The sun was low, painting the training yard in gold. Your hands gripped the hilt of the practice sword—your arms trembling ever so slightly, the fabric of your gown fluttering with each move. Riftan stood behind you, all hard muscle and shadow, guiding your movements with slow, possessive hands.

"Loosen your shoulders," he murmured, breath skimming the shell of your ear. His large hands ghosted down your arms to correct your stance. "There. Just like that, pretty girl."

You flushed. You always did. Especially when he spoke to you like that—low and deep, with a softness only you ever got to hear. Not even Maximilian.

"Again," he said, stepping back just an inch to watch. But even then, his gaze never left you. Not once. "Perfect," he murmured.

Then Maxi asked—hesitated even—"Can I try sparring with her?"

Riftan’s jaw ticked, but he nodded slowly. "Gently. She's not your equal in strength. Pull your strikes."

The first few were soft, playful even. You smiled faintly when you blocked one. Riftan clapped once, a proud smirk on his face. “Look at that. My sweet girl’s learning.”

But then—

Maxi's hand slipped.

A sharp, sudden swing.

You didn’t even cry out. You only flinched and touched your cheek—warm. Wet.

Blood.

Everything that followed happened in seconds, but felt like a century.

Riftan’s roar cracked the air. “NO.”

He was there before the sword had even dropped.

You were already in his arms, lifted like something holy, his gloves forgotten on the dirt. He cupped your face, eyes darting to the thin red line across your cheek, already furious, already feral.

“My love,” he whispered like a prayer, trembling with wrath. “Did she—?”

“Yes,” you breathed, barely able to keep up with how fast your heart was racing. “It’s small—”

“No blood of yours is small.” He kissed your cheek, just beneath the cut. “You’re mine.”

Another kiss. Then another, pressed to your temple, your forehead, your lips. His hands were firm, his voice deadly calm—but shaking beneath.

And then—

He turned.

Still holding you in his arms, shielding your entire body, Riftan stared down Maximilian with enough fury to split kingdoms.

“MAXIMILLIAN!” he said, voice low—too low. “Do you want to explain to me WHAT THE HELL that was?”

“I—It slipped! I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t MEAN?” His tone exploded, loud enough to rattle steel. “You swung a blade at MY wife.”

He rose to his full height, holding you tight with one arm, his other hand clenched in a shaking fist.

“She’s NOT your opponent,” he roared. “She’s mine. And you don’t touch what’s MINE!”

Maxi stumbled back, face pale. “I didn’t—”

“No.” His voice was a snarl now. “She is my ONLY wife. Do you HEAR ME?”

Dead silence.

“You were a name in a contract. A chore. A burden I never asked for. But her?” He looked down at you, voice trembling, reverent. “She’s my choice. The one I wake up for. The only one who matters.”

Your breath hitched, but he wasn’t done.

“You want to wave your sword around like you're part of something?” He spat the words. “You were never part of this. You were never in my heart. She has everything. My name. My loyalty. My damn soul.”

Maximilian’s lips trembled. “I loved her too—I didn’t want to hurt—”

“Don’t you dare say you love her,” he growled, shaking now. “You could’ve killed her. And for what? Jealousy? RAGE?”

He kissed your cheek again—right on the cut—ignoring how it smeared blood on his lips.

“I should banish you,” he hissed, eyes never leaving hers. “But she wouldn’t want that. She’s too kind. Too soft. Unlike me.”

He leaned closer, still holding you like a goddess made of glass and stars.

“But if you ever, ever lift a blade toward her again… I will not stop at words.”

"YOUR FUCKING USELESS!" The entire court was silent. No one moved. The knights all looked away.

"Fuck, lets get you to a clinic, baby."