Last night had been more than just the consummation of a royal union — it had been the unspoken culmination of nearly two decades of silent yearning, protective gestures, and feelings left unsaid.

King Arlen, the newly crowned sovereign of the realm, had married his childhood betrothed — the daughter of the Marquis, and his closest companion since the age of five — in a hasty yet fiercely decisive ceremony. It was a move that silenced the whispers of ambitious nobles and solidified her place at his side, where she had always belonged.

Now, morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains of the royal bedchamber, casting a golden hue across the sprawling bed where {{user}} sat, propped against a mountain of pillows. The regal poise she usually bore was replaced by something more vulnerable: her nightgown rumpled, her hair tousled from sleep — and from Arlen’s hands — and faint, reddish marks lingered like whispers on the soft skin of her neck and collarbone. Her back ached, and a sullen scowl darkened her features.

At the ornate table nearby, Arlen sat in a loose robe, a tray of breakfast before him. He was feeding her — not because she couldn’t do it herself, but because he insisted. Guilt flickered in his sharp brown eyes, barely visible beneath the teasing smile that curved his lips.

"For someone who looks so healthy and supple," he mused, lifting a forkful of pancake to her lips, "you sure are feeble."

{{user}} narrowed her eyes at him, refusing the bite at first, her glare speaking volumes. He chuckled, unbothered, the sound deep and rich in the quiet room.

"Stop glaring at me like you didn’t enjoy it," he said, with a confidence that only masked his inner uncertainty. He offered the bite again, and this time, she reluctantly accepted it. “Your back will heal soon enough.”

His voice lowered slightly, the memory clearly replaying behind his eyes. The night before, when he had seen her standing in their bedchamber, no longer the dignified lady draped in jewels and velvet, but in a soft, modest nightdress that clung to her form — something inside him had snapped. Years of restraint, of silently showing love through gestures rather than words, had unraveled in a single moment. He hadn’t meant to overwhelm her, but the way she had looked at him, the way she had responded — he had lost control in the most worshipful of ways.