[Lavinia’s POV—Moonlit Camp—Continuation]
The wind was sharp tonight.
Cold enough to bite, quiet enough to hear a pin drop, still enough that even the tents seed to hold their breath. I’d stepped outside only because Marshi insisted on a walk—tail flicking, practically dragging by the cloak.
And then—
"HOW DARE YOU—!!"
A shout tore through the night. My blood iced. That voice—Osric.
I quickened my pace, boots scraping gravel.
I rounded the corner—and froze.
Osric’s fist hovered mid-air.
Haldor didn’t move—frozen like a blade about to strike, shoulders tight, jaw clenched, every instinct ready to snap into violence.
And my voice tore through the night, "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!!!"
The sound echoed across the entire camp. Both n jerked toward instantly.
Osric’s fist hung just inches from Haldor’s jaw. Haldor’s hand was already on the hilt of his sword. One heartbeat more, and one of them would have bled.
"...Princess," Haldor murmured, stepping aside imdiately, lowering his gaze in discipline.
Osric stepped back too—but not with respect.
With guilt.
With fury.
With sothing twisted beneath his skin.
My glare swept across both of them—slow, sharp, and cold enough to freeze bone.
"Step. Away. From. Each. Other."
Not a shout.
Not a request.
A command that made them separate without hesitation, like puppets yanked by invisible strings.
Haldor obeyed silently. Osric obeyed stiffly, jaw flexing hard enough to crack. The air between us tightened—thick, dangerous, suffocating.
I didn’t blink.
I didn’t soften.
I let the full weight of my authority crash down.
"Since both of you have sohow lost your minds..." I said coldly, "You will follow . Now."
No one argued.
Without waiting, I turned sharply and began walking toward my personal camp. My cloak snapped behind like a living fla.
The soldiers nearby scrambled out of the way. Torches flickered, shadows bent, and the moonlight carved the ground in silver paths—and behind :
Haldor followed imdiately, silent and controlled. Unmoving, except for the tension raging under his skin.
Osric followed slower.
Shoulders knotted.
Face twisted with sothing poisonous.
But he followed.
I didn’t look at either of them. Not yet. Because if I did, one of them would regret it.
We reached my camp entrance, the guards bowing imdiately. And I entered last—closing the tent flap behind us with a snap loud enough to make them stand straighter.
The night outside went quiet. The air inside grew heavier. Two n stood before —one loyal. One breaking. Both on the verge of war.
And I—I was done with silence.
I crossed my arms slowly, deliberately, letting the weight of the mont settle over them like a blade.
"Now," I said, voice cold enough to freeze the lantern flas, "who is going to tell why you were fighting like animals outside?"
Neither man spoke.
Not even a twitch.
Haldor’s eyes dropped to the floor—his discipline choking him. Osric’s jaw clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might crack.
Their silence was a confession in itself.
I narrowed my eyes.
Neither of them dared to et my gaze. They knew they had crossed a line.
A line I did not tolerate.
My voice dropped to a dangerous softness.
"I see," I murmured. "So you both had the courage to throw punches but not the courage to speak. But I can guess one thing: that one of you cannot control his emotions... and the other refuses to walk away from provocation, am I right?"
Both n stiffened, guilt slicing through them like knives.
I exhaled sharply and straightened, dropping my arms. "Alright," I said. "... I have no choice... but to punish you both."
Osric’s hands curled into fists. Haldor’s shoulders locked.
I stepped forward—slow, deliberate, each footstep echoing like a countdown.
"You are grown n," I said, "yet you behave like children fighting over toys."
My gaze snapped to Osric.
"And you—Grand Duke—laying a hand on my captain?"
He froze.
"You have violated rank, discipline, and your oath. If this happens again, Osric..." My eyes narrowed to slits. "... I will strip your title for 78 hours without hesitation."
His breath caught.
Then I turned to Haldor.
"And you." He straightened instantly—like a soldier before a queen. "You drew your sword in camp. Without a direct threat."
Haldor lowered his head, sha tightening his posture.
"I expected more discipline from my captain," I said. "If you ever react with your blade before using your words again—I will revoke your command until you rember composure, and you’ll be stripped of your title for 78 hours too."
A flicker of shock crossed his face, then vanished just as quickly beneath obedience. I let my gaze sweep between them—two n drowning in emotions they refused to speak, dragging their personal storms into my authority, my camp, my command.
My patience snapped.
The temperature in the tent plumted.
My voice dropped—colder than the steel at Haldor’s hip, sharper than Osric’s fury.
"If either of you ever—EVER—fight again because of jealousy, insecurity, pride, or anything other than protecting Eloria—" I stepped forward. "I will personally end that stupidity."
Silence swallowed the tent.
I inhaled sharply—then delivered the punishnt they deserved.
"For now," I said, folding my arms, "you both will clean every single horse in this camp."
Both n blinked.
"And," I added flatly, "you will make their fur shine so brightly that it blinds my eyes when I walk past."
A beat.
Then— "Yes, Your Highness," they answered in unison, bowing deeply.
They should suffer. A little humiliation would do wonders for their egos.
I exhaled, rubbing my temples. "Haldor stays behind."
They both froze. Osric stiffened—jaw tightening, a flicker of sothing dark flashing across his face.
"Haldor remains?" he asked carefully.
I raised a brow. "Correct."
Osric lowered his head instantly. "As you command, Your Highness."
He turned to leave—stiff, humiliated, furious—but obedient. His boots disappeared into the night outside the tent.
And then the flap fell shut behind him.
Leaving alone with Haldor. Who hadn’t moved an inch. Who hadn’t even lifted his head. Who looked... torn between sha, worry, loyalty, and sothing deeper.
Sothing forbidden. Sothing I felt echoing in my own chest.
I exhaled slowly. "Haldor... co closer."
He reacted instantly—stepping forward, obedient as always.
But then—THUD!
He dropped to his knees so fast the ground shook.
"I apologize, Princess," he said, voice low, raw. "I promise I will make every horse’s fur shine brighter than the sun itself."
I stared.
I shouldn’t laugh. I absolutely shouldn’t laugh.
But—is it just , or does Haldor now look like the cutest puppy disguised as a deadly soldier?
I cleared my throat. "Ahem. Why are you kneeling? Did I tell you to kneel?"
He looked up at with those eyes. Those guilty, soft, heart-stabbing puppy eyes.
"No," he whispered, "but... I disappointed you, Your Highness."
My breath caught.
He looked like a warrior ready to die on a battlefield—but emotionally? He looked like a kicked puppy that needed head pats.
"Yes," I said calmly. "You did."
His shoulders slumped.
Completely. Like a large, muscular, emotionally wounded puppy who needed reassurance and warm soup.
...Oh gods.
Without thinking, I crouched down and gently cupped his face between my hands. His breath hitched—barely, but enough.
I tilted his chin up and examined the cheek Osric had punched. It was red and slightly swollen.
"Does it hurt?" I asked softly.
"It doesn’t," he said imdiately.
Blatant lie.
I pressed my thumb very gently against the bruise.
He winced. "Ow..."
I raised an eyebrow. "So now it hurts?"
He nodded, expression embarrassed and honest. "...Yes."
I sighed and brushed my thumb lightly across the bruise—this ti soothing, not checking.
He froze.
He always froze whenever I touched him. As if trying to morize the feeling. As if it ant sothing too big to bear.
"Marshi," I called without looking away from him. "Drag Rey here."
Marshi made an offended chuff, stretched like a spoiled oversized cat, then growled and lazily padded out of the tent to fetch Rey.
The mont we were alone again... I realized how close our faces were.
His breath ghosted across my fingertips. His eyelashes trembled. His eyes—usually so cold, so distant—looked warm. Fragile. Like the moonlight reflecting on still water.
"Haldor," I murmured, unable to stop myself, "you can stop kneeling now."
He shook his head—slow, stubborn.
"No," he whispered. "Let stay... like this. Just for a mont."
My heart stuttered.
He wasn’t asking for forgiveness. He was asking for closeness.
For permission to remain near . For a mont of comfort he never received in his entire life.
And—maybe I shouldn’t give it to him. Maybe it was dangerous. Maybe I was encouraging sothing forbidden.
But... His eyes lifted to mine, and I couldn’t push him away.
Not tonight.
I lowered my voice. "Just a mont."
His shoulders relaxed—just barely.
But the look he gave ... Soft. Devoted. Dangerous.
Sothing inside tightened.
Before I could react, the tent flap tore open and Rey stumbled inside, dragged by the scruff of his cloak by a proud, smug Marshi.
"Princess—please train your tiger—he thinks I’m prey!!" he complained, hair sticking up in all directions as he tried to fix his robes with whatever dignity he had left.
But his voice barely reached . Because I couldn’t look away from Haldor.
And Haldor...wouldn’t look away from .
His blue eyes locked onto mine, raw emotion swirling in their depths—unmasked, uncontrolled, and devastatingly honest. Sothing fragile, powerful, and forbidden tightened between us like a pulled string.
The rest of the world blurred.
The lantern light. The tent walls. Even Rey’s incessant complaining.
All of it faded.
Only this mont existed.
His breath, shallow. My fingers still resting on his cheek. His heartbeat—fast enough I could almost feel it through the air.
A shift had happened.
Quiet.Unspoken.Irreversible.
A line crossed without either of us aning to take the step. Sothing in his gaze told he felt it too. Sothing in my chest confird I did.
A warmth spread through —slow, terrifying, beautiful.
Then—From behind us, Rey’s muttering broke through the silence.
Soft.Almost reverent.
"...That’s the power of destiny."
His words brushed the air like a prophecy.
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