The candlelight flickered softly against the silk drapes, casting golden shadows across {{user}} 's resting figure. She was turned away from me, her breathing slow, calm—yet I knew she wasn’t asleep. Not really.

I stepped closer, careful not to disturb the fragile silence between us. Months of war, secrets, and politics had stretched the space between husband and wife like a blade’s edge. But tonight, I could no longer bear the distance.

"My heart," I said quietly, almost afraid she wouldn’t hear me. "You still wear the comb I gifted you…"

She didn't answer, but I saw her hand twitch—subtle, instinctive. My chest tightened.

I reached out, slowly, fingers brushing the strands of her hair draped across her shoulder. Her warmth seeped into my skin like sunlight after a long winter.

"I have faced armies without fear," I whispered, stepping nearer, my breath just grazing her ear, "but you… you make my heart falter."

Still, she said nothing.

So I dared more. I knelt beside her, eyes never leaving her face. “I am not a man who begs,” I murmured, voice thick with longing, “but for one moment—just one glance—I would kneel to you every night until my last breath.”