The night was quiet.
Too quiet.
Vilo had gone to bed early, worn out from hours of diplomacy and rewriting terms of surrender for a neighboring kingdom too foolish to know when it had lost. I had stayed up to finish some final chores—just cleaning the bathroom before lights-out.
Or that's what I told myself.
I didn't notice the sound of her footsteps. Or the subtle shift in air when her presence filled the hallway.
I didn't notice her at all.
Until she opened the door.
"What are you doing?"
Her voice was low. Dangerous.
I froze.
There I was, pants down, standing in front of the mirror—one hand over myself, the other clutching a slightly-wrinkled photo.
A photo of her.
One taken by a maid months ago during a public ceremony. She wasn't smiling in it, of course. But her hair had been flowing in the wind, her chest rising proudly under her formal dress, her hips framed perfectly by the ceremonial robe. It was… beautiful. She was beautiful.
I had told no one I kept it.
Now she stood in the doorway, staring me down like I'd betrayed her.
"Give me the photo."
Her voice could have frozen lava.
I hesitated, but handed it over slowly, hand trembling. My eyes didn't meet hers. I was too afraid.
She looked at it.
And then paused.
Her brows furrowed.
"…This is me."
I nodded slowly.
Her expression shifted—anger fading into… confusion. Disbelief.
"Why?" she asked. "Why would you… do that… to this?"
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Then quietly, "I didn't want to disturb you. Or disrespect you. I know how busy you are. How much power you hold. You're a queen. You're my wife, but you're also… more than me."
Her wings twitched behind her, slightly unsure.
I took a shaky breath.
"And I'm scared," I added. "That even if you ever wanted me that way… I wouldn't be good enough. I wouldn't be able to please you. I'd embarrass myself. Or worse—disappoint you."
She stared at me.
I covered myself in shame and turned to flee—anywhere, anywhere else but here.
But her hand slammed against the wall beside me, blocking my path.
"You're not going anywhere," she said, voice sharp.
I swallowed hard.
"You did this… because you thought I'd reject you?"
"Yes," I said softly.
"You've never once tried to touch me," she said, voice shaking now. "Never made a move. Never even hinted."
"Because I didn't want to lose you."
She was silent.
Then: "You think I let just anyone share my bed? You think I'd sleep beside a man I didn't want?"
My heart pounded.
"I-I didn't think you'd—"
"Shut up."
She stepped back slightly, holding the photo like it was something sacred—and ridiculous—and heartbreaking.
"You idiot," she muttered. "You really think that low of yourself."
I didn't answer.
She looked at me again, more serious this time.
"Was this really about avoiding disrespect… or about fear?"
I clenched my fists. "Both."
She nodded once, slowly.
Then, to my surprise… she handed the photo back.
"Go to bed," she said.
I blinked. "Wha—?"
"You're not ready for anything more. And neither am I."
She turned to leave, then stopped at the door.
"But next time you feel something... tell me. I can't read your mind."
She didn't slam the door. She just closed it softly.
And I stood there alone, heart racing, shame burning, and the faintest flicker of something else—
Hope.
Another week passed.
The kingdom of Vaer'khol had returned to uneasy calm. Skirmishes died down. Trade resumed. The halls of the castle echoed with the usual blend of discipline and dread.
Then came the message.
A diplomat, trembling, delivered it personally to the throne room.
The human nation of Filurhol—cowardly and power-hungry—had declared war on Vilo's kingdom.
I was dusting the back legs of her throne when the news was read aloud. I froze the moment the words left the diplomat's mouth.
Vilo, on the other hand, didn't move at all.
Not at first.
Then she stood.
"Annihilate them," she said.
That was all.
No discussion. No meetings. No restraint.
Her generals bowed, eager to obey.
But behind that cold fury, I could sense something deeper.
She was angry. Not just because of war.
Because someone was trying to take her peace away.
Later that day, I was cleaning her chamber—soft cloth in one hand, tea tray in the other—when she turned away from her map table, crossed her arms beneath her chest, and asked:
"Do you want to have sex with me?"
I almost dropped the tray.
"I—w-what?!"
"You heard me," she said, staring directly at me. "It's a simple question."
"I… I mean…" I stumbled over my words, sweat immediately forming on the back of my neck. "Should we? I don't know if I can—"
"I didn't ask if you could," she interrupted. "I asked if you wanted to."
That stopped me.
I swallowed hard.
"…Yes," I said softly.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Then tell me what you'd do."
"I… I don't really know."
"You don't?"
"I've never actually… you know…"
She raised an eyebrow.
"You must know something," she said. "You certainly knew what to do with that photo last week."
I turned red instantly.
"I just— I didn't want to pressure you! I thought I'd mess it up!"
"Then tell me what you want from me," she said, stepping closer now. Her voice dropped just slightly. "If you had me… what would you ask for?"
I hesitated.
Then, quietly: "I'd want you to be on top of me. To hold me. Tight."
Her expression didn't change.
But her eyes softened. Just a little.
"Then that's what we'll do."
I looked up at her in disbelief. "T-Tonight?"
"Yes."
"Is… is that really necessary?"
"Yes," she said, not hesitating for a second. "Because I say so."
I opened my mouth to protest, but the words wouldn't come.
"I'm fine," I tried to whisper.
"You're not," she said. "You want me. And I'm tired of pretending I don't want you, too."
Her eyes flicked away for just a moment.
"This war will keep me busy soon," she added. "And I'm going to win it. But tonight… I want you."
She walked past me without another word, leaving her command lingering in the air like heat.
I stood there in silence, heart pounding.
I wasn't ready.
But I wanted her.
And she wanted me—not as a tool, not as a servant, but as a man.
Tonight… that would be enough.