The Palace was already stirring when Tirian led Orielle down the long corridor, Orielle's fingers still holding fast around his as they walked.
Tirian's tunic hung loose, unbelted, the fabric wrinkled from sleep. Orielle's robe was tied securely, but it was unmistakably askew, her hair loose, falling behind her.
Tirian did not notice anything, not even with all the whispers following behind them as they passed each servant.
Servants froze in their tasks, their eyes widening at the sight of the king and queen emerging together, both still in their sleepwear. They're… holding hands? a maid, nearly dropping her tray. And in robes? I've never seen the king... relaxed before... her gaze lingering between them walking side by side.
As they walked, Tirian glanced sideways.
Orielle moved lightly at his side, steps soft compared to his own. She looked up at the painted ceiling as if seeing its beauty for the first time, lips curved in a small, private smile. She seemed blissfully unaware of the attention they drew, or perhaps simply uninterested in acknowledging it.
They reached the dining hall. The long table stretched before them, polished to a mirror shine, chairs set in their usual precise order. They let go of each other's hands, Tirian taking his seat out of habit, only to feel something immediately wrong. The emptiness.
Suddenly the space between them felt too, large.
He leaned back slightly, drumming his fingers against the armrest as he watched Orielle from the corner of his eye. She sat at the far end of the long table, shoulders squared, but a pout had formed. Subtle, but unmistakable.
Her lips pressing into a thoughtful line. She glanced along the table, then at him, then at the chair right next to Tirian.
What is she thinking in that head of hers?,Tirian questioned, a flicker of amusement warming his chest. Is she feeling the space too?
She shifted in her seat. Then suddenly, she stood.
Tirian followed her with his gaze as she walked around the table, her steps deliberate but hesitant. She stopped beside him, gestured lightly toward the chair she'd left behind.
"It's too far," she said, voice soft, almost shy.
Before he could respond, she sat beside him, close enough that their sleeves brushed. She folded her hands placing it onto the table, shoulders tense for a moment, then glanced up at him, biting her lip.
"Would this be… inappropriate?"
He blinked, caught off guard.
"Well," he said after a moment, clearing his throat, "it might be." His gaze flicked briefly toward the empty hall. "But there are no guests. And it's only us." A long pause as she waited in anticipation. Then Tirian gave a teasing smirk. "I'm also the king here so... You can sit wherever you want."
Her relief was immediate, her smile bright enough to make any heart flutter.
She began talking almost at once — words tumbling out as she spoke about her queen lessons, expectations, and the endless list of things she was expected to learn as queen. About tutors hired to teach her how to sit, how to speak, how to greet nobles properly.
"One of them is terribly strict," she admitted with a nervous laugh. "But… I learn the fastest with her. I suppose that means she's doing her job, even if she frightens me."
"You want a different tutor?" Tirian asked, the offer leaving his mouth before he'd thought it through.
Her hands flew up immediately. "No! No, please, I quite like her now. Truly. She's harsh, but fair. I think… I'd be worse without her."
He nodded slowly. The toughest teachers leave the deepest marks. Torvax's voice echoed faintly in his memory, along with the sting of bruises earned honestly. Improvement had never come gently for him.
Orielle continued, warming as she spoke, telling him about different customs she'd read about, greetings across borders, the way respect was shown in other lands.
"Some countries even greet one another with a kiss on the cheek," she said, eyes bright with fascination. "Isn't that interesting? I'd love to see it someday and—"
Tirian placed his hand over hers.
She stopped mid-sentence, eyes flicking down to where he touched her.
"We will travel," he said calmly. "Alliances require it." His thumb brushed her knuckles once, unthinking. "But I don't like the idea of you kissing anyone other than me. Even if it's tradition."
He lifted her hand and pressed a brief kiss to her skin.
"This," he added, "I guess, is allowed. It's our culture."
Orielle's face flushed instantly. She turned away, lips pouting as she tried unsuccessfully to hide her embarrassment. "Well… it isn't mine. We never greeted people like that in the countryside. So it's still… something I'm getting used to."
"I see," Tirian said thoughtfully, placing her hand back on the table without letting go. "Then I suppose we'll practice."
She stared at him, utterly flustered. He remained completely unaware of what he'd implied. As a maid's mouth dropped open. The king... who knew could be so... So... Romantic?
Breakfast arrived soon after, servants moving with exaggerated care. Their eyes flicked repeatedly to the seating — the queen beside the king, their shoulders nearly touching.
He wasn't reading reports.
He wasn't issuing orders.
He was listening. Full attention only on the Queen.
They ate quietly, Orielle occasionally commenting on the sweetness of the fruit or the warmth of the spiced bread. Tirian replied sparingly, his words brief but attentive. Once or twice, he chuckled, a sound rare enough that several servants exchanged more wide-eyed glances.
When they finished, Tirian stood. "I should go," he said, voice firm but not harsh. Orielle stood as well. "Thank you for staying with me."
He nodded and took his leave, his steps lighter than usual.
After breakfast, Orielle returned to their chamber, the maids bustling around her as they prepared her bath. Lyssia loosened the ties of her robe while Mirra tested the water.
Then Lyssia gasped. "My lady—!" Orielle frowned. "What is it?" Mirra came running "what what? who did it? holding a brush"
Lyssia stared, eyes wide, fixed on the faint markings along Orielle's skin as the robe slipped away. Lyssia covered her mouth to stop her shock. "Are you alright?" Orielle looked down, then at Lyssia and Mirra confused.
Tirian's return.
By evening, Tirian returned from the hunt exhausted and bloodied, armor streaked with dirt and ichor. Monsters had been pushing closer to the villages again. And not just the villages close to the woods. He walked with his advisors in the through the main gate, a map held in Sir Kahiel's hand, discussing the troubling pattern of the attacks.
Something was wrong. "It's been weeks of this," Kahiel said, his voice low, pointing to the border regions marked with red. "Something's driving them in... Or they've settled closer to the villages for some reason, maybe? We need scouts deeper in the woods my lord, which group should we send?"
Tirian clasped the hilt of his sword frustration etched on his face. "Send the third battalion to the west side of the forest. It's the only place they could be hiding in the open." He stopped mid walk. "Let Beararn lead, Torvax can take the second battalion to the villages nearby incase of another attack... Tell them to send only one to report once they've scouted, I want them to tay there for a while."
Kahiel bowed "Yes sir."
As Tirian crossed the courtyard, voices reached him.
Sharp whispers. "Horrible marks—""—all over her—""—the king is a beast—"
His steps slowed. Then stopped. Marks? Cold dread settled in his chest. He walked closer to hear the words clearer.
"He's a monster! How could he leave so many marks on Her Highness?" one said, her tone horrified. "I heard one of the maids that bathed her said they were all over her body!," another added. "He probably didn't care if he hurt her! I knew the king was a beast... but you'd think he'd be more gentle with someone smaller than him!"
A third hesitated. "He's been acting differently, though…" "Those marks say all we need to know! Did you forget how cold the king was when they met? Or at the wedding? Even after the wedding, he seemed practically constipated to leave the queens side."
"It's true," the first agreed. "Of course the prophecy required... such activities, she's such a small thing. There was no need to be abusive about it... it's not like it's her fault they had to wed... Poor Queen…" Another voice lowered. "You don't think they'll have to… do it again, do you? The prophecy's fulfilled, right?"
"Hmm… doesn't he still need an heir?" "That's right!… The Queen must be having such a hard time. " Tirian froze, his heart pounding, guilt slamming into him. Did I hurt her? he thought, When? She seemed fine… Didn't she? Even this morning... He shook off the thoughts. Then turned sharply toward the royal chambers.
Royal Chambers
Inside, Orielle laughed softly with Mirra and Lyssia, tea cradled in her hands.
"He offered to find a different tutor," she said brightly. "Just because I said it was hard, doesn't that mean that he-"
The door slammed open.
"Everyone Leave," Tirian barked. The maids suddenly frightened by the king's booming voice, scattered out.
"take it off." he said sharply, Her eyes widened. "Take— what?" "Your clothes. Now."
"What? Why?" Orielle flustered lifting her hands to the nape of her dress.
"Now," he insisted, his voice louder, though guilt flickered in his eyes. She bristled, her own anger flaring. "Now look here, do you have any idea how long it takes to put these clothes on? It takes forever, and—"
"Please," he snapped, guilt fraying his voice.
She glared for a second, then began undoing the layers, muttering under her breath.
Five minutes passed, the intricate laces, pins and belts slowing her down. Tirian's impatience grew. "Why is it taking so long?" he demanded. "I told you," she snapped right back, "It's not an easy process. Help then, if you're so eager!"
Tirian flinched at her tone, but stepped forward, his hands deftly unwrapping the fabric trying his best undoing the pins holding the draped silks. The outer palla fell away, revealing a main part of dress, the stola. He blinked, exasperated. "What is this? Are you an onion? Why so many layers?"
Orielle shot him another glare. "This is a stola, you wear it under the palla. I even have two more layers under this!" Tirian bit his tongue, her scolding silencing him as he helped with the rest, his hands careful despite his urgency.
When she stood in her undergarments, he saw them, marks along her shoulders, neck, and chest, faint bruises and red patches "Did... did I do this?" he asked hoarsely.
She followed his gaze, then looked at him, a flicker of realisation, and her tone softened. "Mirra called them love bites." she said, still pouting. "With a name like that, they can't be bad…"
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I should've been more careful." She looked back at him, noticing Tirian's guilt. "I… didn't hate it."
He exhaled, relief flooded him, and he lifted her hand to kiss it, his lips lingering. "I'll be more careful next time," Then he turned to leave.
"Wait… you're leaving?" Her tone was sharp, her face a mix of anger and disbelief. "You made me undress with all that effort, and you just… leave?"
Tirian paused, stunned, then let out a dumbfounded laugh. He stepped closer in an instant, scooping her up by her legs, "My little fox is bold as always," he said, a teasing edge returning.
Orielle looked in his eyes, a smile tugging at her pretending it's not there. "Well, my king needs to take responsibility," she said, her tone teasing but firm. "It takes forever to put those dresses on."
He laughed, a deep, genuine sound. Orielle laughed too, then leaned down pulled her face closer, her lips brushing his, the kiss was soft at first, then deeper. Tirian couldn't help but smile before thinking to himself. She's completely, undeniably irresistible.