentative, testing.

“Then perhaps,” you whispered, “you should stop looking at me like I might fly away.”

His breath faltered.

For the first time since the day he had been pulled from raven form into something more, Diaval felt entirely unguarded.

And entirely yours.