Morning After the Storm

The first light of dawn brushed against the horizon, soft and unhurried.

A pale gold shimmer spread across the sky, melting the last traces of night. The air carried a faint chill, mixed with the distant sound of birds stirring awake over the spires of the Lionheart Kingdom.

Far below the castle's high walls, the capital was slowly rousing — merchants lifting shutters, guards changing shifts, and the scent of fresh bread drifting from the early bakeries. But high above, in one of the royal chambers draped in violet and white, the world was still quiet.

The room itself looked as though dawn had painted it. Curtains of deep purple caught the sun's first rays, bleeding them into streaks of soft rose and silver across the floor. The faint scent of clove and jasmine hung in the air, sweet yet grounding, like the lingering whisper of a long night.

The bed — wide enough to fit a king and still leave room for dreams — was tangled with sheets that had lost their order hours ago. A steady, human warmth filled the space between the folds of silk.

Victor stirred first.

He didn't open his eyes right away. His body felt heavy, comfortably so, as though the night had drained something deep from him — and replaced it with something gentler. He exhaled, slowly, letting the world seep in: the faint rustle of curtains, the pulse of sunlight on his skin, the soft rhythm of another's breathing pressed against his chest.

When he finally opened his eyes, he saw silver hair scattered across his shoulder like spilled moonlight. A soft weight lay across his arm — a woman curled against him, her horns barely visible through the mess of her hair.

Violet.

Even asleep, she looked composed. Her lashes fluttered faintly, her breath slow and even, her cheek pressed against his chest as though it belonged there. The sunlight caught the curve of her face, making her seem almost unreal — half-dream, half-divine.

Victor's gaze softened. Memories from the night returned, slow and vivid — not of what happened, but of what it meant.

The way she had looked at him — not as a prince, not as someone untouchable — but as a man she wanted to understand.

The silence between them that had felt heavier than words.

The walls that had fallen without warning.

He smiled faintly, almost to himself. For once, he didn't feel like someone burdened by crowns and destinies. He felt… human.

A quiet, teasing voice broke the stillness.

"When you smile like that," Violet murmured without opening her eyes, "you look almost irresistible, darling."

Victor blinked — caught between surprise and a helpless laugh.

He glanced down to see her eyes opening, violet meeting purple in the morning light.

"You're awake," he said, voice low, almost shy.

Violet stretched slightly, one hand tracing lazy circles on his chest. "You make it sound like I'm the one who slept too long." Her smile curved, soft and knowing. "You looked peaceful. I didn't want to wake you."

"Peaceful," Victor repeated quietly, a hint of amusement threading through his voice. "That's rare for me."

"I can tell," she said, studying him. "You sleep like someone who expects to wake up in a battlefield."

He didn't deny it. His eyes shifted toward the ceiling for a moment — and for that heartbeat, the calm morning brushed against the old ache inside him.

But Violet noticed. She always did.

"Don't," she said gently, reaching up to touch his jaw. "Don't let your mind go back there. Not yet. Stay here, with me."

Her tone wasn't commanding. It was quiet — but it carried the kind of warmth that disarmed him.

Victor's gaze dropped to hers again. The room seemed smaller, softer. The world beyond its walls — politics, duty, danger — felt impossibly distant.

He took her hand and kissed her fingertips, the gesture slow, deliberate. "I didn't expect you to…" he hesitated, searching for the word, "stay."

Violet tilted her head. "You make it sound like I run from you."

"Don't you?" he asked, half teasing, half serious.

Her smile deepened. "Maybe I do. Maybe I don't. But last night—" she paused, her voice lowering, "—felt like something I didn't need to escape from."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was thick with understanding, threaded with a quiet, unnamed affection.

Victor turned slightly, brushing his fingers through her hair. "You're dangerous when you talk like that."

"I'm always dangerous," she said with a smirk. "You're just slower to admit it."

He chuckled, the sound soft against her temple. "That's fair."

For a long while, they just stayed there. No words, no need to fill the silence. Only the sound of their breathing, the faint cry of morning birds outside the balcony, and the steady beat of the kingdom waking beyond their chamber.

The sun climbed higher, spilling gold over tangled sheets and bare shoulders.

Eventually, Violet shifted, sitting up slightly, the blanket sliding down just enough to reveal the graceful lines of her back. She reached for a robe draped over the bedpost, the movement elegant and unhurried.

Victor watched her in silence — not with lust, but with a strange, reverent calm.

She glanced back at him. "Don't stare, Your Highness. You'll make me blush."

"I doubt that's possible," he murmured.

She laughed, the sound soft, real. Then her tone turned thoughtful. "You should rest a little longer. The kingdom won't collapse if you wake up an hour late."

He smiled. "You overestimate my schedule."

"And you underestimate how much you need to breathe."

That last line lingered in the air between them — more serious than she intended, more honest than either could ignore.

Victor sighed quietly, finally sitting up beside her. "You sound like my sister."

"Then maybe you should start listening to women in your life," Violet said with a half-grin.

He gave her a look that said touché, and for a moment, they both laughed — softly, quietly, as though afraid to break the fragile peace that had settled over them.

Violet rose first, tying her robe loosely around her waist, the morning light painting her silhouette in gold. She turned toward the balcony, pushing the curtains aside.

The view that greeted her was breathtaking — the Lionheart Kingdom bathed in early sunlight, rivers catching the sky's reflection like veins of light, and the distant sound of bells echoing through the city.

"Beautiful," she whispered.

Victor joined her, standing close enough for their shoulders to touch. "It is."

But when he said it, his eyes weren't on the horizon.

Violet noticed — and smiled faintly, not saying a word.

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