flower4rest

[flower4rest]

Guarded by the Shadow

Chapter One: A Deal in the Dark

Prologue:

Y/n is a young woman, twenty years old. She grew up in poverty and lost her parents at an early age. In order to survive, she turned to stealing. But one job went terribly wrong — ending in bloodshed — and from that moment on, her life changed forever.

She didn’t remain a thief. She became an assassin. One of the best. No one knows her name, what she looks like, or even that she’s a woman. Across the continent, she’s only known as Shadow Heart — a ruthless, deadly killer who moves in silence.

Noah Wynknight has been searching for her for weeks. Not to arrest her... but to ask for her help.

Chapter One: A Deal in the Dark

The room was steeped in stillness, illuminated only by the silver glow of moonlight pouring through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the richly furnished interior of the mansion’s study. The bookshelves stood like silent sentinels along the walls, and the ornate desk at the center glimmered faintly under the dim light. It was quiet—unnaturally so—as if even the walls were holding their breath.

She was already there.

Seated in the far corner of the room, Y/n—known only to the world as Shadow Heart—sat draped in darkness, face hidden by a mask, motionless as a statue, her presence almost indistinguishable from the surrounding shadows. If not for the faint glint of a blade at her side and the slight rise and fall of her chest, one might have mistaken her for a ghost.

Then came footsteps.

Measured. Confident. Drawing closer.

They stopped just beyond the heavy oak door.

There was a moment of silence—brief, but telling—before a voice, calm and authoritative, broke it.

“Wait here,” Noah Wynknight instructed.

A second voice, hesitant, responded. “My lord, are you certain—”

“I am.”

The reply left no room for argument, and after a short pause, the sound of receding boots echoed faintly down the corridor.

The door creaked open.

Noah entered the room, stepping into the moonlit space with the composed ease of someone who was used to walking into danger with his head held high. His eyes scanned the room once, then settled—unshaken—on the shadow seated across from him.

“I heard you were looking for me,” the figure said at last, her voice low and smooth, with a strange, almost teasing edge that lingered in the air like perfume.

He crossed the room at a steady pace, unfastening the buttons of his coat as he moved, and took a seat behind his desk without taking his eyes of the shadowy figure.

“I was,” he said simply. “And judging by how easily you made it into my mansion, I can safely assume the rumors weren’t exaggerated.”

A pause followed.

Shadow Heart tilted her head slightly, though her mask remained obscured by the dimness. “You summoned an assassin to your home,” she said, her tone light but laced with warning. “Not many men do that and live to tell the tale.”

“I’m not interested in tales,” he replied coolly. “I’m interested in results.”

She said nothing, but the air between them seemed to grow heavier.

“I want to hire you,” Noah continued, folding his hands on the desk in front of him. “Not for a killing. For something else.”

There was a subtle shift in her posture—barely noticeable, but enough to reveal curiosity behind the stillness.

“I’m listening.”

“As you might know, I’ve become a target,” he said. “The rebels have made their intentions clear. Assassination attempts, intercepted letters, bribes offered to my own men… It’s only a matter of time before they try again.”

He paused briefly, letting his words sink in.

“That’s why I want you—not to eliminate them, but to stay at my side. As my bodyguard.”

The assassin didn’t move, but her silence carried weight. The kind of silence that made lesser men squirm.

And then, finally, a sound—soft, amused, yet edged like a blade.

“A bodyguard?” she echoed, as if tasting the word. “Not quite the job I’m known for.”

“No,” he admitted. “But that’s exactly why I’m asking you.”

He stood and stepped away from the desk, not toward her, but closer to the windows, letting the moonlight catch the edge of his profile.

“You’ll pose as one of my guards for 4 months,” he explained. “Full light-armor. A helmet to keep your identity hidden. No one will suspect a thing. I’ll give you a private room in the upper floor of the mansion—no staff go there. And I’ll pay you handsomely. Whatever your price is, I’ll double it.”

There was a moment of quiet.

Then she rose—graceful, silent, like a shadow uncoiling itself from the walls.

“And in return, you expect my loyalty?” she asked.

“No,” he said, turning to face her. “I expect your skill. Loyalty is optional. Survival is not.”

She gave a small, almost imperceptible smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re not what I expected, Wynknight.”

“You neither,” he replied. “Which is why I think this might work.”

The assassin studied him for a long moment, weighing him not as a client, but as a man who was willingly inviting danger into his home. Then, with a slow nod, she gave her answer.

“Very well.”

Noah exhaled softly through his nose, the faintest sign of satisfaction.

“Then it’s settled,” he said. “Your quarters and uniform will be ready by tomorrow evening. I expect you in this office the morning after.”

She didn’t respond.

One moment she stood in the moonlight.

The next, she was gone—leaving only the faintest whisper of air in her wake.

Noah returned to his desk and sat down, the leather chair creaking softly beneath him. He rested his elbows on the dark wood, fingers steepled beneath his chin as he gazed out the window.

A slow, thoughtful smile touched his lips.

“I wonder,” he murmured, “how this will turn out.”

[flower4rest]

“A Sip Too Much. Part 2”

Adam Taylor x y/n (fem)

Soft morning light spilled through the apothecary windows, brushing over wooden shelves and glinting off rows of glass vials. Outside, birds chirped gently, as if the whole world had slowed down to take a breath.

Y/N stirred.

She was warm—pressed against something solid. Blinking sleep from her eyes, she shifted slightly and realized she wasn’t alone. A white shirt. A strong arm resting loosely around her waist.

Adam.

He was still asleep, his expression more peaceful than she’d ever seen it. Without the usual intensity in his eyes or the rigid posture, he almost looked... soft.

Beautiful, even.

Her fingers moved, gently threading through his, and she felt his grip respond—subtle, but sure.

Adam’s eyes opened slowly, crimson and quiet.

They looked at each other.

“…The potion,” she whispered.

He gave a slow nod.

“It wore off,” she added, her voice barely above a breath.

Another nod.

She hesitated. “But… what happened last night. Did it mean anything to you? Or was it just… the potion?”

There was a pause. His gaze never left hers.

Then—still wordless—Adam lifted their joined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles, soft and steady. His eyes held hers the whole time.

He didn’t need to speak.

That said enough.

Y/N smiled, a slow warmth blooming across her chest. Her heart felt like it had just discovered it was wanted.

“Okay,” she whispered, curling closer to him. “That’s all I needed to know.”

He let his hand drift to the small of her back, tracing gentle circles through the fabric of her blouse. The silence between them wasn’t empty—it was safe. Full.

After a few minutes, Y/N spoke again, teasing:

“So… does this mean I’m allowed to go outside alone now?”

Adam turned his head toward her, one brow raising slightly, a spark flickering behind his usually unreadable eyes.

“…No.”

She laughed, a soft, genuine sound that made something tug at the corner of his lips.

For the briefest moment—

He smiled.

--

The Wynknight estate buzzed with late-day activity, yet down one quiet corridor near the east wing, things felt peaceful. Y/N stood beside a window, checking the contents of a basket filled with salves and poultices.

“You always seem busiest when the rest of us are winding down,” came a smooth voice from behind her.

She turned with a smile. “That’s because most of you don’t chase half the estate with ointments and warnings.”

Noah gave a soft chuckle as he approached, hands neatly folded behind his back. “And yet somehow, they all listen to you.”

“Because if they don’t, I make them drink elderflower tonic,” she said lightly.

He chuckled, slowing to a casual stop beside her. “You’ve made yourself essential. That’s a dangerous thing in a house like this.”

She tilted her head at him. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He smiled faintly, though his eyes shifted past her.

Adam stood a few paces behind—upright, silent, his white hair catching the light. He wasn’t looming. Just… present. A steady pillar. Watching.

Noah’s voice dropped slightly. “Your bodyguard seems especially devoted these days.”

Y/N glanced back at Adam. “He’s been helpful. And... less silent than before.”

“Is that so?” Noah’s tone was still pleasant, but tinged with something else.

She nodded. “He even spoke a full sentence once.”

That earned a genuine laugh from Noah. “Now that’s impressive.”

But the laughter didn’t reach his eyes. He studied Adam for a beat longer before speaking again, more measured this time.

“I asked for you to be protected. Not... attached to.”

Y/N blinked, the humor fading. “He’s just doing his job.”

“Maybe,” Noah said quietly. “But he wasn’t assigned to become your confidant.”

She tilted her head. “You think he has?”

Noah’s gaze returned to her, expression unreadable. “I think he listens to you in ways most people don’t. That’s not nothing.”

Y/N looked down at the list in her hands. “Maybe I just needed someone who listens.”

Noah was quiet for a moment, then added, softer now, “It’s good to feel safe. But safety is not the same as clarity.”

She frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

He studied her carefully. “Emotions can blind people. Make them forget how exposed they are…”

Y/N’s voice was steady. “If you’re trying to warn me for something.. ”

Noah gave a faint smile—not amused, but something sharper. “I’m just reminding you that some bonds, no matter how comforting, come with consequences.”

He turned his attention back to Adam. “You’re dismissed for the evening.”

Adam didn’t react outwardly, but a subtle shift in posture betrayed a flicker of resistance. Still, he bowed his head.

“…Understood, sir.”

Before he turned to leave, he looked at Y/N—just for a breath. It was enough to say everything he couldn’t voice here.

Then he was gone, footsteps fading into the distance.

Noah didn’t move. He kept his gaze on her.

“You seem disappointed,” he said quietly.

Y/N gave a soft exhale. “Just surprised.”

“You’ve gotten used to him.”

She nodded. “It’s hard not to.”

A pause stretched between them.

“I trust him.”

Noah’s jaw shifted slightly.

[flower4rest]

“A Sip Too Much”

Adam Taylor x y/n (fem)

The Wynknight mansion bustled with its usual rhythm, but in the quiet, herb-scented apothecary at the east wing, time felt slower. Y/N, the mansion’s beloved apothecary, was diligently stirring a thick, simmering concoction in a bronze pot. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, but the faintest smile lingered on her lips.

Everyone loved Y/N—how could they not? With her gentle hands and warm smile, she had healed soldiers, staff, and even the duke’s prized hunting hound within a day. Still, the reason she now had a personal bodyguard remained a mystery.

And not just any bodyguard.

Adam Taylor.

White-haired, red-eyed, stoic, and silent—until lately. Assigned by Duke Noah Wynknight himself, Adam followed Y/N like a shadow. Every time she asked Noah for the reason, he only replied:

“You’re too important to lose. If something were to happen in the mansion, you’re the only one who can save us.”

Oddly cryptic, even for him. But the hallways whispered something else. Rumors floated that the duke had taken a special interest in her.

Y/N didn’t know what to think—but she knew what she felt when Adam stood close. His presence was calming, his eyes sharper than any sword. And he was starting to say more than one word at a time.

That had to mean something.

That afternoon, she had nearly fallen down the hill outside the greenhouse, tripping over her skirts. Adam had caught her in one smooth motion. No hesitation. Just strong arms and steady breath.

Now, back in her apothecary, she handed him a small box.

“Here,” she said, smiling. “Chocolate-covered strawberries. I made them for you… as a thank-you. For saving me. Again.”

Adam opened it, eyes flicking to hers in surprise.

“You like sweets, don’t you?”

He nodded and took one, biting into it silently.

She waited.

“They're good.” he said after a long pause.

She laughed, softly. “You’re starting to talk more.”

He shrugged.

“I only talk when it matters.”

Their eyes met. Her smile grew faint, but not from sadness—just quiet understanding.

She went back to stirring her potion. “If you’re thirsty, there’s a pink bottle on the cabinet,” she said absently, not turning.

Adam stood, walked to the counter, and looked between two bottles.

Then he reached for the nearest one—pink.

He poured two glasses and returned, handing one to her with a quiet nod.

She took a sip.

Paused.

Turned slowly.

“Adam… which bottle did you use?”

He raised a hand and pointed over his shoulder.

“That one.”

Her heart dropped.

“No, no, not that one! I meant the one on the cabinet, not the counter!”

Adam tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable.

She placed the glass down, trying not to panic. “That bottle was a love potion. A real one. Potent. And we both drank it.”

He blinked once.

Then: “…Oh.”

She stood frozen. “Whatever you do—don’t look at me. Just… don’t. It activates when you make eye contact with someone.”

She turned back to her potion and extinguished the flame, keeping her gaze fixed to the floor. Her breath felt shallow.

She always looked at Adam when he spoke or rather didn't speak.. Now, she couldn’t risk it.

Y/N moved toward the cabinet, her fingers trembling as she scanned the rows of tiny vials, eyes locked on the label for a sleep tonic.

“Just a few drops and we can sleep it off,” she whispered more to herself than to him.

But as she turned too quickly, the hem of her skirt caught beneath her heel—and again, she tripped.

She gasped, bracing for impact, but once more, Adam was there. Like instinct.

His arms caught her firmly, one around her back, the other behind her knees. The glass she'd been holding clinked gently as it dropped safely onto a cushion beside the cabinet.

But they were both still now.

Her hands clutched his shoulders.

His eyes were already on hers.

She looked up—too late to stop herself.

His red eyes searched hers, and this time… he didn’t look away.

Silence.

Heat bloomed in her cheeks.

Slowly, Adam loosened one hand from her back and reached up—his fingers brushing a lock of hair from her cheek, gently tucking it behind her ear. He let them rest there for a second. His touch was careful. As if he thought she might shatter.

She didn’t move.

She couldn’t.

His face leaned in—not rushed, not sudden. Just close. Their breath mingled in the tiny space between them.

And then—

A kiss.

Soft. Tentative.

The kind that felt like a question.

But she didn’t pull back.

Her fingers curled into the front of his jacket, holding onto him like he was the only steady thing in the world.

So he kissed her again.

Slower. Deeper.

Like he had been waiting for permission he never dared to ask for.

And her answer was a kiss of her own—melting into his mouth, her hand sliding up to his jaw. His grip on her waist tightened, anchoring her against him as the room fell away. The warmth of the potion coursed through their blood like fire, but what they felt… it had always been there.

When they finally parted, breathless and blinking, they stayed close. Still wrapped in each other.

Still silent.

But everything had been said.

Part 2 coming soon.

[flower4rest]

"Sleeping potions."

Rishe Weitzner x Raul

(Small spoiler of character and storyline light novel 6!)

The soft clink of glass and bubbling liquid filled the kitchen with a soft gentle rhythm, the only accompaniment to the crackle of the small fire under the cauldron. Rishe moved with precision, her coral-pink hair tied loosely behind her back, a few strands falling over her cheek as she leaned forward to adjust the flame. Her hands moved quickly but deliberately—grinding, measuring, stirring. Her emerald eyes flickered with focus, reflecting the light of the soft glow coming from the antidote she was brewing.

In the corner, Joel was in his usual state—fast asleep in a chair, slumped forward with his cheek pressed to folded arms. His soft snores punctuated the silence.

Raul stood a few feet away, arms crossed, the gleam of his armor dulled by the warm lamplight. His red eyes were trained not on Joel, the person he was assigned to guard, but on Rishe. He watched her in silence—the way she bit her lip while concentrating, the way her brow furrowed when she hesitated between ingredients. There was something calming about the way she moved, like she belonged in any room she walked into.

When she finally straightened, she let out a small sigh. “There,” she whispered to herself, pouring the shimmering antidote into a small glass vial. “That should be it.”

Raul shifted, stepping forward. “You’re done?”

“I think so,” she said with a satisfied smile. “Only one way to be sure.”

And before he could ask what she meant, she raised the vial to her lips, took a small sip, and placed it down. Then, without hesitation, she plucked a smaller bottle from the bench—a vial of the pirate’s sleeping serum—and with a dropper, let a single drop land on her tongue.

Raul’s heart skipped. “Miss Rishe—what are you doing?!”

She turned to him with a calm smile and a little laugh. “Testing it. I can’t lead a rescue mission without knowing if this works.”

At least that is what Michel Hévin her alchemist mentor from her second life would've told her.

He stared at her in disbelief, his jaw tense. “That is unbelievably reckless.”

“I had to be sure,” she said, and then blinked—once, twice. “Hmm… maybe I should’ve added a touch of nirnroot. I feel a little—”

She swayed.

Raul was at her side in two strides, catching her just as her legs buckled. Her fingers clutched the front of his tunic, nails curling against the fabric.

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “It’ll pass... only one drop…”

“You’re not fine.” His voice was low, protective, his arms firm around her waist. "You should have told me beforehand.”

Rishe’s breath slowed, her cheek resting against his chest. “I knew you’d catch me,” she murmured.

Raul’s breath hitched. He held her tighter as she began to slump further, her body heavy against his. Slowly, instinctively, he eased her from the ground so she wouldn’t fall. His arms were strong and steady, wrapping around her like a shield.

Her cheek pressed into the side of his neck now, warm lips barely grazing his skin as she exhaled softly. Raul closed his eyes, pulse pounding. Her scent was floral and peachy, laced with the faint trace of alchemy herbs. She fit into his arms too perfectly.

He whispered, “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

She didn’t respond. They stood like that for a few minutes.

Then… she shifted. Still half-asleep, Rishe’s arms rose around his neck and pulled him closer, her breath warm against his skin, her body melting into his. Raul stiffened, wide-eyed. This wasn’t just support—it felt like she was holding someone she loved.

His voice caught. “Uh… Princess…”

She didn’t react at first, only made a small sound—peaceful, soft. Her fingers brushed against the back of his neck.

Raul was frozen, caught between longing and restraint. His heart thundered in his chest.

Then Rishe blinked slowly, her lashes fluttering as she stirred. Her eyes met his—and instantly widened.

“I—I thought you were—” she pulled back manging to stand by herself, cheeks flushed. “Sorry, I’m not… fully awake yet.”

He shook his head, his voice gentle. “It’s alright. You thought I was him.”

There was a silence, warm and heavy.

Rishe steadied herself, smoothing her skirt. “Still… thank you. You were a complete gentleman.”

Raul looked at her for a moment, then said softly, “You always get like that around him. Your expression changes. You let your guard down.”

Before she could answer, he quickly added, “Not that it’s a bad thing. It’s just… obvious.” He cleared his throat, brushing a hand through his hair in an attempt to seem casual. “Anyway, it’s not like you let everyone that close. Joel certainly found that out yesterday.”

Rishe tilted her head, confused. “What do you mean?”

Raul chuckled. “During the spar. He came at you like some cocky hero and you dropped him in two moves. That martial arts kick you landed on his sword hand? I don’t think he’s recovered emotionally yet.”

Rishe laughed, a light sparkle returning to her eyes. “He said he wanted to see how I’d handle a ‘real threat.’ I gave him one.”

“You did,” Raul said, smiling. “I had to pretend not to be impressed. Still am.”

She caught the look in his eyes—something he tried to mask with humor, but couldn’t quite bury.

Just then, a groggy voice interrupted them from the corner.

“Ughh… did I just hear the words sword fighting?” Joel blinked, rubbing his face.

Rishe and Raul both looked his way, their shared smile fading into an amused silence.

“You heard correctly,” Rishe said sweetly. “but don't forget you lost.”

Joel groaned and let his head fall back down onto the table.

Raul just chuckled, arms crossed again, eyes lingering for one moment longer on Rishe before he looked away.

[flower4rest]

"Promise me."

Arnold Hein x Rishe Weitzner

The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a candle flickering on the nightstand. The atmosphere was still, almost sacred, as if time itself had slowed down. Arnold and Rishe lay side by side, wrapped in the comfort of the sheets, the warmth between them a silent yet profound connection. The gentle rhythm of their breathing was the only sound, a tender harmony that spoke of trust, shared moments, and the deep bond they had built.

Rishe's eyes traced the lines of Arnold's face, studying him with a quiet intensity. His features were calm, serene even, yet there was a distant air about him. His eyes, usually so sharp and focused, seemed to look beyond the present, lost in some private thought that he hadn’t yet shared. He had always been one to carry the weight of the world in silence, but tonight, it felt heavier.

Rishe couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his mind. She had always known that Arnold had a destiny—one that was intertwined with the fate of his kingdom, his family, and even the world itself. But there was something about tonight, something in the way he seemed so distant, that made her want to reach him more than ever before.

“Arnold,” she whispered softly, her voice almost trembling as she broke the quiet. It was more than a question—it was a plea. “Can I always stay by your side? Even when the world changes... even when everything becomes uncertain?” Her heart fluttered nervously. She knew she was asking for something big, something that was more than just a promise. She was asking him for her place in the future, a place she feared might not be as secure as she hoped.

She took a deep breath before continuing, the weight of her next words pressing heavily on her chest. “I have a feeling... A feeling what’s coming, what you’re going to do. But even then, I want to be with you. I want to stand by your side.”

The silence that followed her words felt suffocating. She watched his face closely, waiting for him to react, to offer her the reassurance she desperately needed. But Arnold didn’t answer right away. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, his jaw tense, as if the very thought of her question had caught him off guard.

Rishe’s breath hitched in her chest. The uncertainty in his silence gnawed at her. Could he not promise her that? Was he too burdened by the weight of his own future to even consider her words? She tried to calm her racing heart, but her doubts crept in, piercing through the quiet like sharp needles.

She reached out, her fingers trembling as they brushed against his cheek. The touch was soft, almost tentative, as if she were testing the waters, unsure of the depth of his feelings. She stared into his eyes, the depth of emotion in hers clear, but she knew that his gaze held something more complicated—something he wasn’t ready to share.

“If you ever think of doing something... drastic, Arnold, something that could change everything... something that might bring destruction to the world, promise me that you’ll let me be by your side. I would stand with you, no matter the consequences. No matter what happens.”

There was a long pause, a stillness that seemed to stretch out forever. Arnold’s face went from shock to unreadable, his eyes scanning her expression for a long moment. He didn’t look away, but his silence only deepened the weight of the moment. For a brief moment, Rishe’s heart skipped a beat, wondering if he would deny her request, if he would shut her out from the truth he kept so carefully hidden.

Then, slowly, his expression softened. His features shifted, just a little, as if the weight of her words had finally broken through the walls he had built. He leaned forward then, closing the distance between them with a tenderness that almost took Rishe by surprise. His lips brushed against hers in a soft, lingering kiss—gentle, but full of meaning.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur against her lips. “Rishe... I want you by my side. Always. Whatever happens. I... I can’t imagine doing things without you anymore.”

His words, though quiet, resonated deep within her. She felt the sincerity in them, the warmth that spread through her chest as she finally exhaled, releasing the tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding. In that moment, the future didn’t feel so heavy. The uncertainty that had been clouding her mind seemed to dissipate, replaced with a sense of peace—of understanding.

The future was still uncertain. She knew that. But in Arnold’s arms, with the soft glow of candlelight illuminating his features, the world outside no longer mattered. She had his promise—his quiet, unwavering promise. And that was all she needed, for now.

“I’ll always be here,” she whispered back, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw as she gazed into his eyes. “No matter what comes... I’ll always stand with you.”

The words hung between them, a bond stronger than any spoken vow. They didn’t need to say more. For the first time in a long while, Rishe allowed herself to believe that everything would be okay—because she wasn’t alone. She had Arnold. And he had her.

[flower4rest]

"Bittersweet."

Rishe Weitzner x Raul

(Spoilers of light novel 4 characters!)

The sun filtered through the tall windows, casting golden patterns on the stone floor. The castle had fallen into a lull—caught between the duties of the day and the festivities that would follow.

Rishe walked alone, holding a folder of notes against her chest, her thoughts occupied by preparations for the evening’s ball. Her mind was sharp, focused—until she rounded the corner and found him waiting.

Raul.

Disguised in a knight’s uniform, helm tucked under one arm, he leaned casually against a marble pillar like he belonged to the shadows. Only his red eyes gave him away—sharp and familiar.

"Lady Rishe," he greeted, his tone smooth with just the edge of something warmer.

She paused but didn’t look surprised. "Sir knight. Or should I say, your highness?" she teased.

He smirked faintly. "I'm not prince Curtis anymore."

She smiled—tightly. “What brings you here?”

He pushed off the stone pillar with a lazy smirk, sauntering over. “You’re difficult to catch alone these days.”

“And yet, here we are.” She said.

Walking beside her, he said softly “I wanted to see how you're doing.”

"I’m well," she replied simply.

They walked in silence for a few steps before Raul turned to her his voice low, almost thoughtful, “You truly do shine in these halls. I said it before, didn’t I? Prince Arnold is… incredibly lucky.”

Rishe’s pace didn’t falter, but her eyes flicked to him. Her expression was unreadable, carefully neutral. “You’ve said that before, yes.”

“I keep finding new reasons to mean it.”

She raised an eyebrow, her voice dry. “Jealous, Raul?”

There was a glint in her eyes, teasing—but his response was quiet, serious.

“Yes.”

That silenced her for a beat.

Raul stopped walking. She did too, slowly turning to face him. He watched her with something intense in his eyes—not longing, not desperation. Just quiet, honest weight.

“The offer I made you,” he said, “when I was still Prince Curtis... it still stands.”

She didn’t answer right away.

He stepped in just enough that she could feel the warmth of him. His hand lifted, slowly, carefully—fingers reaching toward a strand of her hair, but—

“Don’t,” she said softly.

He stopped, his fingers hovering just inches from her face.

“I can’t offer you luxury,” he said quietly. “Not palaces or power. But I would give you everything I have. If you said the word, Rishe—if you wanted to leave—I would take you with me. Tonight. No questions.”

Her heart thudded in her chest, not because of temptation, but because of the way he said it. Like a vow, gentle and fierce.

But she shook her head.

“I love Prince Arnold,” she said. “I don’t want to leave. I’m looking forward to becoming his wife.”

Raul closed his eyes for a moment, as if those words cost him breath. When he opened them again, there was a softness behind his stoicism.

“I know,” he said.

“And you deserve someone who chooses you freely,” she added, her voice quieter. “Not someone already taken.”

He gave a short laugh, more exhale than humor. “Maybe. But knowing you exist has ruined me for everyone else.”

Rishe didn’t know what to say to that.

So she didn’t.

After a long pause, Raul exhaled, a humorless chuckle escaping him. “That’s the thing about shadows, princess. They follow you even when you don’t want them to.”

She touched his sleeve briefly, not affectionately, but kindly. “Then step out of them.” And turned away to continue down the corridor. His gaze lingered on her, remembering—how she flushed at Arnold’s compliments, the way her eyes sparkled in his presence, how she’d laugh just from the way Arnold looked at her.

He stayed there long after she left, armor still and silent, carrying words he couldn’t unsay.

And a love he’d never ask her to return.

[flower4rest]

"Dangerous woman."

Arnold Hein x Rishe Weitzner

(Please note, small mention of a character that's introduced in light novel 4!)

The room had been silent, save for the low ticking of the clock and the sound of Rishe's soft breathing as she reviewed the papers laid out before her. Arnold was supposed to arrive soon. They had arranged to meet privately to discuss further plans from the earlier council meeting.

She didn’t expect General Vortan to arrive.

He entered the room with no announcement, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Rishe looked up, mildly surprised but composed. "General, the meeting ended hours ago. What are you—"

"We need to talk," he said flatly, eyes cold and unreadable. He moved closer, uncomfortably so.

The moment turned quickly. His words sharpened into accusations, implications. She countered with logic, with calm defiance. But he wasn’t listening.

The next thing she knew, his hands were on her arms, his lips forcing onto hers as he tried to push her toward the couch.

Her instincts kicked in. Beneath the hem of her dress, strapped to her thigh, was a slim blade. In one swift motion, she grabbed it and with a practiced motion, drove it into the tender area of his lower abdomen.

He gasped in pain, stumbling forward—collapsing partly over her.

At that moment, the door slammed open.

Arnold and Raul rushed in, both dressed in military attire, Raul in his disguised armor. The scene froze for a breath: the general groaning, Rishe’s dress wrinkled, her arm still extended.

Arnold was the first to move. He shoved the general off her with a force that sent the man sprawling. "Are you hurt?" he demanded, kneeling before her.

Rishe took a breath. "He only managed a kiss. Nothing more."

Arnold’s jaw clenched, but his eyes softened at her words. Cupping her face.

Raul knelt near the general, eyes catching the glint of the blade still embedded. He and Arnold exchanged a glance.

The next morning, Rishe stepped into Arnold’s office. He was speaking with Raul and Oliver over tactical charts. All three turned to her as she entered.

"I’d like my dagger back," she said simply.

Oliver choked on air. Raul blinked. Arnold… laughed.

"That blade must be special to you." he joked.

"I made it myself," she replied, brushing her hair behind her ear casually.

Raul raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. Arnold leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Especially now that you’ve used it to castrate a general."

Rishe’s eyes widened. "That wasn’t my intention!" she exclaimed. "He always touched his side during meetings. I assumed it was a chronic pain. I meant to aim there. Just… miscalculated."

Raul finally found his voice. "So do you analyze everyone for weak spots? In case you have to take them down?"

Rishe smiled sweetly. "Of course. Don’t you?"

Raul grinned. "Alright then, what’s mine?"

"I’m not telling you. Then you'd know where I'd strike."

Just then, a knight stepped in to escort Rishe to her next appointment. Before leaving, she glanced back at Arnold.

He said with a soft smile, "I’ll make sure you get your dagger back."

That evening, Rishe sat in her room, dressed in a flowing satin nightgown, soft and cool against her skin. The air smelled faintly of lavender. Candlelight bathed the room in a warm glow, casting slow-moving shadows on the walls.

A knock.

"Come in," she said softly.

Arnold stepped in, wearing his evening, ready for bed. His expression was relaxed but there was something in his gaze. In his hand, her dagger.

"I believe this belongs to you."

She took it from him, their fingers brushing. She held his hand a moment longer than necessary. "Thank you."

They settled near the window, the soft sound of night drifting in. They talked quietly, reminiscing about the chaos of the past days. Their laughter was low, intimate.

Then Arnold tilted his head, watching her closely. "If I were to attack you... what would you do?"

Rishe arched a brow. "When I first met you? I would've gone for your neck. Where the scar is."

He leaned in a little. "And now?"

She took a slow breath, her voice dropping. "Now... Knowing how you love to stare at me when I'm busy.." she paused. ".. I'd go for temptation." He looked at her.

She moved toward him, fluid and confident, her hands gliding up his chest as she slid her arms around his neck. Their bodies aligned, barely any space between them. Her satin nightgown whispered against his tunic.

"Temptation, huh?" he murmured.

Their lips met. The kiss started soft, reverent. Then deepened. She tilted her head, parting his lips with hers, letting her fingers tangle in his hair as he held her closer, one hand firm on her lower back, the other slowly exploring her side.

The heat between them simmered, then flared. His mouth moved to her jaw, then her neck, kissing a path upward as she gasped softly. Her fingers began undoing the top of his buttons, trailing her nails lightly down his chest.

Their breaths mingled, warm and eager. Just as the tension built to a fevered pitch, Rishe’s fingers found her dagger. Smoothly, she palmed it, never breaking the kiss.

Then she slid the dull back end gently against his chest—right above his heart.

At the same time Arnold stilled noticing something off, and instinctively moved to intercept her hand. Grabbing to his neck. Wrong place.

She pulled back, a sly smile on her lips. "Got you."

He blinked, then grinned, his forehead dropping to hers. "You’re dangerous."

She pressed a kiss to his collarbone. "Only when I want to be."

"I never underestimate you," he said lowly, brushing her hair from her face.

[flower4rest]

“Tell Me Anything”

Arnold Hein x Rishe Weitzner

The soft glow of candlelight danced along the walls of Rishe’s room, the warmth of the flickering light casting a golden haze over the quiet space. Outside, the garden was quiet after the evening’s celebration, and inside the palace, the night hummed with stillness.

On her bed, Rishe lay on her side, facing Arnold. The thin, silken sheets twisted between them like a thread keeping them close but untangled. They were still dressed from the party—her gown slightly loosened, his jacket discarded on the chair nearby. Their shoes were long forgotten at the foot of the bed.

Between them, there was no need for words, not yet. Just glances, soft smiles, a few tired chuckles as they recounted the night.

“He really tried to convince you he was a duke?” Arnold asked, amused, brow raised.

Rishe rolled her eyes and laughed softly. “With a feathered hat and wine-stained gloves. Very convincing.”

Arnold smirked. “You attract all kinds.”

“Don’t remind me.”

The laughter died down, and quiet settled again—this time thicker, more intimate. Their gazes lingered a bit longer, breathing syncing slowly in the space between them. The mood shifted, unspoken but undeniable.

Rishe’s smile faded into something softer. Her eyes searched his, a quiet vulnerability surfacing.

“There’s something I want to tell you,” she murmured.

Arnold didn’t blink. “Tell me.”

She hesitated, then let out a slow breath. “My ex-fiancé… Diedrich.”

His jaw shifted slightly, but he said nothing.

“I never loved him. I didn’t even mind when he ended the engagement. It felt like... freedom. But it was how he did it that stayed with me. Humiliation in front of the entire court, like he needed to make a spectacle of it. I wasn’t ashamed to be cast aside—I was ashamed I hadn’t seen it coming.”

She paused. “I thought that was it. That I’d just live quietly on my own after that. And then—”

A ghost of a smile curved her lips.

“Then you showed up. Without a ring. No grand speech. Just that look in your eyes and the ridiculous confidence to kneel before me and ask if I’d marry you.”

Arnold’s mouth tugged up into a crooked smile. “You said no.”

She chuckled. “Yes. But even then, I already knew you weren’t going to take that answer.”

“I wasn’t,” he said, gently brushing his fingers against her cheek.

She leaned in, their noses almost brushing now. “And now, I finally understand what this feeling is I've been struggling with the past months with you.”

Her breath trembled as it left her. “I’m in love with you, Arnold.”

He didn’t speak. He just looked at her—as if seeing every version of her, every wall she’d ever built and every crack where the light now slipped through. Then slowly, he closed the space between them.

The kiss deepened naturally, as though neither of them had planned for it but both had been waiting for it far longer than they’d admit. Arnold’s hand slid from her cheek to the curve of her waist, pulling her closer until there was no more space left between them. Rishe shifted, her thigh slipping between his legs as his hand traced the line of her back.

There was a softness in every movement—his fingers in her hair, her lips brushing the corner of his mouth as they briefly broke apart for air. She smiled at the closeness, the safety, the heat.

His lips returned to hers, slower this time, like he wanted to memorize the shape of her mouth. Rishe sighed against him, her hand gripping the back of his neck, her body molding into his with complete trust.

They rolled gently, the sheets wrapping around them as Arnold hovered above her, his forehead resting on hers. “Are you sure?” he whispered, his voice rough with restraint.

Rishe answered not with words, but with the way her hands slid down his back, pulling him closer, grounding him. “Yes,” she breathed.

Every touch was careful, reverent—like he couldn’t believe she was real. Her gown loosened further beneath his fingertips, and she arched into him with a quiet gasp, her mouth brushing against his shoulder.

They moved together slowly, as if time had slowed just for them. No grand declarations, just sighs and soft moans, the kind that spoke of months of tension, of trust, of two hearts finally aligned.

When it was over, they didn’t move apart.

Arnold remained close, his nose brushing her temple, one arm beneath her head, the other holding her waist. Rishe, her cheek pressed to his chest, could hear the rhythm of his heartbeat—slow, steady, grounding.

She lifted her head just enough to look at him. His eyes were already on her.

Then, his voice, low and warm near her ear: “I already told you I’ve fallen for you."

Her lips curled into a sleepy smile as she let her head fall back to his chest. “I know,” she whispered.

He pressed a kiss into her hair. “Still true.”

Rishe nestled closer, their legs tangled, the weight of him both grounding and comforting. The heat of their bodies lingered under the sheets. Their fingers entwined lazily at her waist, no need for more words.

The night wrapped around them like a secret. And neither of them was in any hurry to let go.

[flower4rest]

"Sleep, My Love"

Arnold Hein x Rishe Weitzner

The light outside the palace windows had dimmed to a soft amber, the sun barely lingering over the rooftops of Galkhein. Most of the palace had begun to slow for the evening—but not Arnold Hein.

“Your Highness,” Oliver said, concern threading through his voice as he found Rishe near the herb garden. “Forgive me for troubling you, but… he’s not listening again.”

Rishe looked up, frowning gently. “Arnold?”

“He hasn’t left his office. He’s barely slept, and he’s refused both meals and rest.” Oliver sighed. “He’s going to burn himself out.”

With a knowing smile, Rishe closed her notebook. “I’ll handle it.”

She made her way through the quiet corridors and entered Arnold’s office without knocking. The fire was low. Papers were scattered across his desk. And Arnold, of course, was still working—shoulders tense, brow furrowed, too lost in duty to notice the weight in his own body.

Rishe said nothing at first. She simply walked in and sat across from him, folding her hands on the desk and staring.

Arnold stopped writing after a moment, glancing up at her with an exhausted frown. “What is it?”

“Did you sleep last night?”

His silence was all the answer she needed.

She stood, rounded the desk without a word, and gently took his hand. He resisted slightly, surprised—but the warmth in her touch undid him. Without pushing, she tugged him up and led him to the long velvet couch tucked in the corner of the room.

“Rishe, I have things—”

“No.” Her voice was soft, but it brooked no argument.

She sat, pulled him down with her, and arranged them together—his back against the cushions, her arm winding around his waist. He hesitated a moment longer, then gave in, one hand coming to rest on her back, the other brushing through her hair.

They lay like that in silence. Her head rested against his chest, rising and falling with each slow breath he took. And for the first time all day… he began to relax.

Rishe fought sleep. Her body was warm and heavy, but she stayed awake, holding him close, silently willing him to drift off.

“You’re fighting it,” he murmured against her temple.

“I want you to sleep first,” she whispered, fighting the pull of dreams.

Arnold turned toward her slightly, their legs intertwining beneath the throw blanket she’d pulled over them. “You always take care of me.”

She gave a tired smile. “Someone has to.”

He exhaled a soft laugh, brushing his lips against her hair. “Sleep, Rishe. I’ll be right here.”

“You promise?”

“I swear it.”

With that, her body gave in. Her breathing slowed. She melted against him, and soon after, Arnold let himself follow her into sleep.

Hours passed.

In the quiet dark of the office, the two lovers shifted gently in their rest. Rishe was no longer tucked beneath his chin—her body had turned toward him. Face to face now, legs tangled, hands resting in the space between them. Their foreheads were nearly touching. Their noses grazed every so often with each quiet breath.

Then—without waking—Rishe moved ever so slightly forward, her lips brushing his in a ghost of a kiss.

It was soft. Barely there. But it lit something inside him.

Arnold’s eyes blinked open slowly. He froze, unsure if it had been a dream. But the warmth still lingered. And in the hazy shadows of the room, he saw her—peaceful, barely breathing, still so close.

She stirred, then blinked sleepily at his expression. “…What is it?”

“You kissed me,” he said, voice low and touched with wonder.

Rishe blinked again, confused, then slowly flushed deep red as she registered what he meant. “I did…? I didn’t mean to—I was asleep, I don’t remember—!”

She buried her face in his chest, utterly mortified.

Arnold chuckled, wrapping both arms around her and pressing a kiss into her hair. “It was nice,” he whispered. “You can do it as many times as you like.”

Her heart thudded loudly in her chest. She peeked up at him, eyes wide and unsure.

Their gazes locked—quiet and intense. Neither of them moved for a long moment.

Then, with courage blooming in her chest, Rishe closed the distance. This kiss was not accidental. This one was slow, warm, and lingering—lips brushing over his with the certainty of someone who loved and was loved in return.

When they finally parted, Arnold stayed close, his forehead resting against hers.

“Stay,” he whispered.

She smiled, breathless. “I’m not going anywhere."

[flower4rest]

"Whisper of Destiny"

Arnold Hein x Rishe Weitzner

Rishe closed her eyes as she sat beside the quiet lake behind the palace gardens. The twilight hour brought memories that had long been elusive—flickers from her past lives that she’d spent the seventh loop trying to forget. Today, however, something was different. In the silent hush of early evening, her mind drifted back to that fateful night in her sixth life.

In that cycle, Rishe had donned the disguise of a male knight—a desperate ploy to fight alongside the soldiers when her role as the doomed noblewoman left her vulnerable. The battle had been brutal, a swirling tapestry of clashing steel and fractured hopes. Amid the chaos, she had faced Prince Arnold Hein on the field of honor. His sword—a cold, shining instrument of fate—had found its mark. As she staggered, life slipping away with every ragged breath, she felt him leaning close. In that final moment, with darkness gathering at the corners of her vision, he had whispered something into her ear.

Something she had never been able to remember.

Until now. Her breath caught in her throat as the words echoed with sudden, perfect clarity:

“In your next life, I will make you mine.”

Her eyes widened. Her heart thundered.

He knew.

Later

The soft crackle of firewood echoed through the study, mingling with the rustle of parchment as Arnold moved through the last of his paperwork. The hour was late, and the silence between him and Rishe was familiar—comfortable. She sat curled on the couch nearby, half-watching the flames dance in the hearth, but her thoughts were miles away.

Her fingers tightened slightly on the fabric of her dress.

"Arnold," she said quietly.

He looked up, setting his pen down. “Yes?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes lingered on the firelight, dancing across the gold trim of his uniform. Her heart beat faster with every breath. Something had returned to her—a piece of the past she’d been grasping at for so long.

A memory.

A whisper on her deathbed.

She turned her eyes toward him, calm but unreadable.

“In your next life… I will make you mine.”

The air shifted.

Arnold’s brows pulled together. His eyes searched hers, confused. “…What?”

Her expression didn’t change. She just watched him.

“That’s what you said,” she murmured. “Back then. When I died. You knelt beside me… I was dressed as a knight. You didn’t know who I was.”

Arnold froze.

The confusion in his face faltered, twisting into something else—something deeper. A long pause stretched between them. Then, slowly, he took a step closer.

“I…” he began, but stopped. His mouth was parted, breath caught. His eyes dropped, unfocused, like something old and buried was tugging loose.

Rishe saw it then.

The flicker.

The moment his memories stirred.

He looked back at her sharply—haunted, stunned. “You… were him.”

She nodded once, slowly.

“I killed you.”

Rishe didn’t speak.

He turned away briefly, a hand dragging through his hair. He wasn’t panicking—Arnold never did—but there was something in his shoulders, the set of his jaw, that told her the weight had landed hard. He saw it. Felt it.

“You were dying,” he whispered. “You were bleeding so much, and I— I didn’t know why I said that. It wasn’t… conscious. I didn’t even realize…”

His voice broke off again.

Rishe stood up, walking to him. He turned as she approached, his expression unreadable now—somewhere between disbelief and grief.

“I saw you in my dreams,” he said suddenly, softly. “Before I met you. Always just out of reach. Always vanishing. And I thought— I thought it was nothing. A trick of the mind.”

Rishe looked up at him, her throat tightening. “It was me.”

He reached out, fingers brushing against her cheek like she might vanish again. “I killed you.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I should have,” he breathed, the words breaking. “How many lives have you lived carrying this alone?”

She didn’t answer that. Instead, she rested her hand against his chest, over the steady rhythm of his heart. His hand curled around hers, holding it in place.

“I don’t remember it all,” he said, quieter now. “Just fragments. Glimpses. But I remember enough to know what I did… and who you were.”

There was silence between them—deep and full. The kind of silence where everything had been said, but the meaning still lingered.

Arnold leaned down slowly, resting his forehead to hers. “I don’t deserve this,” he whispered. “Not after what I’ve done to you.”

“You didn’t know me then,” Rishe said softly. “But you chose me now.”

His eyes opened, meeting hers. “I will never hurt you again.”

“I know.”

He kissed her—soft and warm, with all the heartbreak of one life and the love of another. When they parted, his arms remained around her, holding her as though he never meant to let go again.

To be continued.

[flower4rest]

"When the crown falls soft. Part 3"

Arnold Hein x Rishe Weitzner

Part 1 and Part 2

The Next Morning

The soft glow of the morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm hue over the room. The stillness of the morning was broken only by the rhythmic sound of Arnold's steady breathing. He lay next to Rishe, his hand resting gently on her waist, as if he were afraid she might vanish if he let go.

Rishe woke slowly, her heart still carrying the remnants of the night before. The way he had looked at her, the way he’d held her... it was different, more than what she had expected. It wasn’t just passion; it was something else, something deeper.

She turned her head to find Arnold still asleep beside her. His features were relaxed, unguarded, a rare sight. She smiled to herself, realizing just how different he seemed when he wasn’t the Crown Prince. In this moment, he was just Arnold.

She reached out to trace the edge of his jawline with her fingertips, her touch so light it barely brushed his skin. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open, and when he saw her, the corner of his lips curled into a sleepy grin.

“You’re awake.” His voice was rough with sleep, and for a moment, he just watched her, his gaze heavy with something she couldn’t quite place.

“Couldn’t sleep with you staring at me,” she said playfully, her voice quiet but teasing.

Arnold raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Staring at you?” he replied. “I think it’s more the other way around.”

Rishe chuckled softly, the sound filling the space between them like a warm embrace. “Maybe.” She hesitated, her smile fading slightly. “I don’t know what it is, but... I feel like I’ve been waiting for something like this. I didn’t expect it to happen with you.”

Arnold’s expression softened at her words, but he didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he reached out, his hand brushing against hers, his thumb gently caressing the back of her hand. “Neither did I,” he said, his voice low, almost as if he was trying to keep his thoughts hidden.

For a long moment, there was silence, and the only sound was the soft rustling of the sheets as they both settled into the quiet comfort of the room.

Then, with a sigh, Arnold shifted and rolled onto his side, his face mere inches from hers. His eyes searched hers, deep and intense. “Rishe... you make it hard to think straight sometimes.”

Rishe’s heart fluttered at his words, but she tried not to let it show. She knew Arnold wasn’t the type to say such things lightly, and for him to admit something like that—it meant more than she was willing to admit out loud. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to get distracted.”

His lips twitched with a faint smile, and he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I guess you’ve changed my mind about a lot of things,” he said, his voice soft and filled with a quiet sincerity.

Rishe could feel the warmth of his body against hers, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. She could feel his pulse beneath her hand, steady and strong, a reminder that he was real, and this moment was real, too.

She swallowed, her throat tight with emotions she wasn’t sure how to process. “And what exactly did I change, Your Highness?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Arnold smiled, his eyes gleaming with something almost mischievous. “You’ve made me forget all the things I’m supposed to do,” he admitted, his voice teasing but warm. “I’ve spent so much time planning, thinking about what’s expected of me, that I forgot about what I actually want.”

Her eyes softened, and she leaned closer to him. “And what is it you want?”

He didn’t answer immediately, but instead, he placed a finger on her lips, silencing her gently. His touch was slow, deliberate, as if savoring the moment. Then, with a soft chuckle, he said, “I think I’m figuring that out.”

There was something in the way he said it, the confidence in his words that made Rishe’s heart race. She wanted to ask more, wanted to know what was behind his teasing smile, but instead, she stayed quiet, letting the silence settle around them.

It wasn’t until he pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her waist and tucking her head against his chest that she realized just how right this felt. Like she had been waiting for this moment, even if she hadn’t known it before.

Arnold’s breath was warm against her hair, and for a long moment, they just held each other. No words, no need for grand declarations—just the simple presence of each other.

Finally, Arnold spoke, his voice low and almost secretive. “You know, Rishe, I never thought I’d find someone who makes me want to forget everything else. But here you are.”

She tilted her head to look up at him, her heart swelling with something she couldn’t quite name. “What does that mean for us, then?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes softened, and for a fleeting moment, she saw the man behind the crown, the one who sometimes felt lost in the duties of a prince. “It means I don’t want to let you go. It means I’m willing to figure out what happens next, together.”

Rishe smiled, her chest tightening with emotion. There was no need for more words. In that moment, they both knew what was between them. And it was enough.

[flower4rest]

"When the crown falls soft. Part 2"

Arnold Hein x Rishe Weitzner

Part 1 here.

That night the moonlight spilled across the room in soft silver streams, painting the edges of the furniture in a delicate glow. Galkhein’s night had a certain quiet to it, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Rishe sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers gently brushing the spine of the book in her lap, though she wasn’t reading anymore. Her thoughts wandered—back to that moment with Arnold, the way his voice had softened, the way his hands had held her. She could still feel the heat of his touch on her skin, the warmth of his embrace when he had pulled her close.

Her heart fluttered, a strange mixture of longing and something else that made her pulse race. Why did he always make her feel so… aware? Of every little thing?

The soft sound of the door creaking open broke the stillness. She didn’t turn immediately, but she could feel his presence, like a magnetic pull drawing her attention.

Arnold’s voice came low, soft, as if he didn’t want to disturb the fragile quiet of the night. “I thought I’d find you here.”

Rishe glanced over her shoulder, her lips curving into a knowing smile and stood up. "In my own room at night?"

He stepped forward, the faint glow of the lanterns illuminating the sharp features of his face, the way his jaw clenched slightly, his eyes watching her with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said slowly, as he walked closer, the sound of his boots muffled by the carpet. “About you. About everything that’s been happening.”

Rishe’s pulse quickened. “What about me?”

He stopped just in front of her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. He reached up, fingers brushing along her cheek, the touch as soft as a whisper. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, and his eyes never left hers.

“About how you’ve gotten under my skin,” he murmured. “How I never expected this... *us*.”

She leaned into his touch, her heart racing in her chest. “And how do you feel about that?”

His gaze darkened, but his voice remained steady, almost hushed. “I’m scared, Rishe. Scared of what you make me want. Scared of what this means.”

She felt the heat rise to her cheeks, the vulnerability in his words pulling at something deep inside of her. She stepped closer, closing the space between them, her hand reaching up to rest against his chest. She could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.

“Arnold,” she whispered, her voice soft but firm, “I don’t know where this is going, but I know that I want to go there with you.”

He leaned down slowly, his lips brushing against her forehead in a tender kiss that made her heart ache. Then, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes, he whispered, “You drive me mad, Rishe. You make me feel things I don’t know how to handle.”

Her lips curved into a teasing smile, and she took a small step back. “Maybe you just need to stop overthinking it.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that was equal parts amusement and something more. Something she couldn’t quite name.

“I suppose you’re right,” he murmured, moving closer again. “But it’s hard not to think when every moment with you feels like something more.”

Before she could respond, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing the corners of her mouth as he leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was deep, slow, full of longing. She melted into it, her arms slipping around his neck, drawing him closer as if she couldn’t get enough of him.

The kiss deepened, their breaths mingling, the world outside disappearing entirely. Time didn’t matter anymore. There was only the feel of his lips on hers, the way his hands roamed to her back, pulling her against him, as if trying to fuse them together.

When they finally pulled away, both breathless, Arnold rested his forehead against hers.

“I don’t want to be apart from you,” he admitted, his voice rough, almost desperate.

Rishe’s eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into his touch, her heart pounding in her chest. “Then don’t be,” she whispered.

He kissed her again, this time with less urgency but with an intensity that left her breathless. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her even closer, as if to make sure she was truly there, in his arms, with him.

She felt his warmth, his presence, wrapping around her like a cocoon, and in that moment, she knew she was exactly where she was meant to be.

Arnold pulled back slightly, his lips curling into a small smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more at peace than when I’m with you.”

Rishe smiled back, a soft, genuine smile that reached her eyes. “Then stay.”

And so, they did. The night stretched on, filled with quiet whispers and gentle touches, the world outside forgotten as they held onto each other, letting the magic of the moment carry them away.

Part 3 in the making

[flower4rest]

“When the Crown Falls Soft”

Arnold Hein x Rishe Weitzner

The carriage rolled steadily along the worn path toward Galkhein, the sun dipping low behind the hills. Inside, Crown Prince Arnold sat quietly, skimming over a folded report. Across from him, Rishe sat with her legs tucked beneath her, gazing out the window. Her eyes were tired but calm.

The peaceful rhythm broke when a guard ahead signaled the driver to stop.

Arnold opened the door and leaned out, but Rishe was already stepping down.

A wooden cart lay half-collapsed in a shallow ditch, one wheel splintered beyond repair. Beside it stood a man, his shirt dusty and wrinkled from travel. At his feet, a small boy sobbed, clutching a worn doll to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” the man said quickly, noticing their fine clothes. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. We—well, we’re stranded. My son’s exhausted and we’ve been walking since this morning.”

“What happened?” Rishe asked softly, crouching to the boy’s level.

“Bandits on the road,” the man replied, rubbing his forehead. “We lost our spare supplies, and the wheel cracked. We were headed for a town past Galkhein, hoping to find work and safety... but it looks like we’re stuck.”

The boy let out a fresh sob, burying his face in his father’s leg.

Rishe glanced at Arnold, then back at the boy. Without hesitation she said “You can ride with us.”

The man blinked. “With... you? Are you sure? I—I mean, thank you, miss. That’s more than kind.”

She smiled gently. “We’re heading to Galkhein. Once we’re there, you’ll be able to find another carriage and continue your journey.”

The boy hesitated a moment before crawling into her lap. His sobs quieted almost immediately, small fingers twisting into her cloak as he rested his cheek against her shoulder.

Arnold watched silently, expression unreadable.

The father bowed deeply. “I... I don’t know how to thank you.”

“No need,” Rishe said.

They rode in silence the rest of the way, the boy never letting go of Rishe once.

Later that evening, back inside the cool marble walls of the Galkhein palace, the soft scent of ink and old parchment lingered in Arnold’s office. Rishe lounged lazily on the couch, warm tea cupped in her hands. Arnold sat behind his desk, paperwork neatly stacked in front of him. Oliver, his loyal knight and aide, stood by with a scroll in hand.

Rishe tilted her head, watching Arnold carefully.

“Why were you staring at that boy today?”

Arnold didn’t look up. “I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. That was a different kind of stare."

He shrugged. “I just don’t like children.”

Oliver choked. “My lord, you can’t just say that.”

Arnold lifted a brow, but didn’t reply.

Rishe chuckled at Oliver’s horror, then set her tea down and turned to him. “Don’t worry, Oliver. I’m sure he only dislikes children when they’re crying.”

“Still...” Oliver looked at her with concern. “He is the crown prince. One day, children will no longer be a choice, but an expectation.”

There was a moment of stillness.

Rishe glanced at Arnold again but couldn’t read his face. She smiled faintly, then stood.

“Well,” she said lightly, “I’m going to my herb garden. It’s been a week since I’ve touched it, it's probably overgrown with weeds. "

As she walked past Oliver, she gave him a reassuring smile.

Later that week…

A faint breeze slipped through the open window, ruffling the sheer curtains as golden late afternoon light spilled into the office. The palace was unusually quiet—most of the visiting nobles had returned to their estates for the season, and for once, Arnold had a moment to breathe.

Or rather, Rishe made him.

“You promised,” she said, arms crossed and eyes narrowed just enough to look both stubborn and charming.

“I promised I’d consider it.”

“And I considered your hesitation,” she quipped, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him toward the small sofa by the window.

Now they sat together on the cushioned bench—Arnold, stiff and visibly uncomfortable with the idea of pausing, and Rishe, far too pleased with herself.

“See? Not so hard,” she murmured, leaning her head back against the frame and closing her eyes for a moment. “Even you can rest.”

Arnold shot her a sideways glance. “This feels like a trap.”

“Everything feels like a trap to you.”

Before she could poke him further, a faint sound drifted into the room—a baby’s soft wail, distant but clear, carried in from the corridor.

Arnold groaned. “Why would someone bring a baby to the palace?”

“It’s probably one of the visiting nobles. Maybe they didn’t want to leave the child behind.” Rishe turned to him. “You’re really going to groan every time you hear a baby?”

“They’re loud. And small. And sticky. And always crying.”

She nudged his arm. “Oliver doesn’t like it when you say stuff like that, you know.”

He tilted his head slightly. “He’s not here.”

“Still.” She paused, then added with a gentle but pointed tone, “You are the crown prince. Whether you like it or not, children are part of your future.”

Arnold didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered out the window, the sunlight painting his features in soft gold.

“I hate the role of a crown prince,” he muttered eventually.

She glanced at him. “Don’t say that, there are good and bad sides. This would be a bad thing but again it is expected, maybe you'd love being a dad.”

“I try not to think about it too much,” he said flatly. Then, with a faint, sardonic smile: “I didn’t know you were so eager to discuss royal heirs.”

Rishe froze. Her eyes widened just slightly.

Arnold’s smile deepened.

“Wait—no,” she sputtered, realizing what he meant. “That’s not what I—! I didn’t mean me. I mean yes, I’m your fiancée, but I wasn’t thinking about that part.”

“Mm.” He hummed as if considering her words carefully. “So you're saying you haven’t imagined any part of what happens before the children?”

Her face flushed. She blinked rapidly and pointed a finger at him. “Don’t twist my words!”

“I didn’t twist anything.” His tone was infuriatingly calm. “You said it.”

Rishe scowled, about to retort—when something mischievous sparked in her eyes. Without warning, she stood up. Arnold following every move. She turned around, and promptly sat herself on his lap.

Arnold blinked.

Rishe leveled a cool look at him, arms around his neck.

“Well,” she said, feigning seriousness. “Since you’re so curious... Maybe we should begin. Sometimes it takes months for a woman to conceive.”

Arnold went still. His expression—normally so collected—turned as pale as parchment.

Rishe smirked. “Not so fun when you’re on the receiving end of your own teasing, is it?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, visibly processing.

She tried to stand, but he caught her gently by the waist and pulled her close. She blinked in surprise.

“That’s fair,” he murmured against her temple. “But I don’t want you to ever feel like you owe me heirs. If I must be a crown prince without them, then so be it.”

She hesitated, heart twisting. The warmth of his voice. The rare tenderness in it.

She wrapped her arms slowly around his neck, resting her forehead against his shoulder.

“I know,” she whispered. “But… I want to be with you. Whatever that ends up looking like.”

Part 2 🥰

[flower4rest]

"The Taste of Trouble"

Arnold Hein x Rishe Weitzner

The knock on the door was soft but determined.

Arnold looked up from the papers scattered across his desk, recognizing the rhythm immediately. “Come in,” he called.

The door creaked open, and there stood Rishe, hands clasped behind her back, golden eyes glinting with a mix of guilt and anticipation.

“I have… a slightly selfish request,” she began, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

Arnold leaned back in his chair, folding his arms with a raised brow. “That sounds promising.”

She chuckled nervously. “Do you remember how I promised to ask you next time I wanted to go into the city?”

“I do.”

“Well… that time has come.” She took a few steps closer. “Elsie was talking about a bakery she saw the other day. I remembered passing it with you last time—one with the pudding-filled buns.” She smiled, hopeful. “I’d really like to go. With you.”

Arnold let out a quiet breath and looked down at the last document on his desk. “You’re lucky I’m nearly done.”

Rishe beamed. “So that’s a yes?”

He gave a small smirk, standing from his chair. “Let’s sneak out before someone tries to drag me into another meeting.”

Dusk had begun to fall by the time the two of them slipped out of the palace grounds. Rishe wore a simple cloak over her dress, her hair braided loosely. Arnold, dressed in a dark coat, kept his posture casual but alert.

They strolled through the quieter streets of the capital, shadows stretching long under the soft amber light.

As they walked, Rishe glanced up at him. “Is there anything you’d want to try from the bakery?”

He hummed. “Something sweet, maybe. I trust your judgment.”

“I heard the pudding buns are amazing. I’ve been dreaming about them all day.”

“Risking royal dignity for dessert,” Arnold muttered, but there was a faint glint in his eye.

The bakery was warm and cozy, golden light spilling out onto the cobbled street. The scent of freshly baked bread and caramelized sugar wrapped around them like a blanket.

They placed their order and left with a small box, walking back toward the palace grounds.

By the time they arrived near the gardens, the sun was kissing the horizon. No one was around—just the two of them beneath a sky turning shades of rose and gold.

Rishe sat down on the low stone ledge bordering the flowerbeds and unwrapped one of the buns. “They smell amazing.”

They sat, legs just brushing, and took their first bite in unison.

“Not bad,” Arnold admitted. “Soft and creamy.”

Rishe giggled. “Not bad? It’s heaven.”

Then, with a mischievous grin, she dipped her finger into the center of her bun and suddenly reached up to smear a dab of pudding on his nose.

He blinked. Slowly.

Rishe clapped a hand over her mouth to contain the laugh bubbling out of her.

Arnold—Crown Prince, feared strategist, absolute terror to diplomats—was sitting with custard on his nose.

“Oh no,” she managed between laughs. “You look like a confused dessert.”

He reached for a handkerchief, but she stopped him, giggling, and gently wiped it clean herself. “There. Dignity restored.”

Arnold looked at her with dry amusement. “You think you’re so funny.”

“I know I am.”

Before she could blink, his hands caught her by the waist—and suddenly the world flipped.

“Arnold!” she squeaked as he threw her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“You attacked a royal. This is treason.”

“It was a smudge! Put me down!”

He didn’t answer—just marched toward the mansion with long, deliberate strides, Rishe still laughing and lightly pounding her fists on his back.

Maids froze mid-curtsy. Two knights stared, slack-jawed. No one had ever seen the Crown Prince like this—grinning, relaxed, carrying his fiancée through the halls like they were a pair of mischievous teenagers.

He opened the door to her room with casual authority and deposited her onto the bed.

Rishe bounced once, still laughing. “You find yourself very amusing, don’t you?”

He leaned over her, one hand braced on the mattress, his face inches from hers. “Payback. For the pudding.”

She smirked, reached out—and jabbed his side.

He flinched.

She gasped. “You’re ticklish?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

She launched another attack, fingers at his ribs. Arnold jerked sideways unable to suppress the sound that escaped him—half growl, half laugh. Then lost his balance and toppled onto her, his head landing softly against her neck.

They both froze. The moment slowed.

Then Rishe giggled, arms curling around him instinctively. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he mumbled. “I tripped on betrayal.” wrapping his arms around her.

The room fell into a quiet hush, the golden light fading through the windows.

Rishe whispered, “You know, I wouldn’t trade moments like these for anything.”

Arnold’s voice was low and warm against her skin. “Neither would I.”

[flower4rest]

"Heartbeat."

Arnold Hein x Rishe Weitzner

Rishe didn’t understand how she kept ending up in situations like this.

Well… she actually did understand. But still, why did Arnold always have to do this?

Did he not notice how red her face got? Or that her half-hearted resistance was actually just an obvious sign she enjoyed it—a little?

Okay, more than a little. But did it always have to happen so publicly?

She glanced back, mentally replaying what had happened not even fifteen minutes ago.

She had been training with her knight, Kamil, in the inner garden. It had taken weeks of persistence to finally convince him to spar with her. Him being nervous about hurting her, nervous about Arnold finding out—but she’d worn him down with her usual relentless charm.

Ever since their last session—where Arnold had tested her reflexes—she’d been eager to try some new techniques.

Blindfolded, this time.

Thanks to the training she’d received in her fifth life, her senses had sharpened beyond what most would consider normal. Kamil had been shocked by how effortlessly she blocked his strikes, reacting to every shift in the air, every subtle vibration in the ground.

Today was no different. Her focus was sharp, her movements fluid.

Until she felt another presence approaching—one heavier, familiar, and radiating confidence.

She smoothly raised her wooden sword and blocked an incoming strike from the side.

“Your Highness,” she said with a smile, still blindfolded. “You can’t surprise me. If I couldn’t sense you, I’d never be able to pull off my usual shenanigans.”

She lowered her blade and tugged off the cloth around her eyes, coming face-to-face with Arnold. His expression was unreadable to most, but she knew him far too well. That barely-there twitch at the corner of his mouth? That was a grin.

“I wasn’t trying to surprise you,” he said, stepping back slightly. “Though it’s interesting how easily you could tell it was me.”

“I’ve had plenty of practice recognizing your footsteps,” she teased, twirling her sword once before letting it drop casually to her side. “Besides, no one else walks around with that much authority in their spine.”

Arnold tilted his head slightly. “And here I thought you were blindfolded.”

“I was. Doesn’t mean I’m deaf. Or dumb.”

He gave a soft, low chuckle—the kind that made her pulse skip.

Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “Did you rest today?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Rest,” he repeated, glancing over her shoulder toward Kamil. “Did she rest?”

Kamil looked like a deer caught in torchlight.

“Hey! Leave my knight out of this!” Rishe immediately shot back.

“Your knight?” Arnold said with feigned confusion. “Last I checked, he’s still part of my personal guard.”

“That changed the moment you appointed him as my personal bodyguard.”

Arnold’s smirk widened. “So that means… he no longer follows my orders because he’s yours now?”

Kamil was clearly doing his best to pretend he was deaf, eyes locked on a bush as if it were the most interesting thing in the kingdom. Still, he couldn't hide the tiny smile tugging at his lips—he was clearly pleased to be so valued.

“Of course he still listens to you! You’re the Crown Prince,” Rishe snapped. “Not listening could literally cost him his head!”

“Good.” Arnold turned calmly. “Kamil, you’re dismissed. Head back to the villa alone.”

And just like that, before she could process what was happening, Arnold bent down and swept her up into his arms—wedding style.

“W-wait! Put me down! You can’t just—!” she stammered, flustered.

“I can. And I am,” he replied smoothly, walking off without hesitation.

She glared up at him, then turned her eyes toward the empty space where Kamil used to be standing. Traitor.

Not that he could’ve stopped this even if he tried.

“You need rest, so I’m taking you to your room,” Arnold stated matter-of-factly.

“I can walk!” she insisted, squirming slightly—but not enough to make him drop her.

“I’m aware. I just prefer this method.”

Which brought her to now: nestled against his chest, being carried through the palace like some damsel in distress.

Except she wasn’t in distress.

Not really.

Truth be told… it was kind of nice. Annoying, sure. Embarrassing, definitely. But nice.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by their footsteps and the soft chirp of birds outside the palace windows.

His chest rose and fell steadily beneath her, and she could hear the soft, rhythmic thump of his heart. It was oddly soothing. She let her head lean gently against him, half in protest, half in surrender.

Calm. Even. Steady.

Focused, like always.

She tilted her head slightly, peeking up at his face. His eyes were trained ahead, unfazed.

Then, on a whim, she lifted one hand and let her bare fingers graze the side of his neck.

Thump thump thump-thump.

His heartbeat quickened. Just a bit.

Her eyes lit up.

Rishe’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. She did it again. Thump-thump-thump-thump. Faster.

Arnold’s face didn’t move. His posture didn’t change. But his heart was giving him away.

She began to giggle softly.

“What?” he asked, eyes still forward.

“Your heartbeat…” she said between giggles. “It’s betraying you.”

He didn’t say anything, but she felt the muscles in his jaw tighten ever so slightly.

“Stop listening,” he muttered, a rare hint of fluster in his voice.

She laughed harder now. For the first time—the very first time—she had managed to throw him off balance. Not with words. Not with clever plans.

Just her presence.

“I didn’t know you could get flustered,” she whispered.

Arnold said nothing, but the way he adjusted his grip on her ever so slightly was all the answer she needed.

Her smile softened, and she let her head fall gently back to his chest.

Maybe she’d end up in this position a dozen more times. Maybe she’d always complain.

But if it meant hearing that heartbeat quicken for her…

She wouldn’t mind it one bit.

[flower4rest]

"Something is not right.."

Arnold Hein x Rishe Weitzner x Oliver x Elsie

The palace courtyard buzzed softly in the background—gentle laughter, rustling leaves, the occasional clink of knights practicing their sword play. It was a pleasant afternoon.

Rishe had intended to walk straight through the east wing when she spotted a familiar silhouette standing half-hidden behind a stone pillar.

Prince Arnold.

He hadn’t noticed her yet, completely absorbed in whatever he was observing. His long coat fluttered lightly behind him, the hem brushing against the polished floor. His stance was serious—far too serious.

Now thoroughly intrigued, Rishe crept closer, stopping right behind him.

“Are we under attack?” she whispered, only half-teasing.

Arnold didn’t look at her, but gave a quiet, “Shh. Come here.”

She tilted her head, then, slipped beside him—only to realize she couldn’t see anything past his broad frame and long coat.

Frowning, she ducked under his cape. she held onto his side for balance. “You’re blocking the whole view, your highness.”

“Then don’t stand behind me.”

“Well excuse me,” she whispered, feigning offense. “Some of us weren’t blessed with a height advantage.”

Arnold sighed softly. “You could’ve just asked.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” she teased.

Peeking carefully around his side, she finally spotted what had captured his attention: Oliver, Arnold’s assistant, seated on a stone bench beneath the wisteria vines… with Elsie, one of Rishe’s most trusted maids. The two were laughing—loudly—and seemed far too comfortable for it to be mere small talk.

Rishe raised a brow. “Ohhh. Now this is interesting.”

Arnold didn’t say anything, but his gaze was sharp, narrowed in quiet assessment.

“I didn’t realize they were even on speaking terms,” Rishe murmured. “Let alone whatever this is.”

“She was helping him organize documents last week when I moved next to you,” Arnold replied, still watching. “I assumed it was professional.”

“Professional? Look at that smile. That’s not a professional smile—that’s a you’re-funny-and-I-might-like-you smile.”

“Are you always this observant?” he asked dryly.

“When it’s about whatever this is? Absolutely,” she grinned, poking him gently in the side.

They stood like that for a while—tucked just around the corner, cloaked in shadows and secrets, silently watching two unsuspecting people on the edge of something new. As Rishe leaned slightly forward for a better look, her shoulder brushed against Arnold’s chest, and she suddenly became aware of how close they were—how she could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, feel the quiet warmth radiating from him.

She didn’t move away. Instead, her gaze softened as she watched.

The air between them was light, but humming with energy.

Finally, Rishe leaned a little closer, her voice almost smug. “So? What do you think? Is it friendship, or… potential scandal?”

Arnold hesitated. “Hard to say.”

“Maybe we should ask them.”

His eyes slid sideways to her. “Or let them figure it out without us breathing down their necks.”

She pouted. “Where’s your sense of fun?”

“You stole it,” he said flatly, and she laughed.

Still standing beneath the shadow of his coat, she looked up at him, emerald eyes dancing. “Lucky for you, I'm not keeping my theories to myself.”

Arnold didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly—his version of a smile. Quiet, rare, and entirely for her.

“Come on, your highness,” she whispered. “Let’s go before they notice we’ve been spying.”

He gave a short nod and stepped back from the corner, his hand naturally brushing against hers as they turned to leave.

Rishe paused and looked over her shoulder one last time. Elsie was laughing again, and Oliver… was smiling back like she’d just handed him the stars.

She smirked.

“Definitely not just friends.”

//Characters are made age appropriate//

[flower4rest]

"Always the same jealousy."

Arnold Hein x Rishe Weitzner x Kyle Cleverly

The day had started like any other, but it soon turned into a significant one—the day Rishe and Arnold met Prince Kyle of Coyolles. The meeting had been arranged, with only the three of them present in a quiet, ornately decorated parlor that opened up to the palace gardens. The air was still, but tension brewed beneath the surface.

Kyle was the first to speak, his cyan-blue eyes lighting up with curiosity and admiration the moment they landed on Rishe.

“You are truly breathtaking… from the crown of your head to your very fingertips,” he said, his voice smooth and sincere.

Rishe chuckled politely, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re too kind, Your Highness.”

Arnold stood beside her, his usual composed demeanor barely concealing the sudden shift in his expression. His sharp blue eyes narrowed just slightly, his jaw set firm. He said nothing, but Rishe noticed the subtle tension in his stance.

The introduction was brief, and soon the conversation turned to lighter matters. Yet Arnold remained unusually quiet, and although Rishe couldn’t place it at the time, something about Kyle’s attention unsettled him deeply.

The next morning, Rishe tended to her herb garden tucked behind the palace—a quiet sanctuary filled with fragrant medicinal plants. As she harvested a cluster of feverfew, a voice called out with amused curiosity.

“Oh, so you’re the owner of this beautiful garden?”

She turned to find a man approaching: tall, composed, and dressed in a scholar’s coat. It was Michel, the palace alchemist of Prince Kyle. Rishe recognized him immediately—from her second life. But Michel showed no sign of recognizing her.

She smiled warmly, masking the flicker of familiarity in her eyes. “Yes, it’s my pride and joy. The plants don’t tend themselves.”

They spoke casually, and Michel walked with her as she continued to gather herbs. The conversation flowed easily until Michel glanced at her with a curious expression.

“You seem knowledgeable about more than just planting. Have you ever worked with illnesses?"

Rishe looked up from her basket and met his gaze. "Maybe. Depends on the illness."

Michel hesitated, then spoke. "Prince Kyle has been suffering from a rare, chronic condition for years. We've tried every treatment we know, but nothing has been effective."

Rishe's eyes softened. She already knew this from her past life. "I may know something that could help," she said carefully. "But I would prefer to explain it to him myself."

Michel nodded slowly. "Then I’ll arrange a meeting."

The following day, a meeting was arranged between Rishe, Michel, and Kyle to discuss the potential cure. In a stately room lined with books and ancient artifacts, the three of them sat together. After a few moments of explanation, Rishe revealed a small vial she had brought with her.

“This is it,” she said calmly. “With daily use over a year, it will fully restore your health.”

Kyle took the vial with reverence, his expression softened. “To receive such a gift from you… I am in your debt.”

Michel added, “The formulation is brilliant. Truly, Lady Rishe surpasses even the royal scholars. You must teach me.”

Before more could be said, the doors opened and two of Rishe’s knights entered. One stepped forward and bowed.

“Lady Rishe, your escort has arrived.”

She turned slowly as the knights stepped aside, revealing a familiar figure in the doorway. Arnold.

She hadn’t expected him. Rising gracefully from her seat, she gave a small, surprised smile. His posture was perfect, but his eyes were unreadable—watchful and intense. In that moment Rishe realised, it wasn't diplomacy between the two countries.. Arnold was jealous.

As they exited the room, Rishe slipped her hand around Arnold’s arm. She didn’t miss how he tensed slightly at the touch, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he glanced at her, and in that single look, she saw a quiet warmth and something deeper. She smiled at him in return.

They walked side by side through the long, golden-lit corridors, their steps in sync.

“Are you jealous?” Rishe asked playfully, her voice lilting as she glanced up at him with a teasing grin.

Arnold kept walking, his gaze forward, though a small twitch in his eyebrow betrayed him. “No,” he said flatly.

She laughed softly. “You say that so quickly it sounds rehearsed.”

He remained stoic, but she could see the faintest hint of red creeping up his ears.

“Come on,” she nudged him lightly with her shoulder. “Kyle is charming, sure, but you looked like you were ready to challenge him to a duel when he complimented me.”

Arnold gave a long-suffering sigh, eyes briefly closing before he replied, “He was staring too long.”

Rishe giggled. “So you were jealous.”

“I was observant.”

“Observantly jealous,” she corrected.

Arnold finally glanced at her, a sideways look that was both stern and fond. “You enjoy this too much.”

“I really do,” she said with a cheeky smile.

They continued toward the garden path that curved beneath the palace. Overhead, tall windows overlooked the grounds. From one of those windows, Kyle happened to be watching. Rishe caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and leaned in slightly.

“If you admit it,” she said with a teasing smirk, “I’ll make it very clear to Kyle that he has no chance. Not that he does, of course."

She thought briefly of her second life, where her focus had been entirely on curing Kyle. Back then, her connection with Kyle had been very close—but nothing romantic.

Arnold exhaled deeply, clearly fighting his pride. But a glance upward caught his attention—Kyle’s shadow was visible through the glass, watching intently.

…“Fine,” Arnold said at last, voice low. “I was jealous.”

Rishe’s eyes lit up with delight. She laughed and leaned closer, her arms gently wrapping around his neck.

“I knew it,” she whispered, and planted a quick kiss on his cheek.

She blinked, a little surprised by her own action, but didn’t retreat. Arnold stared at her, hands around her, stunned for a heartbeat, before a grin slowly formed on his lips.

Without warning, he scooped her up into his arms.

“W-Wait! Arnold!” she yelped, her laughter echoing through the garden.

“Serves you right for teasing,” he said, his tone lighter now.

She squirmed playfully, her cheeks flushed with laughter. From the window above, Kyle watched in stunned silence as Arnold strode confidently through the garden, Rishe in his arms. Never imagining to see the crown prince smile.

“Alright, alright! I believe you!” she giggled breathlessly. “You were definitely jealous!”

“And you’re far too charming for your own good,” he murmured in response.

She nestled closer, resting her head against his shoulder. “You don’t need to worry about such things.”

Arnold paused, his steps slowing as he glanced down at her.

“Truly?”

Rishe lifted her head and cupped his cheek with her gloved hand, her emerald eyes full of warmth. “Truly. I’m your future wife. There’s no one else I would ever choose.”

A quiet stillness passed between them. Then Arnold leaned down, and their lips met in a soft, tender kiss. The breeze swirled around them, carrying away the last of the tension.

From above, Kyle turned from the window, a smile playing at his lips. Whatever curiosity he may have had faded in the face of what he had just witnessed.

And in the garden below, wrapped in each other’s arms, Rishe and Arnold stood as one—undeniably bound by heart, choice, and future.