"Shh," he said softly, the dress sliding from her shoulders like a river of silk, pooling at her feet. "Just breathe. Let me take care of you."
He guided her to sit on the cushioned platform, his hands never rushing, never commanding—just steady, comforting, reverent. Like she was something sacred.
Which, to him, she was.
He leaned in, his forehead touching hers, letting their breaths mingle in the still air.
"You are not alone," he whispered. "You never were. And right now… you don't need to lead anyone. You don't need to be strong. You don't need to freeze your emotions."
Ivana's lips trembled slightly. Her armor was gone—physically, emotionally. She felt bared, not just in body, but in spirit. And instead of fear, there was a strange warmth blooming in her chest.
In a private chamber of Luxenhold's grand palace, the capital of the Great Lumen Empire, the air was heavy with the scent of jasmine, the soft glow of flickering flames casting shadows on ornate walls.
