────୨ৎ────
His hair slightly tousled from the wind, he was dressed in a simple navy tunic that made him look even taller and mature.
The gold of torchlight danced across his sharp features, his strong jaw, his clear, haunted eyes, and the faintest, familiar smile tugging at his lips.
But what made my eyes go wide was the warm napkin in his hands—folded carefully.
He lifted it slightly.
"I found something," he said, voice low.
He unwrapped the cloth.
A round, sweet bun, golden brown, soft and shiny with a dusting of sugar.
My favorite.
My childhood comfort.
"Bun Bun," I whispered, my throat tightening.
"You remembered…"
"I never forgot."
For a second, I just stood there.
Then, without thinking, I stepped aside, opening the door wider.
Rowen entered quietly.
I closed the door behind him, my heart fluttering.
"I passed by the old market baker on the way in tonight,"
He said, placing the bun carefully on the table near the window.
"She still remembered you. Said you used to beg your guards to stop every time you passed."
I laughed softly, the sound catching in my throat.
"I used to pretend Bun Bun could hear me talk."
"You didn't pretend," Rowen smirked, turning to face me.
"You once made me apologize to it because I said it looked like a potato."
My face warmed.
"That's because it did look like a potato. But it was my potato."
There was a beat of silence.
We stood a few feet apart now, bathed in moonlight.
I looked at him, truly looked at him, the softness in his eyes, the way he held himself now with quiet strength, not as a boy but a man.
"I didn't think you'd come tonight," I whispered.
"I didn't think I should," he replied.
"Then why did you?"
He hesitated.
Then stepped forward, his voice low.
"Because I couldn't go one more night not knowing if you still saw me… or just a memory."
My lips parted.
"I don't know what I see," I admitted.
"But when I look at you… It hurts."
Rowen nodded.
"I know."
Another pause.
And then
"Do you want to try it?" he asked, nodding to the bun.
I blinked, caught off guard. "Try…?"
"The bun. To see if it still tastes like our childhood,"
He said, gently lifting it from the cloth.
He broke off a small piece and held it out.
I stared at it for a moment, then stepped closer, my fingers brushing his as I took it.
I ate it slowly.
My eyes watered.
"It tastes like peace," I whispered.
Rowen's voice was barely audible.
"Then I'll bring you one every day."
Tears slipped down my cheek.
And before I could stop myself, I leaned forward, slowly, and rested my forehead against his chest.
Rowen held me carefully, like something rare and sacred.
His hand came up to cradle the back of my head, his other resting gently on my waist.
We didn't speak.
We just stood like that.
Together.
In the quiet of the moonlight.
******
The chamber was quiet, lit only by the pale silver glow of the moon pouring through the tall windows.
I lay beside Rowen atop my grand bed, the silk sheets soft against my skin, my body half-wrapped in a robe of rose-toned velvet.
Rowen rested beside me, one arm curled under his head, the other lying between us, close, but not touching.
Not yet.
we'd been talking for what felt like hours.
Whispering, laughing quietly. Remembering. Healing.
But the air between us had shifted.
There was a pause now, long and weighted.
I turned onto my side to face him, my hand gently grazing his chest.
Rowen looked at me.
And for the first time in five years, there was nothing between us.
No duty.
No titles.
No lies.
Just the echo of everything we hadn't said, and the truth that had lived quietly in our hearts all along.
"Rowen," I whispered, my voice trembling.
"Why does it still feel like I'm waiting for you, even now?"
His breath caught.
His fingers slowly reached for mine beneath the sheets.
"I don't want you to wait anymore," he said softly.
And then…
He leaned in.
At first, it was tentative, the soft brush of his lips against mine, hesitant, like asking permission.
But the moment our lips met, everything unraveled.
I let out a quiet gasp, my fingers rising to tangle in his golden hair as Rowen deepened the kiss, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other gently sliding along my waist.
The years of distance, the ache of longing, the pain of never knowing if we'd see each other again, it all poured into that one moment.
The kiss turned urgent, desperate, as if we were making up for every second lost.
I shifted closer, my body pressed flush against his, my breath catching as Rowen kissed me like I was the only thing keeping him alive.
His lips moved over mine, slow, then fast, tender, and then fierce.
He kissed me like he had memorized me in his dreams, like my name had been the only thing that kept him breathing.
I broke away only for a moment, our foreheads touching, my breathing uneven.
"I missed you," I whispered, tears clinging to my lashes.
"So much, it ruined me."
Rowen closed his eyes, his hand softly cupping my cheek.
"You're the only thing that kept me whole."
He kissed me again.
Softer this time.
Slower.
It wasn't about passion now.
It was about home.
About finding me again.
Our lips moved like a conversation without words, an apology, a promise, a confession.
My hands curled over his chest, feeling it beat for me, while his thumb brushed beneath my chin like he was afraid I'd vanish if he let go.
When we finally parted, our faces were still inches apart.
My cheeks were flushed, my lips slightly parted, and Rowen looked at me like I was the only light left in the world.
Neither of us spoke.
We didn't need to.
Because that kiss had said it all.
And as we lay together beneath the moonlight, our fingers entwined, I rested my head on his shoulder, his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek.
I didn't ask if he'd be gone by morning.
Because somehow, I already knew
He was home.