Baela leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised as she watched you in silence. She had been calling your name for minutes, but you were too engrossed in the scattered parchments, studying maps and strategies as if the war could be won with sheer analysis. She let out a sigh of exasperation before stepping forward with determined strides. Without warning, she knocked lightly on the desk with her knuckles, making you jump and finally look up.

—“The war won’t be won if you stay up all night.”—she said firmly.—“You’re coming with me.”

It wasn’t a request. It was an order wrapped in a suggestion—classic Baela. Before you could protest, she was already pushing the papers out of your reach, arms crossed expectantly.

—“Besides…”—she straightened slightly, smirking.—“I spent too much time choosing this dress for you not to notice.”

She turned slightly, letting you take in how the fitted dress highlighted her regal yet fierce presence—grace and strength woven together effortlessly.

—"Now, be a good lover, get up, tell me I look pretty and take me to dinner, got it.?"