(Three Days Later)

  The dining hall was loud in the way only royalty could make it—silverware, low laughter, measured voices pretending the world outside wasn’t on fire.

  Queen Yae sat at the center of the table, calm and composed, eating like the war belonged to someone else. Amanda sat close enough to answer without raising her voice. Soldiers and nobles filled the long table, watching her more than they watched the queen.

  Yae dabbed her lips with a cloth. “So. He took his land back.”

  Amanda nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “By force,” one noble muttered.

  Amanda didn’t look at him. “By his own hands.”

  That earned a few looks. Yae’s eyes stayed on her plate, but the corner of her mouth lifted like she’d heard something amusing.

  “Interesting,” Yae said, almost to herself. Then she glanced up. “Tell me… is he married?”

  The room went quiet in a way that wasn’t polite. It was hungry.

  Amanda blinked once. “No, Your Majesty. He’s never married.”

  Yae paused mid-bite, then set her fork down slowly. “Never.”

  Amanda held her expression steady, but her mind flickered—I should probably ask him that one day… just to be sure.

  Yae leaned back in her chair, looking past the table like she could see through stone. “A king with no chain.”

  One of the nobles chuckled under his breath. Yae didn’t acknowledge him. Her eyes stayed distant, thoughtful.

  Amanda watched her carefully. The queen wasn’t just curious.

  She was… lit up.

  Isaac’s Cell

  The cell was too clean to be mercy. It was the kind of clean that reminded you you didn’t belong.

  He sat on the floor with his head in his hand, elbow on his knee, staring at the wall like it had answers.

  Three days.

  Three days of silence, of waiting, of that collar sitting against his neck like a reminder.

  He exhaled through his nose, frustrated. “This is stupid…”

  He stood, put his forehead against the wall, and let the anger come up—slow, bitter.

  “I shouldn’t have broken that amulet,” he muttered, more to himself than the room.

  His fist slammed into the stone.

  Pain snapped up his arm. He hissed, shaking his hand once, then stared at the knuckles like they’d betrayed him.

  “Damn it.”

  His chest tightened. That familiar heat stirred—weak, shaky, like a fire trying to light under wet wood.

  [Berserk Mode]

  The glow crawled under his skin for a second, ugly and uneven. He hit the wall again.

  This time, the stone cracked—just a thin line.

  He froze, breathing hard. The glow faded, leaving him with a throbbing hand and a crack that wasn’t freedom.

  He slid down the wall and sat again, back against the stone, head tilted forward.

  For a long moment, he didn’t move.

  Then the air changed.

  A soft electrical hiss—like static crawling over cloth.

  He looked up.

  Yae was sitting on the bed.

  Not stiff. Not guarded. Just… there, watching him like she’d been thinking about him and finally stopped pretending she wasn’t.

  His eyes flicked to the crack in the wall.

  Her eyes followed.

  Her expression shifted—small, quick. Not fear. Concern, almost annoyed at herself for feeling it.

  She stood and crossed the room without rushing. When she crouched, she kept her face level with his, like she refused to look down on him even while he was on the floor.

  “Isaac,” she said quietly. “Are you hurt?”

  He didn’t answer right away. His jaw worked once. He looked away.

  Yae let out a slow breath and sat down beside him, close enough that her shoulder touched his. She didn’t talk for a second. Just stayed there, warm and steady.

  “You miss your world,” she said.

  He gave a dry laugh without humor. “You didn’t bring me here to comfort me.”

  “I didn’t,” she replied, honest. Then her voice softened anyway. “But you’ve been… different since you arrived.”

  He turned his head slightly, just enough to look at her.

  “Different how?”

  Yae hesitated, like she hated giving him this. “You’re not begging. You’re not bargaining. You’re angry, and you still… hold yourself like you’re supposed to matter.”

  His eyes narrowed. “So that’s what this is. You want to figure out if I’m a threat.”

  “I already know you are,” she said, calm. Then she added, quieter, “I’m trying to decide what kind.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  That landed.

  He stared at her for a second, then looked down at his hand like it was safer than looking at her face.

  Yae’s gaze dropped to his knuckles. The skin was split. A little blood.

  She reached for his hand.

  He tensed. “Don’t.”

  She paused, fingers hovering, then looked at him—no anger, no pride, just that steady focus that made it hard to breathe.

  “Let me,” she said.

  He didn’t pull away this time.

  She lifted his hand gently, turning it palm-up, then traced the wound with her thumb. Her touch was warm—too warm.

  “You keep trying to break my walls,” she murmured.

  “You put me in a cage.”

  “You tried to kill me.”

  Yae didn’t flinch. “And you screamed like the world owed you mercy.”

  His throat tightened. He hated that she’d seen that part.

  Yae held his gaze for a beat, then lowered her eyes back to his hand like she’d chosen to stop fighting him for one minute.

  She brought his knuckles to her mouth and licked the blood away—slow, deliberate.

  His breath caught.

  The sting faded. The cut closed.

  He stared at his hand like it wasn’t real. Then he looked at her again, and there was something raw in his eyes that he didn’t bother hiding.

  Yae watched him watch her. “It’s not charity,” she said, almost sharp. “Don’t make it that.”

  “I wasn’t,” he replied, voice rough. “I just… didn’t expect you to—”

  “Neither did I.”

  That was the first crack in her composure.

  She pressed a small kiss to his knuckles, like sealing the healing. Then she rested his hand on his knee, her fingers lingering a second longer than they needed to.

  They stayed like that, shoulder to shoulder, the silence doing more than words.

  He leaned in a fraction, barely. Testing.

  Yae didn’t move away.

  When he kissed her, it was light—careful.

  Her lips parted slightly, and for a second he felt that same clean rush of energy—soft, bright, controlled.

  He pulled back, searching her face.

  Yae stood up too fast, like she’d been burned.

  She grabbed her hat from the bed, settled it onto her head, and didn’t look at him while she spoke.

  “Don’t punch the walls again,” she said.

  He blinked. “That’s your takeaway?”

  Yae paused at the doorway, shoulders still, voice quieter. “If you break the room, I’ll have to treat you like a real prisoner.”

  He heard what she didn’t say: and I don’t want to.

  A flicker of sparks climbed her arm.

  Before he could answer, she vanished—electric light snapping into nothing.

  Isaac stayed where he was, hand healed, chest tight, staring at the empty space she’d left behind.

  And the crack in the wall didn’t look so small anymore.

  Yae sat on her throne with her head slightly lowered, listening to advisors speak over each other.

  She wasn’t really listening.

  Amanda stood a few steps away, posture perfect, eyes half-lidded like a statue—but her focus was sharp, digging into every micro-expression.

  Yae’s fingers tapped once against the armrest. Then stopped.

  A quiet exhale escaped her.

  Amanda caught it.

  She’s thinking about him again…

  Yae’s gaze drifted somewhere far, as if the hall had faded and only a memory remained—the warmth, the pull, the way Isaac didn’t look away.

  Amanda narrowed her eyes, trying to read the queen.

  Isaac was on his bed, eating slowly, forcing himself to look relaxed.

  A faint sound—barely there.

  He turned his head.

  Amanda’s voice slid into the room like a whisper against his ear.

  “Isaac. It’s me. Amanda. Don’t look.”

  He kept chewing. Didn’t change his face.

  “What is it?”

  “For now, it’s going exactly like we planned,” she murmured. “She won’t stop talking about you.”

  He swallowed. “Cute. Doesn’t matter. We need to move.”

  “I know.” Her tone tightened. “She’s not just strong—she’s sharp. If we slip once, she’ll notice.”

  Isaac nodded like he was thinking about the food.

  “Any progress on the amulet?”

  “There’s something else,” Amanda said. “I overheard whispers—old ones. They found a laboratory a long time ago. They think it belonged to Lyra.”

  Isaac’s chewing slowed. “Where?”

  “In the Gray Forest. They said it’s abandoned. Experiments, broken facilities… and something they called a portal. Deactivated.” Her voice lowered. “But it’s real enough that people are scared to even mention it.”

  Isaac’s eyes sharpened. “You have to go.”

  “I’m going.”

  “No.” He cut in, calm but firm. “You go now. If that place exists, it’s our only lead besides the amulet.”

  A small pause. Amanda breathed out.

  “Okay. But there’s a problem.”

  He already knew what she was going to say.

  “How do we get there after we take the amulet?” she asked.

  “You guide me.”

  “Yes, but…” Her voice dipped. “You can fly. You can move fast. That was the plan.”

  Isaac’s jaw tightened.

  “I can’t.”

  Amanda went silent for half a second. “What do you mean you can’t?”

  “I lost my powers,” he said quietly, like it tasted bitter. “This world’s sun isn’t the same. Every day I feel heavier. Like I’m carrying something I can’t reach.”

  Amanda’s voice sharpened with understanding. “So the sun in Mundus—Paradise’s sun—was feeding you.”

  Isaac didn’t answer. He just stared at the food for a moment, then forced another bite.

  Amanda exhaled. “That complicates everything.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “A lot.”

  “I’ll go to the forest,” she said. “Find the lab. Confirm the portal. We’ll improvise the rest.”

  Isaac nodded once.

  Then the room went too quiet.

  Not “Amanda is gone” quiet.

  Quiet like… someone else entered and the air decided to behave.

  Isaac’s shoulders stiffened.

  A soft, familiar voice cut through the silence.

  “Hello, Isaac. How are you?”

  Yae was sitting there—close. Too close. Like she’d always been there.

  Isaac’s blood went cold.

  Did she hear?

  Where’s Amanda?

  He didn’t answer. Didn’t look around. He just took another bite and stared forward like the wall was interesting.

  Yae smiled like she found that amusing.

  “Still upset about being a prisoner?”

  Isaac kept chewing. Then spoke without emotion.

  “What do you want?”

  Yae moved—slow, casual, like she had all the time in the world. She climbed onto the bed on all fours, not rushing, not hiding the fact that she enjoyed watching him try to stay composed.

  “I thought about you all day,” she said. Simple. Direct.

  Isaac didn’t flinch, but his eyes flicked to her for half a second—just long enough.

  Yae’s smile widened. Then her nose twitched.

  Her gaze snapped upward. To the ceiling. To a corner of the room like she was tracking a scent that didn’t belong.

  Isaac’s heart slammed once.

  Yae’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  He acted before she could.

  Isaac lifted the fork and gently pressed it to her lips.

  “Eat,” he said, calm. “You’re acting like you haven’t had food in days.”

  Yae blinked—caught off guard by the audacity.

  Then she laughed under her breath, took the bite, and looked at him like he was dangerous in a different way.

  “The food is good,” she admitted.

  Isaac’s hand didn’t shake. He kept his face neutral.

  Yae’s eyes stayed on him, hungry in a way that wasn’t about dinner. She shoved the plate off to the side like it was suddenly irrelevant.

  Then she leaned in—mouth against his chest, slow enough to make it clear it wasn’t an accident.

  Isaac didn’t push her away.

  Yae lifted her face again, resting her chin lightly there, blue eyes locked on his.

  “I told you,” she whispered. “I couldn’t stop thinking.”

  Isaac held her gaze. He chose his next line carefully—because Amanda was still here, and because Yae was a queen who noticed everything.

  “I couldn’t either,” he said.

  Yae froze—just for a heartbeat.

  Then her expression softened in a way she probably hated showing.

  “Really?” she asked, voice suddenly smaller.

  Isaac touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. Not dramatic. Just real.

  “Yes.”

  That was all it took.

  Yae smiled—wide, almost embarrassed—and it made her look younger for a second.

  “Good,” she murmured, and the word came out warmer than she expected.

  Isaac shifted, rolling her onto the sheets so he was above her—but he didn’t rush. He kissed her cheek, then her temple, then her forehead, like he was learning her pace instead of taking what he wanted.

  Yae’s breath hitched once.

  “Isaac… wait.”

  He stopped immediately.

  They stared at each other.

  She looked… happy. And nervous. Like she didn’t know what to do with being wanted.

  Isaac’s voice came out softer.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

  Yae swallowed.

  Then she took his hand and kissed his knuckles—slow, careful, like it meant more than she wanted to admit.

  “I’m… not used to this,” she confessed, barely louder than a breath. “Feeling… like this.”

  Isaac didn’t tease her. Didn’t make a speech.

  He just lay down beside her.

  Yae moved closer on her own. She curled into him like she belonged there, fingers gripping his shirt lightly as if she was scared he’d vanish.

  “You make it hard to act like a queen,” she whispered.

  Isaac exhaled, almost a laugh. “Then don’t.”

  Yae’s smile returned—small, real.

  She rested her head on his chest.

  And for the first time in days, Isaac let his body go heavy—not because he forgot the plan, not because he trusted the cage…

  But because for one night, the room felt less like a prison.

  They fell asleep like that—quiet, close—while the air held its breath around whatever Amanda was doing in the dark.