The Winter Rose bloom - Part 2
A/N:
Thank you all so much for the amazing reactions to the first part of this story! 💕 Your enthusiasm and kind words mean the world to me, and I’m thrilled to hear how much you enjoyed it. Writing this continuation was such a joy, and I truly hope it captures the same magic and emotion that resonated with you in the first part.
I’m still considering writing another installment, but I’d love to hear if there’s an interest in seeing more of this story unfold. Let me know your thoughts, favorite moments, or anything you’d like to see next—I’m always open to ideas!
Part 1
****
The palace was cloaked in silence. Not the kind of silence that felt empty, but a silence that held weight—soft, still, alive with the hum of stories just beneath the surface. Outside, the snow lay undisturbed under a moonlit sky, each frozen flake catching the faint light like scattered diamonds across the earth.
(Y/n) walked alone through the gardens, the hem of her cloak trailing faint patterns in the fresh snow. The chill nipped at her cheeks and nose, but she welcomed it. The cold was grounding, sharp enough to cut through the chaos in her mind. She’d been restless, the evening a blur of thoughts and feelings she couldn’t untangle.
The dance with Rex—it had been nothing and yet everything. One waltz, one moment where the world had shrunk to just him and her, the music a quiet echo in her chest. She had spent the rest of the evening avoiding him, convincing herself it was safer to pretend it hadn’t happened.
But out here, alone under the stars, she couldn’t lie to herself.
He’s slipping through the cracks.
Her heart tightened at the thought, at the quiet pull she felt whenever Rex looked at her like that—as though he saw her, truly saw her, in ways no one ever had.
She stopped at the edge of the garden, her gaze drawn to the small, secluded grove of winter roses. The lanterns that usually lit the garden had been dimmed, leaving the space bathed in silvery moonlight. The roses grew in clusters, their delicate petals pale white, blushing faintly at the tips like they were kissed by morning light. They seemed almost unreal, their beauty fragile against the cold.
(Y/n) knelt carefully beside one of the blooms, brushing snow from its base with gentle fingers. “You’re stubborn, aren’t you?” she murmured softly, her breath visible in the cold air. “Blooming in the middle of winter like it’s nothing.”
“They thrive when others cannot.”
The voice, though soft, startled her. (Y/n) turned sharply, her cloak swirling around her as she rose to her feet. From the shadows beyond the garden path, Yoda appeared, his small form almost blending into the folds of his heavy robe. The old advisor moved slowly, his steps light, as though he were floating rather than walking.
“Master Yoda,” (Y/n) said breathlessly, pressing a hand to her chest. “You scared me.”
“Mm.” Yoda tilted his head up slightly, the faintest flicker of amusement in his wise eyes. “Much on your mind, there is. Scaring easily, you should not.”
(Y/n) let out a small, nervous laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Clearly,” Yoda said, stepping closer to the winter roses. His clawed hands folded in front of him as he gazed down at the blooms with quiet reverence. “Drawn here, are you? The winter rose… calls to those who carry heavy hearts.”
(Y/n) frowned slightly, glancing back at the flowers. “They’re just flowers, aren’t they?”
Yoda’s ears twitched faintly as he turned to look up at her. “More, they are. Symbols of resilience, strength. Love unexpected.” He extended a hand, gently brushing his fingertips against one of the petals. “In the cold, they bloom. When all else withers, they thrive. A lesson, there is.”
(Y/n) stared at him, her brows knitting slightly as her heart gave a quiet, uneasy flutter. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Understanding comes not with the mind,” Yoda replied softly, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur, “but with the heart.” He turned his sharp gaze back to her, and (Y/n) suddenly felt as though every carefully guarded thought she carried was laid bare before him. “Something troubles you.”
(Y/n) looked away, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. “I’m fine.”
Yoda made a small noise, part sigh, part chuckle. “Fine, you are not. The dance tonight—meant more, it did.”
(Y/n)’s heart skipped, her head snapping back toward him. “You saw?”
Yoda’s smile was small but knowing, his ancient eyes twinkling faintly. “Much do I see. Much do I feel.” He tilted his head, studying her closely. “A spark, there is. Do you not feel it?”
(Y/n)’s mouth opened, but she faltered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Afraid, you are,” Yoda said simply, his words like a quiet strike to the heart. “Afraid to feel. Afraid of what it means.”
(Y/n) turned away sharply, staring out at the frost-draped garden as though the snow itself might give her answers. “I can’t afford to feel. That’s not why I’m here. My job is to create connections for others, to help them find love. Not me.”
“And yet,” Yoda murmured, stepping closer to her, his gaze unwavering, “love finds us when we least expect it.”
(Y/n) let out a shaky breath, the ache in her chest growing sharper. “I can’t. I can’t let that happen.”
“Cannot, or will not?” Yoda’s voice was gentle but firm, a challenge disguised as a question. “The heart, you deny. Why?”
(Y/n) pressed her lips together, closing her eyes tightly as though she could shut out the truth he had seen so easily. “Because…” She swallowed hard, her voice trembling. “Because love makes you vulnerable. It makes you weak. And I can’t be weak, not here. Not now.”
Yoda was silent for a long moment, his gaze full of understanding—too much understanding. “Weakness?” he said at last, shaking his head. “No. Love, a strength it is. A power greater than duty or fear.” He turned to the winter roses again, his voice soft. “Like these blooms. Fragile they seem, but strong, they are.”
(Y/n) stared at the flowers, her chest tight with the weight of his words.
Yoda’s gaze flicked back to her. “What you feel… do not deny it. To do so, you wither. Like those who fear the cold.” He turned and began to walk away, his small form blending once again with the shadows of the garden path. “Trust yourself, (Y/n) (Y/L/N). The path ahead, unclear it may be. But the heart always knows.”
***
When Yoda was gone, (Y/n) sank back to her knees beside the winter roses, her fingers brushing against their pale petals. The flowers were cold but alive, their delicate strength pulsing through her fingertips.
She thought of Rex—his teasing smiles, the way his gaze lingered just a moment too long, the way he made her feel like she could breathe, like the weight on her shoulders might not be hers alone to bear.
Her heart fluttered painfully in her chest.
Love finds us when we least expect it.
The words echoed in her mind, and no matter how hard she tried to push them away, they remained—quiet, insistent, impossible to ignore.
(Y/n) closed her eyes, her breath hitching softly. “What am I doing?”
But deep down, beneath the fear, the doubt, and the walls she’d so carefully built around herself, she already knew the answer.
And that terrified her most of all.
In the shadows of the palace above, Yoda stood at a high window, watching the garden below. His expression was calm, his gaze sharp as he observed (Y/n) kneeling by the winter roses.
“Plant the seed, I have,” he murmured softly to himself, his hands folded before him. “Now, let it grow.”
And as the night stretched on and the snow continued to fall, a small smile touched his lips, the quiet hum of possibility lingering in the air.
***
The palace halls were quiet, cloaked in the deep stillness of night. Rex wandered through them aimlessly, his steps a soft echo on the marble floors. Sleep had proven elusive, and after hours of tossing and turning, he’d given up on trying. Instead, he found himself here, walking the shadowed corridors like a restless ghost.
The ballroom was empty now—no laughter, no music—only the faint glint of moonlight streaming through the tall windows. He stood in the center of the room, staring at the empty space where, only hours before, he’d held (Y/n) in his arms.
The memory lingered—her hand in his, the warmth of her touch, the faint flush in her cheeks when he’d leaned closer. She’d looked at him with something unspoken, something that unsettled him in a way nothing else ever had.
You’re in trouble, Wolffe’s voice had echoed in his mind earlier, and for once, Rex knew his cousin was right.
He’d felt it building for weeks now—the pull whenever (Y/n) glanced his way, the way his chest felt too tight when she smiled at him, the quiet ache when he saw her frowning over a task she refused to delegate. She was focused, controlled, so determined to shoulder everything on her own, and he…
He wanted to be the one who helped her carry it.
“Thinking deeply, you are.”
Rex flinched, his hand instinctively going to his belt as he spun to face the voice. “Stars—Master Yoda!”
From the shadows near the grand staircase, Yoda stepped forward, his small form a silhouette against the moonlight spilling through the glass. “Peace, Captain,” he said softly, his tone laced with dry amusement. “Jumpy, you are.”
Rex exhaled slowly, running a hand through his unruly blond hair. “Only because you have a habit of sneaking up on people, Master.”
“Mm,” Yoda hummed as he approached, his steps slow and deliberate. “Sneaking, I do not. Observing, I do.”
Rex tilted his head, his brow furrowing faintly. “Observing what?”
Yoda stopped just in front of him, gazing up with eyes that seemed to see far more than Rex was willing to show. “You.”
“Me?” Rex’s voice faltered, and he forced a short, unconvincing laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Yoda’s ears twitched faintly, his expression patient but unyielding. “Hiding, you cannot. From yourself, least of all.”
Rex swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like a boy caught sneaking sweets from the kitchens. “I’m not hiding.”
“Ah.” Yoda’s gaze didn’t waver. “And yet, here you are. Alone in the dark. Thoughts heavy, heart uncertain.”
Rex looked away, staring at the far windows as his jaw tightened. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“(Y/n), I mean,” Yoda said softly, and Rex’s head snapped back toward him, his heart skipping painfully in his chest.
“What about (Y/n)?”
Yoda tilted his head knowingly. “Much did I see tonight. The dance, the silence between the steps, the way you look at her. Truth, that is. Deny it, you cannot.”
Rex blinked, his throat tight, words failing him. How does he always do this?
“It’s not—” he started, but the words trailed off. What could he say? That (Y/n) was nothing more than a distraction? That she was just the palace’s matchmaker? The very idea felt hollow, like trying to bury a wildfire with a handful of sand.
Yoda’s eyes softened, his tone gentler now. “Conflicted, you are. But afraid, too.”
“I’m not afraid,” Rex shot back, though the edge in his voice betrayed the truth.
“Afraid to fall, you are.” Yoda’s gaze turned to the empty dance floor, as though he could still see the ghost of their waltz playing out under the moonlight. “Afraid of what it means. What it changes.”
Rex let out a slow, shaky breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. “You don’t understand. I’m not the one who matters here. Cody’s the prince. The throne rests on him. I’m just… the spare.”
Yoda turned his wise eyes back to Rex, his expression unreadable. “Just the spare, you are not.”
Rex flinched at the quiet strength in Yoda’s voice.
“Love, a crown it does not see,” Yoda continued softly. “A heart does not weigh titles. It does not count shadows. It only knows what it feels. And feel, you do.”
Rex stood there, staring at the small figure before him, his chest tight with everything he couldn’t say. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths.
Finally, Yoda stepped closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “A choice, you have. To reach for what your heart wants, or let it slip into the shadows.” He turned slowly, his steps soft against the marble as he made his way back toward the staircase. “Take her to the market, you should. Light, laughter, and life there is. Perhaps there, a path you will see.”
Rex blinked, startled. “The market?”
“Tradition, it is,” Yoda said, glancing back with a faint smile. “Even love blooms in markets, when given the chance.”
And with that, Yoda disappeared into the darkness, leaving Rex alone in the empty ballroom, his words hanging like starlight in the air.
***
Rex turned back to the window, his reflection faint in the moonlit glass. Yoda’s words echoed in his mind—afraid to fall, afraid of what it changes.
He had spent so long telling himself he was just the spare—Cody’s shadow, the man who filled the gaps when necessary. He didn’t hold the weight of a throne, didn’t have the legacy of Alderia balanced on his shoulders. But now, as he stood in the stillness of the ballroom, one thing became painfully clear:
(Y/n) mattered.
To him.
He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet, frustrated sigh. Yoda was right—he couldn’t hide from this. From her. From the way she made him feel like he wasn’t just a shadow of someone greater. When she looked at him—really looked at him—he felt like Rex. Just Rex.
And if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t want to let that go.
His lips tugged into a small, lopsided smile, the kind he usually wore when he’d decided on some reckless idea he wouldn’t let go of.
“The market, huh?” he muttered to himself, his voice a low murmur in the empty room. “All right, Master Yoda. You win.”
His gaze lingered on the reflection of the snow-covered garden outside. He could already picture it—the colorful stalls, the soft glow of lanterns, the scent of sweet pastries and spiced cider in the cold air. It would be a place to breathe, a place where she wouldn’t have to plan, organize, or hold the weight of the world.
And maybe, just maybe, a place where he could show her what he was starting to feel—what he was no longer afraid to admit.
Rex turned, a new resolve settling in his chest as he strode toward the door. Tomorrow, he would ask her.
And this time, he wouldn’t let her say no.
****
The day felt busier than most. The air of the palace buzzed with quiet urgency as servants darted to and fro, arms filled with flowers, fabric, and scrolls, all in preparation for the Christmas Ball only three days away. Everywhere (Y/n) turned, someone needed her attention.
A group of musicians waited in the east wing for her approval of their selections. Bakers wanted confirmation of the dessert menu. The head steward begged her for one last final list of the noble families attending. The suitors—always elegant, always smiling—floated through the palace halls like perfectly arranged decorations, though none of their efforts seemed to touch Cody in the way (Y/n) had hoped.
He had to make his choice soon, and the pressure weighed on all of them.
(Y/n) pressed a hand to her temple as she moved through the grand hallway, her boots clicking faintly against the marble. She was tired. She hadn’t slept well—thoughts of the previous day and the midnight conversation with Yoda kept her tossing and turning.
More than anything, though, she couldn’t stop thinking about Rex.
The way he’d looked at her during the dance, the way his hand had lingered in hers just a little longer than it should have. It had felt real—as if, for just one fleeting moment, everything she’d been ignoring, denying, and burying deep inside had broken through the surface.
It terrified her. And yet…
“(Y/n)!”
His voice broke through her spiraling thoughts, warm and unmistakably his. She turned, and there he was—Rex, coming down the hall with that effortless stride of his, his hair still slightly tousled, as if he hadn’t bothered to tame it this morning. His tunic was less formal than usual, but he wore it like a prince all the same.
“Rex,” she greeted, forcing a breath of calm into her voice. “Shouldn’t you be—”
“Somewhere else?” he finished with a grin, stepping closer. “Probably. But that can wait.”
She arched a brow, trying to hold her ground as he stopped just in front of her. His presence had a way of filling every space, and she hated how easily it disarmed her.
“What do you need?” she asked, her tone crisp despite the fluttering in her chest.
Rex tilted his head slightly, studying her with that maddening look he always wore when he saw right through her. “What you need,” he corrected softly. “You’ve been running yourself into the ground, (Y/n). If you don’t stop, you’re going to collapse before the ball.”
She frowned, opening her mouth to argue, but he cut her off before she could.
“No excuses,” Rex said firmly, though his smile remained. “I’m taking you out.”
“Out?” she repeated, blinking in surprise. “Out where?”
“To the Christmas market in the old town,” he replied, hands in his pockets, as though the idea were the simplest thing in the world. “I already made arrangements. You can’t say no.”
(Y/n) stared at him, thrown completely off balance. “Rex, I can’t. There’s too much to—”
“Delegate,” he finished smoothly. “Hunter, Wolffe, and the rest of them can keep Cody entertained while you’re gone. And I promise the palace won’t burn down in your absence.”
“I don’t think—”
“(Y/n).” His voice softened, and she faltered. “Come with me. Just for a few hours. You’ve earned it.”
She swallowed, searching his face for some sign that this was just another one of his games, but there was none. His gaze held hers, steady and sincere, and suddenly, the argument she was building crumbled into nothing.
“Fine,” she murmured at last, unable to stop the way her lips curved into the faintest smile. “But just for a little while.”
Rex’s grin widened, bright and triumphant. “That’s all I need.”
***
The old town square was alive with color, light, and laughter. Twinkling lanterns were strung between wooden stalls, their glow spilling across the snow-dusted cobblestones like starlight. The scents of cinnamon, roasted chestnuts, and spiced cider filled the air, mixing with the faint notes of a quartet playing carols near the square’s fountain.
(Y/n) couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so untethered.
The palace, with all its marble halls and heavy expectations, felt a world away as she walked beside Rex, their footsteps crunching softly through the snow. The crowd pressed in around them—children chasing each other with sticky candy canes in hand, merchants calling out their wares—but none of it overwhelmed her.
For once, she wasn’t thinking about the next event or the next set of introductions. She wasn’t calculating smiles or matching personalities. She was… here.
“This is beautiful,” (Y/n) said softly, looking around as they passed a stall selling hand-carved figurines.
“It’s tradition,” Rex replied, glancing sideways at her. “The market happens every year. The best food, the best gifts, the best stories—it’s all here.”
(Y/n) smiled faintly, her breath visible in the cold air. “I don’t remember the last time I visited a market. Not like this.”
“Well, that’s a tragedy,” Rex said with mock seriousness, placing a hand over his heart. “We’ll have to fix that.”
She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up. “You can’t fix everything, you know.”
“I can try,” he replied, and though the words were playful, there was something deeper in his tone that made her chest tighten.
***
They wandered between the stalls, stopping to admire hand-embroidered scarves and baskets of sugared almonds. Rex bought them both cups of steaming cider, and (Y/n) found herself smiling more than she had in weeks.
At one point, they passed a small stall draped in velvet, its table covered with delicate pieces of jewelry—rings, brooches, and necklaces that caught the light like drops of water.
Rex paused, his gaze falling on something nestled in the center. “Wait here,” he murmured, stepping forward without explanation.
(Y/n) blinked, watching as he spoke briefly with the vendor, who handed him something small. When Rex turned back, he held a simple silver necklace in his hand. Dangling from its chain was a small charm shaped like a winter rose—delicate, its petals etched with painstaking care.
“For you,” he said, holding it out to her.
(Y/n) froze, her heart stumbling. “What? Rex, you don’t—”
“I do,” he interrupted softly, his gaze locking on hers. “It reminded me of you.”
She stared at him, speechless, as the words settled over her like a blanket of snow. He stepped closer, lifting the necklace slightly, as though asking silent permission to fasten it around her neck. When she nodded, he moved behind her, his fingers brushing against the back of her neck as he clasped it into place.
(Y/n) swallowed hard, her pulse thrumming in her ears. “Rex…”
“It’s just a necklace,” he said quietly, though his voice trembled slightly. “But I hope it reminds you of this. Of… us.”
(Y/n) turned to face him, the charm cool against her skin, her chest too tight for words. She met his gaze—steady, open, and full of something that made her feel fragile and strong all at once.
For the first time, she didn’t fight it—the pull, the spark that had been growing between them since the day they met.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Rex smiled, small and real. “You’re welcome.”
Around them, the world spun on—lanterns swaying in the breeze, music drifting through the night—but for (Y/n) and Rex, the square was quiet, the space between them alive with everything they couldn’t yet say.
And in that silence, (Y/n) felt it: the shift.
The undeniable truth that she was falling—had already fallen—and she was no longer afraid.
***
The Christmas market was winding down, its vibrant glow fading into the soft hush of evening. Lanterns swayed gently on their strings, their golden light spilling faintly across cobblestones dusted with fresh snow. Merchants packed up their wares, their laughter quieter now, while the music, once lively, had softened into a slow, wistful melody that floated through the crisp winter air.
(Y/n) walked beside **Rex**, her hands tucked deep into the pockets of her cloak. The silver necklace he’d given her lay warm against her skin, its weight strangely comforting. She traced it absently with her thumb as they strolled, the charm a silent reminder of a moment she knew she would carry with her long after she left.
The night sky stretched above them, dark and endless, dotted with stars that shone like diamonds. The moon hung low, bright and full, casting its silver light over the palace grounds as they passed through the gates and into the gardens.
For a long while, they didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. The quiet between them felt full—alive with unspoken words, with the weight of everything that had grown between them in these last few weeks.
(Y/n) finally broke the silence, her voice soft. “Thank you… for tonight.”
Rex glanced at her, his breath visible in the cold air. “For the market? Or the necklace?”
“Both,” (Y/n) said, turning her gaze to him. “It’s been… a long time since I felt this. *Light.*”
Rex smiled faintly, though there was something deeper in his eyes—something softer. “Good. You deserve it.”
(Y/n) looked away again, the sharp edges of her usual defenses slipping. Her heart was unsteady in her chest, her thoughts tangled in a way she couldn’t explain. *What are you doing?* she wondered, the question burning in her mind.
And yet, she couldn’t stop herself.
***
They reached the heart of the gardens—a small clearing flanked by tall evergreen trees, their branches heavy with snow. A narrow path wove through the space, its edges dusted with frost, and the lanterns here were dim, their light muted and golden against the silver glow of the moon.
Rex stopped, his boots crunching softly in the snow as he turned to face her. “Let’s stay here for a minute.”
(Y/n) blinked, surprised. “Here?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged, though there was something uncharacteristically uncertain in the way he shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “I like it. It’s quiet.”
(Y/n) tilted her head, watching him closely. He looked different now—less like the easygoing, teasing Rex she had grown used to, and more like someone carrying something heavy. She felt her chest tighten, as though her own heart recognized the shift.
“Rex?” she asked softly. “What’s wrong?”
He met her gaze then, his stormy blue-gray eyes steady and raw. For the first time, (Y/n) realized how much he was holding back—how much he hadn’t said.
He exhaled slowly, the sound quiet but heavy in the still air. “Nothing’s wrong,” he murmured. “Not really. I just…”
(Y/n)’s pulse quickened as he paused, his gaze dropping briefly before he looked back up at her.
“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this,” Rex admitted, his voice low, rough around the edges. “Because the truth is, I’ve never been very good at this sort of thing.”
“At what sort of thing?” (Y/n) asked, though she already felt the answer forming somewhere deep inside her.
“At being honest about what I want,” Rex said simply, his expression softening in a way that made her throat tighten. “About how I feel.”
(Y/n)’s breath hitched as he stepped closer, his movements careful, deliberate, as though afraid he might scare her away.
“I’ve come to care about you, (Y/n),” Rex confessed, the words slipping from him like something he’d been holding onto for too long. “More than I ever expected to. More than I should.”
(Y/n) blinked up at him, stunned into silence. Her heart thudded so loudly in her chest she was certain he could hear it. “Rex…”
He shook his head faintly, his voice gentler now. “I know you’re leaving after the ball. You’re here to do a job, and you’ve done it better than anyone else ever could. But you’ve been here for weeks, (Y/n)—weeks where you’ve managed to make this place feel alive again. You’ve made *me* feel alive again.”
Her throat tightened, her breath trembling as she met his gaze. His words weren’t poetic or rehearsed. They were raw, unpolished—real.
“I don’t know what happens after this,” Rex continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t want to let this slip away without knowing if there’s a chance for more.”
(Y/n) stared up at him, her heart shattering and reforming all at once. “Rex,” she whispered, the sound so small it nearly disappeared into the night. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do,” he said firmly, his hand lifting just slightly before it fell back to his side, as though he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch her. “I’ve spent my whole life being the spare—the one people forget about when they aren’t looking. But you…” He smiled faintly, his gaze searching hers. “You see me. You always have.”
(Y/n) swallowed hard, her chest aching with the truth of it. “And what if it’s too late? What if…”
“It’s not,” Rex said softly, stepping even closer now. The space between them was gone, the air electric with the weight of everything they felt but hadn’t said. “It’s not too late unless we let it be.”
(Y/n) looked up at him, her pulse wild, her breath coming in shallow waves. She felt it then—the pull between them, like gravity itself had shifted, drawing her closer to him with a force she couldn’t resist.
“Rex,” she murmured, her voice breaking.
And then he kissed her.
****
The moment their lips met, the world around them seemed to disappear. The snow fell softly, the cold air biting at their cheeks, but neither of them felt it. (Y/n)’s hands found his chest, gripping his coat as though afraid the moment might shatter if she let go.
Rex’s arms came around her, steady and strong, holding her like she was something precious. His lips were warm against hers, unhurried, reverent, as though he were trying to memorize the way she tasted, the way she felt in his arms.
Time slowed, stretched, and then ceased to exist altogether. (Y/n)’s heart soared, her chest filled with something so overwhelming it left her breathless. The kiss was tender, soft at first, then deepened just enough to send warmth sparking through her veins.
When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingling in the cold air, Rex didn’t step back. He stayed close, his forehead resting gently against hers as snowflakes clung to his hair and lashes.
(Y/n) opened her eyes slowly, her pulse still pounding as she looked up at him. He smiled softly, his hands lingering at her waist as though he couldn’t bear to let her go.
“I meant what I said,” Rex whispered, his voice low, his breath warm against her lips. “I want to see where this goes.”
(Y/n) stared at him, her chest aching with the weight of everything she felt. She knew the risks—she’d told herself over and over that she couldn’t afford to feel this way. And yet, in this moment, with Rex holding her like she was the most important thing in the galaxy, she couldn’t deny it anymore.
“Me too,” she whispered, her voice breaking as a tear slipped down her cheek.
Rex smiled again, his thumb brushing the tear away gently. “Then we’ll figure it out. Together.”
(Y/n) smiled through the tears, her heart full in a way it hadn’t been in years. As the snow continued to fall around them, blanketing the world in quiet, shimmering beauty, they stood there—two souls pulled together by something neither of them had planned, but both of them had longed for.
And for the first time, (Y/n) felt it in her bones.
*She wasn’t alone anymore.*
The snow fell in soft, soundless flurries, the world cloaked in silver and quiet. Rex walked beside (Y/n), their shoulders brushing as they moved through the palace corridors, the gentle hum of candle flames flickering in the sconces overhead. The glow turned the walls gold, but it was nothing compared to the warmth (Y/n) still felt in her chest.
The kiss lingered—he lingered—in every part of her. His touch still ghosted over her skin, and the softness in his gaze when he’d pulled away played over and over in her mind like the faintest echo of a song she didn’t want to forget. For the first time in years, she felt untethered—alive, like the world had cracked open just to let her breathe.
And yet, as they walked, that familiar doubt whispered to her. What are you doing? The voice, cruel and persistent, tugged at the edges of her hope. She shouldn’t let herself feel this way. Rex was a prince—a man born into a life far beyond hers—and here she was, daring to imagine she mattered to him.
But when she glanced at him, at the way he looked at her as if there was no one else in the galaxy, the whispers quieted just enough to let her believe.
They reached her room, and (Y/n) slowed to a stop, her heart thudding steadily in her chest. Rex turned to face her, his expression soft in the candlelight, his usual easy charm replaced by something quieter. Something real.
“This is you,” he said softly, though he made no move to leave.
(Y/n) nodded faintly, her hand resting on the door handle, though she didn’t open it. She couldn’t—not yet. The silence between them stretched, heavy and alive, as though it had something to say.
Rex’s eyes searched hers, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I meant everything I said earlier.”
(Y/n) swallowed, her throat tight. “I know.”
He stepped closer then, not too much, just enough for her to feel the pull between them—subtle, magnetic, impossible to deny. “I don’t know what’s going to happen after the ball,” Rex continued, his voice rough but steady. “But I know how I feel about you, (Y/n). And I want to see where this goes.”
(Y/n)’s breath hitched as the weight of his words settled in her chest, tangling with the fragile threads of hope she’d been too afraid to grasp.
“Me too,” she whispered, barely able to admit it out loud.
Rex’s lips curved into a small smile, one so tender it made her heart ache. Slowly, he leaned down, brushing his lips against hers. The kiss was soft—softer even than the first—just a lingering connection that seemed to speak what neither of them could say.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling in the cold air. “Goodnight, (Y/n),” he murmured, his voice like a promise.
“Goodnight, Rex,” she whispered, the words trembling as she tried to hold back the rush of emotions threatening to spill over.
And then he was gone, his footsteps fading into the silence of the corridor.
(Y/n) stood there for a moment, her hand pressed against the door, her heart still pounding, her mind a blur. She felt herself smile softly, one hand drifting to touch the silver winter rose necklace he’d given her earlier.
Maybe… maybe this time was different.
****
The knock at (Y/n)’s door came just as she had settled into the quiet. She froze mid-step, her hand brushing the silver necklace at her throat. For a heartbeat, hope flickered—Rex, she thought, her chest leaping in spite of herself. But then her heart dropped like stone when the knock came again, sharper this time.
Slowly, (Y/n) moved to open the door, bracing herself for whoever it was. And there stood Lady Mara—draped in a heavy cloak of deep velvet, her sharp eyes glinting like shards of black ice in the candlelight. The older woman held herself with regal poise, but there was something predatory in the way she regarded (Y/n), her lips curved faintly in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Good evening, Miss (Y/L/N),” Mara said smoothly, her voice like silk drawn across a blade. “I trust I’m not disturbing you?”
(Y/n) blinked, instinct urging her to close the door, but her manners held her still. “No. Of course not. How can I help you?”
Mara tilted her head, her gaze sweeping the room behind (Y/n) as though cataloging every imperfection. “May I come in?”
(Y/n) hesitated, but something in Mara’s tone made refusal impossible. “Yes… of course.”
Mara stepped inside, her movements deliberate, as though she were staking claim to the room itself. (Y/n) closed the door quietly and turned to face her, forcing herself to meet Mara’s sharp gaze head-on.
“I wanted to speak to you privately,” Mara began, clasping her gloved hands in front of her. “About what I saw tonight.”
(Y/n)’s stomach twisted. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play coy, Miss (Y/L/N),” Mara replied, her voice dipping lower, colder. “I saw you. And Rex. Walking through the halls like you belong here. Kissing him as if you have any right to.”
(Y/n)’s breath caught, her cheeks flushing as though she’d been slapped. “That’s none of your concern.”
Mara raised a brow, her lips curving into a cruel smile. “Isn’t it? You are here to do a job, are you not? To secure a match for the crown prince, not distract his younger brother with… foolish notions.”
(Y/n) swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. “I have not forgotten why I’m here.”
“Oh, but you have,” Mara said, her words soft but laced with venom. She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto (Y/n)’s like a hunter cornering prey. “You think Rex’s attention means something. That you mean something to him.”
(Y/n)’s throat tightened, her pulse pounding painfully in her ears. “I never said that.”
“You don’t need to,” Mara snapped, her tone sharpening. “I see it in your face. In the way you look at him. You’re not the first woman to fall for a prince’s easy smile and empty words, and you won’t be the last. You’re convenient, Miss (Y/L/N). That’s all.”
(Y/n) flinched, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “That’s not true.”
Mara’s smile widened, merciless now. “Isn’t it? A prince flirts with you, walks you through the snow, kisses you, and suddenly you think you’re special. That you have a place here. Tell me, do you truly believe that Rex—Prince Rex—would choose you over anyone else? Over someone of equal station, with real worth to his family?”
(Y/n) recoiled as though she’d been struck, her chest aching as Mara’s words dug in like needles beneath her skin.
“I—he’s not like that,” (Y/n) stammered, but her voice faltered, fragile and weak.
“Of course he is,” Mara said smoothly, her gaze cutting. “He is a prince, born to privilege and power. Do you honestly believe you’re anything more than a pleasant diversion for him? A fleeting amusement before the ball ends and your carriage takes you far away from here?”
(Y/n)’s vision blurred with tears, but she refused to let them fall. “You don’t know him. You don’t know us.”
Mara’s face hardened, her voice dropping to an icy whisper. “You poor, naïve girl. There is no us. There never was. Rex will marry someone suited to his role. Someone worthy of his name. And you? You’ll be forgotten as soon as you leave.”
The words twisted like knives in (Y/n)’s chest, each syllable tearing through the fragile hope she’d let herself hold. “Why are you doing this?” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“Because it is the truth,” Mara said, her expression unyielding. “You don’t belong here, Miss (Y/L/N). This world, this palace, these men—you’re nothing more than a shadow passing through their lives. You will do your job. You will secure a match for Cody. And then you will leave. That is your place.”
(Y/n)’s breath trembled as she stood there, frozen in place. The silver necklace Rex had given her felt heavier now, the charm cold against her skin, like a cruel reminder of everything Mara had just said.
Mara turned toward the door, her cloak sweeping behind her like the wing of a raven. She paused, just before stepping out, and glanced back over her shoulder.
“One last piece of advice, Miss (Y/L/N),” she said, her tone almost gentle now, though it dripped with poison. “Don’t speak to Rex again. Spare yourself the humiliation of realizing you were nothing more than a momentary distraction. If you care for him at all, you’ll leave quietly before you become a stain on his name.”
The door closed behind her with a soft, deliberate click, leaving (Y/n) alone in the silence.
***
(Y/n) sat on the edge of her bed, the room spinning around her in cruel, slow motion. Her hands trembled in her lap, the silver winter rose necklace hanging limply from her fingers like a lifeline that had already snapped. She stared at it—at the delicate charm Rex had given her, its petals etched so carefully, so lovingly—and felt as though it were mocking her.
*Convenient.*
*Amusing himself.*
Lady Mara’s words echoed through her head, each syllable a strike of a hammer against the fragile glass of her heart. Her chest felt hollow, emptied of all the warmth she’d let herself feel over these last few weeks. It had been so real—*he* had been so real—but now she saw it for what it was.
A lie.
(Y/n)’s vision blurred as tears threatened to spill again, but she fought them. She didn’t deserve to cry. She had been foolish, *stupid*, to let herself believe that someone like Rex—a prince, a man who could have anyone—would care about her.
Because no one ever really had.
***
She rose shakily to her feet, her arms wrapping tightly around herself as she paced the small confines of her room. Her thoughts tangled and twisted, clawing at the walls she’d built around her heart so long ago—walls Rex had torn down with nothing more than soft words and that damnable smile of his.
She had spent her life keeping people at arm’s length. It was safer that way.
Back on Coruscant, she had been the quiet girl—the invisible one. Always on the outside looking in, always careful to never let anyone close. She’d learned early on that people would use her, *hurt* her, if she gave them the chance. They would smile to her face, take what they wanted, and then leave her behind as if she had been nothing but dust in the wind.
She’d been bullied as a child, mocked for being too shy, too plain, too different. Then, as she grew older, the cruelty had changed, but it hadn’t softened. People had found new ways to wound her—empty promises, sharp laughter behind her back, friendships that had been nothing more than tools for their own gain.
So she’d built her walls. She’d told herself she didn’t need anyone. That it was better to watch from the outside than to risk being broken again.
And then **Rex** came.
She let out a strangled sob, her hand covering her mouth as tears began to slip down her cheeks, hot and bitter.
*Why him? Why now?*
He had walked into her life with that easy smile, that infuriating charm, and that quiet way of seeing straight through her. He’d dismantled every defense she’d so carefully constructed—brick by brick—without her even realizing it. And before she knew it, she’d let him in. She’d *trusted* him.
She had let herself believe that he cared.
And that was her mistake.
(Y/n) sank to her knees on the cold floor, her sobs escaping unchecked now, the sound small and broken in the dark room. Her tears blurred her vision as she clutched the necklace tighter, the chain biting into her skin.
*How could you be so stupid?* she berated herself, the words reverberating in her skull like a cruel chant.
How could she have let him kiss her, hold her, whisper things that made her feel like she mattered?
How could she have been so blind, so naïve, to think she could ever be enough for someone like him?
*You’re a distraction. That’s all.*
The truth of it gutted her. She had always been the girl no one noticed, the one who was easy to forget. Why would Rex—charming, handsome, a prince—see her as anything more than an amusement to pass the time?
The thought of him—his voice, his laughter, his lips against hers—sent a new wave of pain tearing through her chest.
(Y/n) pressed a hand to her heart, as though she could physically hold it together, but it was no use. It had already shattered.
***
The room around her was suffocating, the fire in the hearth nothing more than a weak ember now. She could feel the chill creeping through the stones, but it was nothing compared to the cold sinking into her bones.
“Never again,” she whispered hoarsely to the empty room, her voice shaking. “I’ll never let anyone in again.”
She had broken her own rule—*the rule she had lived by for years.* She had let herself care. She had let herself hope. And now, she was left with nothing but the wreckage of her own foolishness.
She curled into herself on the floor, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees as the tears kept falling. Each breath was a struggle, like shards of glass were lodged in her chest, and no matter how hard she tried to hold herself together, the pieces of her heart kept slipping through her fingers.
Rex had made her feel seen—*special.* But now, every glance, every word, every kiss replayed in her mind like a cruel joke, twisting the knife deeper.
It was a betrayal she couldn’t bear.
The man who had broken down her walls had left her more vulnerable than she had ever been before. And now she was here—something she swore she’d never let herself be again: **a heartbroken woman.**
***
The hours dragged on, and (Y/n) finally forced herself back into bed, though sleep refused to come. She lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, her chest hollow and aching.
She couldn’t leave—not yet. Her duty still held her here, the weight of her job pressing down on her shoulders like iron chains. She wouldn’t abandon her work.
But as soon as the ball was over, she would be gone. She would leave this palace, this planet, and Rex—**Rex**—behind her.
And she would never look back.
(Y/n) squeezed her eyes shut, tears slipping silently onto the pillow as she clutched the silver necklace one last time.
*Never again,* she thought bitterly, the words echoing in her soul. *Never again.*
And as the snow fell softly outside her window, blanketing the world in pure, untouched white, (Y/n) cried herself into an exhausted, broken sleep—her dreams filled with the ghost of a man she had dared to let herself love.
***
The morning light filtered weakly through the heavy drapes of (Y/n)'s room, casting faint golden streaks across the floor. The fire had long gone cold in the hearth, leaving the air sharp with the chill of winter. (Y/n) sat at the small writing desk near her window, papers spread out in a chaotic mess before her. Notes, names, and profiles of every noblewoman who had come to meet Cody were scribbled and annotated with desperate precision.
Her red-rimmed eyes traced the words mechanically, her quill scratching softly against parchment as she double-checked the ball arrangements for the fifth time that morning. Tea with Cody was scheduled for mid-afternoon, but it was more out of duty than any real expectation. He doesn’t want to marry any of them, she thought bitterly, staring down at the empty box beside the name of the supposed “front-runner.”
The realization sat like a stone in her stomach, pressing down on her heart. For the first time, she thought with a sting of shame, I’ve failed.
The words felt damning, as though they’d been written across her soul for all to see. She had failed Cody, failed Jaster, and worst of all, she’d failed herself. The woman who had arrived here weeks ago—confident, composed, untouched by emotion—was gone, replaced by someone hollow and fragile.
Her reflection in the mirror beside the desk caught her eye. Her cheeks were pale, her skin splotched from a night of crying, her eyes shadowed and weary. She looked nothing like the woman Rex had kissed under the falling snow only hours ago.
Rex.
His name alone sent a fresh ache through her chest, and (Y/n) gripped the edge of the desk to steady herself, her knuckles white. The kiss, the warmth of his touch, the quiet way he’d said he cared—it had all felt so real. And then Mara’s words had cut through it like shards of glass, leaving her bleeding in the wreckage of her own foolish hope.
You were a distraction. That’s all.
A knock at the door broke through the silence, startling her. (Y/n) straightened instinctively, wiping at her cheeks with trembling hands before calling out, “Come in.”
A palace attendant entered, carrying a small box wrapped in deep blue ribbon. “This just arrived for you, miss.”
(Y/n)’s brow furrowed as she took the box with hesitation, nodding her thanks before the attendant bowed and quietly exited the room. She stared at the box for a moment before carefully untying the ribbon, her breath catching when she saw what lay inside.
A small, folded letter.
Her hands trembled as she picked it up, unfolding it slowly. The handwriting was familiar—Rex’s, bold and slightly untidy, as though he’d written it in a hurry.
***
(Y/n),
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but I do know I want you there—at the ball, by my side. Not as a matchmaker. As my guest. I want you to see what you’ve come to mean to me, even if I haven’t said it right. Be my guest tomorrow evening. Please.
—Rex
***
(Y/n)’s breath hitched as she read the words, her vision blurring. For a moment, her heart betrayed her, fluttering weakly against the walls she was trying so desperately to rebuild.
But then anger—raw and sharp—swallowed the ache.
Is this another game? Another fleeting whim? Her mind hissed bitterly. Hadn’t she been through enough already?
With shaking hands, (Y/n) crumpled the letter into a tight ball, her tears stinging as they spilled fresh and hot down her cheeks. “No,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Not again.”
She stood abruptly, wiping at her face with her sleeve, her movements jerky and frantic as she forced herself to push the emotions back. She couldn’t do this. She wouldn’t let him fool her again.
Duty first. Focus on what you can control
***
The crackle of the fire was the only sound in Cody’s office, a rhythmic pop that filled the heavy quiet like the ticking of a clock. Outside, snow drifted down in slow spirals, clinging to the tall windows and blanketing the palace in an untouched stillness. But the peace of the world outside didn’t touch Cody’s mind. He sat at his desk, one hand cradling a steaming cup of tea that he hadn’t taken a sip of in over ten minutes. His gaze was fixed somewhere distant, lost in the memory of last night.
The moment Rex had barged into his chambers, grinning like a fool, out of breath and flushed from the cold, was burned into his thoughts. Cody could still see his younger brother as if he were standing before him now—his tunic rumpled, his hair a golden mess of windblown strands, and the look on his face…
It was unlike anything Cody had ever seen.
Rex had stumbled into the room without knocking, a rare break in decorum even for him. Cody had been sitting at his own writing desk, reviewing reports from neighboring systems, but one glance at his brother and he knew—something had happened.
“Have you been drinking?” Cody had asked dryly, though he already knew the answer was no.
Rex had laughed at that, a boyish, breathless laugh that came from deep in his chest. He paced the room, his boots thudding against the stone floor, his smile refusing to leave his face. He had the air of a man who’d been struck by something wonderful and entirely unexpected—a man in love.
“No,” Rex had said, still grinning. “But I feel like I have.”
Cody had leaned back in his chair, setting the reports aside. “Do I even want to ask?”
“You should,” Rex replied, his voice warm and full of something Cody couldn’t quite place—joy, maybe. “Because you’re not going to believe this, Cod. I don’t believe it, and it happened to me.”
Cody had arched a brow, his curiosity piqued despite himself. Rex was many things—confident, charming, and altogether too reckless for his own good—but this was different. He seemed… undone. Cody had rarely seen his brother so animated, so unable to sit still.
“Sit down before you wear a hole in the carpet,” Cody had said, trying to keep his tone light.
Rex had ignored him completely, planting his hands on the back of one of the chairs as he turned to face Cody. The grin on his face had softened slightly, his voice quieting as though speaking the truth aloud might shatter something delicate.
“I kissed her,” he said, his words slow and deliberate, as though they carried a weight he’d never expected.
The confession hung in the air, and for a moment, Cody could only blink at him. “(Y/n)?”
“Yes. (Y/n).”
The name had fallen from Rex’s lips like a promise, like something sacred. Cody had heard his brother speak of women before—teasing mentions, lighthearted flirtations that never carried much depth. Rex had never been one to dwell on feelings or entangle himself in anything serious. He flirted, charmed, and moved on before anyone could get too close.
But this wasn’t that.
The look in Rex’s eyes said it all. There was no jest in his voice, no bravado. For once, his brother was unguarded, and Cody could see exactly what he felt.
“How?” Cody had asked simply, though he wasn’t sure what he was really asking.
Rex had let out a soft, incredulous laugh as he sank into the chair at last, running a hand through his hair. “How? I don’t know, Cody. I don’t know how or when or why it happened, but it has. It hit me like a blaster to the chest.”
The words had surprised Cody. Rex had never been one for flowery speeches or poetic sentiments, but in that moment, his voice held something deeper—something real.
“I’ve known her for weeks,” Rex continued, leaning forward, his elbows braced on his knees. “I’ve seen her work herself to the bone. I’ve watched her handle all of us—Cody, all of us—with this quiet strength like she’s holding the whole galaxy together on her own. And she’s…”
He paused, his voice trailing off as though searching for words that didn’t exist. When he looked up at Cody again, his expression was open and raw, stripped of every mask he’d ever worn.
“She’s incredible,” Rex finished softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m in love with her.”
Cody had felt the weight of those words settle over the room like snow on branches—quiet and undeniable.
“You’re serious,” Cody had said, though it wasn’t really a question.
Rex had smiled faintly, a self-deprecating curve of his lips. “I know it’s ridiculous. I know it’s too fast, and maybe I’m a damn fool for saying it out loud, but it’s the truth.” He looked up again, his stormy blue-gray eyes filled with quiet determination. “I love her, Cody. And I think… I think she feels something for me too.”
Cody had studied his brother then—really studied him. Rex was still grinning faintly, still carrying that boyish charm, but there was something deeper beneath it. A steadiness Cody hadn’t seen in him before. It wasn’t infatuation or some fleeting whim. This was different.
“You don’t do this lightly, do you?” Cody had asked, his voice softer now.
Rex shook his head. “No. Not this.” He let out a long breath, leaning back in the chair. “I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know how she feels about all of it. But I’m not going to let this slip through my fingers, Cody. Not without trying.”
Cody had nodded slowly, feeling a faint smile tug at his own lips despite himself. “So you’re taking her to the ball, then?”
Rex’s grin had returned, bright and full of hope. “Yeah. I am.”
“And what if she says no?” Cody had teased, though his words lacked any true bite.
“She won’t,” Rex had replied simply, as though he knew something Cody didn’t. “Not this time.”
***
### **The Cracks in the Foundation**
The office door opened slowly, as if whoever was behind it was reluctant to enter. Cody looked up from his desk, his thoughts scattering as his sharp gaze landed on (Y/n). At first, he noticed only her poise—her usual straight back, her controlled step—but it took mere seconds for him to see through the mask.
Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, fingers digging into her palms as though she could anchor herself through pain alone. The faint redness around her eyes, the pallor in her skin, and the way she didn’t quite look at him made his stomach drop. This wasn’t the (Y/n) he had come to know over the past weeks.
“(Y/n),” he said, his voice soft but deliberate as he rose to his feet. “Sit.”
She hesitated, lingering near the door like an outsider in her own life. For a moment, Cody thought she might refuse, but then she moved forward. Each step seemed heavier than the last, her skirts barely brushing the floor as though even that small motion was too much effort. She lowered herself into the chair across from his desk with mechanical precision, keeping her head bowed.
Cody watched her for a long moment, waiting, his instincts prickling. Something was deeply wrong. Rex’s words echoed in his mind from the night before, words spoken with such certainty, such quiet joy.
“She’s the one, Cody. I don’t know how, but she is. I feel it in my bones. I don’t want to imagine a world where she’s not there.”
And yet the woman sitting before him now—her hands trembling in her lap, her shoulders curled in on themselves—wasn’t the woman Rex had described.
Cody sat back down, his voice carefully measured. “What happened?”
(Y/n) stiffened, her head snapping up for the first time, though her gaze didn’t quite meet his. “Nothing,” she said, the word clipped and rehearsed.
“That’s not true.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied immediately, as though the words were her only shield.
“It matters to me,” Cody pressed, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “You look like someone who hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten, and hasn’t stopped crying since yesterday. That’s not nothing, (Y/n).”
“I’m fine,” she shot back quickly, her voice cracking on the last syllable.
Cody narrowed his gaze, frustration flickering in his chest. He wasn’t a man who pried unnecessarily, but this wasn’t something he could leave untouched. Not when his brother had come to him the night before with eyes full of love and the kind of hope Cody had rarely seen in him.
“My brother loves you,” he said plainly, testing her reaction.
The words struck her like a slap. She flinched visibly, her breath catching sharply in her throat. “Don’t,” she whispered hoarsely, her eyes finally darting to meet his for a fleeting second before she looked away again.
“Don’t what?” Cody asked, his voice low but unyielding. “Don’t mention Rex?”
Her lip trembled faintly, and for the first time, he saw the tears gathering again in her eyes. “Please,” she whispered. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
Cody exhaled slowly, his brow furrowed as he tried to piece together what was happening. “You don’t want to talk about him,” he repeated carefully, his tone soft but insistent. “Why? What happened between you?”
“Nothing happened,” she said quickly, the words spilling out as if rehearsed, but the way her voice wavered told him otherwise.
“(Y/n),” Cody said, his voice firm but kind. “Rex came to me last night. He told me about you. He told me what you meant to him. That he loves you. I’ve never seen him so sure of anything—so certain. And now you’re sitting here looking like you’re ready to break apart. Did he… did he say something to you? Did he do something?”
The tears that had been threatening finally spilled over, sliding down her cheeks as she shook her head fiercely. “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “He didn’t say anything. He didn’t do anything.”
“Then what?” Cody pressed, his voice softening again as he leaned closer. “(Y/n), I need you to tell me what’s happened. Because this—” He gestured at her faintly, taking in the tears, the hollow look in her eyes. “This isn’t you. And it’s not Rex either.”
(Y/n) sucked in a shaky breath, her hands still trembling as she pressed them tightly against her knees. She looked up at him then, her tear-streaked face raw with pain. “I’m nothing to him, Cody,” she choked out. “I was just… convenient. That’s what I was told. A distraction. Nothing more.”
Cody froze, his expression darkening as the weight of her words sank in. “Who told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter,” (Y/n) said, her voice breaking as she looked away again. “They’re right. I was stupid to believe it could be anything more.”
Cody’s jaw tightened, a flare of anger rising beneath his calm exterior. “(Y/n),” he said quietly, but there was an edge to his voice now. “Who told you that? Because I can tell you now—it’s a lie.”
“It’s not a lie!” she cried suddenly, her voice sharp and broken all at once. She looked at him with eyes full of anguish, her tears falling unchecked. “Don’t you understand? It’s always like this. Every time I let someone in, I get hurt. I’ve seen it before. People like me don’t… don’t get chosen. Not for real.”
Cody’s heart ached at her words, at the bitterness and brokenness she carried like a scar across her soul. “You’re wrong,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the tightness in his chest. “You’re wrong, (Y/n). And whoever told you that—they were wrong too.”
She shook her head, the tears still falling. “You don’t understand—”
“No, *you* don’t understand,” Cody cut her off, his tone quiet but resolute. “I know my brother. Rex isn’t playing games. He’s not pretending. He’s not the kind of man who says he loves someone unless he means it with everything he is.”
(Y/n) stared at him, stunned into silence, her breath hitching.
“I’ve seen how he looks at you,” Cody continued, his voice softening as he leaned back. “The way he talks about you. You’ve changed him, (Y/n), in ways he didn’t think were possible. And he’s not going to let you go. Not unless you push him away.”
(Y/n) blinked rapidly, the tears streaking her face as she tried to process his words. “I can’t,” she whispered finally. “I can’t let myself believe that.”
“Why not?” Cody asked softly.
“Because if I’m wrong,” she whispered, her voice breaking, “it will destroy me.”
The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. Cody watched her for a long moment, his heart twisting at the sight of her pain. “You’re not wrong,” he said quietly. “But if you let this lie take root—if you let it steal this from you—you’ll regret it.”
(Y/n) swallowed hard, rising abruptly to her feet. “I need to go,” she whispered, her voice hollow as she turned toward the door.
“(Y/n),” Cody called after her, his voice calm but firm.
She paused with her hand on the knob, her shoulders trembling.
“Don’t let someone else’s cruelty decide what’s real for you,” he said softly. “Rex loves you. And deep down, you know it too.”
(Y/n) stood frozen for a long moment, but she didn’t turn back. She slipped out of the room quietly, closing the door behind her.
Cody exhaled slowly, the silence pressing heavily around him as he stared at the empty chair she had left behind. Whoever had poisoned her mind with those words—whoever had broken her faith in Rex, and in herself—would answer for it.
And Cody would see to it that they did.
****
The door to Cody’s office clicked shut behind (Y/n), the sound far louder in the suffocating silence she left in her wake. Cody remained still for a long moment, staring at the empty chair where she had sat, her trembling hands folded in her lap, her face streaked with silent tears.
He had been calm, steady, as he always was, but now… now the mask was slipping. His fingers drummed absently against the arm of his chair as his thoughts churned, piecing together the puzzle of what had just happened. **Whoever had told (Y/n) those lies had succeeded in breaking her—and Rex—without either of them knowing it.**
A quiet, sharp breath left him, one hand curling into a fist against the desk. *Who would do this?* (Y/n) hadn’t told him directly, but Cody wasn’t an idiot. He’d grown up in a palace full of whispers, a place where secrets were weapons, and doubt could tear a person apart from the inside. Someone had said the exact words (Y/n) feared most—had struck at her deepest insecurities and watched the damage unfold.
And worse, Rex didn’t even know.
With determination hardening in his chest, Cody rose to his feet. He moved with purpose now, his usual controlled calm edged with simmering frustration. **No one**—not in this palace, not anywhere—had the right to break his brother’s heart like this. And whoever had sunk their claws into (Y/n)’s mind was about to face consequences.
But first, he needed to tell Rex.
---
Cody found his brother in the west wing, in one of the palace’s many large, sunlit galleries. The windows stretched from the polished marble floors to the ceiling, framed with dark wood and frosted from the cold outside. Beneath them, Rex stood, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark trousers, staring out at the snowy landscape beyond.
He looked… different. The lighthearted man who had joked and teased so often had been replaced by someone quieter, more still. Cody didn’t need to see his face to know something was wrong. There was a weight to the way Rex stood, as though he were bracing himself against something he couldn’t quite name.
Cody paused for just a second before stepping forward. “Rex.”
Rex turned slightly, his profile coming into view. The faint smile he wore was automatic—habit, not genuine—and it vanished as quickly as it appeared when he saw Cody’s expression.
“Cody.” Rex straightened, his brows pulling together in concern as he stepped away from the window. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Cody didn’t answer immediately. He studied his brother for a moment, noting the faint tension in his shoulders, the unspoken questions in his gaze. Rex was good at hiding his emotions, at masking them with humor and charm, but now… now he looked like a man who had been on edge for hours, though he didn’t yet know why.
“It’s (Y/n),” Cody said finally, his voice quiet but firm.
At her name, Rex’s face changed. His eyes widened just slightly, and that faint tension in his shoulders shifted into something sharper—something like worry. “What about her?”
Cody exhaled slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I spoke with her just now.”
Rex’s lips parted faintly as if to ask a question, but he said nothing. He just watched Cody, waiting, his gaze full of apprehension.
“She’s hurt,” Cody continued. “I don’t mean tired or overwhelmed—I mean *hurt*. Something’s been said to her, something cruel. And it’s broken her, Rex.”
Rex’s entire demeanor shifted at those words. His hands dropped from his pockets, fingers twitching faintly as though he wanted to grab hold of something—**anything**—to steady himself. “What do you mean?”
“I mean someone told her she was nothing to you,” Cody said evenly. “That she’s just a distraction. That none of this—whatever is between you—meant anything.”
Rex’s face froze. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at Cody as though he couldn’t comprehend the words. Then, slowly, something dark flickered across his expression. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his breath audibly sharp as it left him.
“They told her *what*?” Rex’s voice was low, a near growl, edged with disbelief and fury.
Cody held his gaze, his own anger rising to match his brother’s. “You heard me. She believes it, Rex. She sat in my office crying, convinced that you don’t care about her. That she’s meaningless to you.”
Rex took a step back, shaking his head as though trying to clear it. “No,” he said hoarsely. “No, that’s not—how could she think that?”
“Because someone made her,” Cody replied, his voice cold now. “Someone said exactly what she’s always been afraid to hear. Whoever it was knew where to strike, Rex, and they did it perfectly.”
Rex turned abruptly, running both hands through his hair, pacing a few steps like a caged animal. His breathing was uneven now, his movements full of restless, chaotic energy. “But I—” He stopped, spinning back to face Cody. “I *told* her. I told her how I felt. I told her I love her.”
“She doesn’t believe you,” Cody said quietly, watching his brother’s devastation unfold. “Not now. Not after this.”
Rex stared at him, his chest rising and falling heavily as his fists flexed and unclenched at his sides. “Who?” he demanded, his voice low, rough. “Who said it?”
“I don’t know yet,” Cody admitted, his brow furrowing. “She wouldn’t tell me. But whoever it was, they hit their mark.”
Rex let out a sharp, bitter laugh, though it was entirely without humor. He turned away again, bracing his hands against the window ledge as he stared out into the snow. “She won’t even look at me,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, as though speaking the words was painful. “I knew something was wrong this morning—I could feel it—but I didn’t know…” He broke off, his shoulders shaking faintly as he gripped the edge of the ledge.
Cody took a step forward, his voice steady. “She’s hurting, Rex. And it’s because someone fed her a lie she was already afraid of believing. If you’re going to fix this, you’re going to have to show her that it’s not true. She’s not going to come to you—not like this.”
Rex turned back to face him, and for a moment, Cody saw it all—the heartbreak, the confusion, the anger. “How?” Rex whispered hoarsely. “How do I show her when she won’t let me in?”
“You start by not giving up,” Cody replied, his voice calm but unyielding. “You don’t let her go. You don’t let *them* win.”
Rex exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face as he absorbed his brother’s words. When he looked up again, there was something different in his expression—resolve, raw and unrelenting. “I’m not giving up on her,” he said softly, but there was steel in his tone. “I don’t care what anyone said to her. I don’t care who it was. I’ll prove them wrong. I’ll prove it to her.”
Cody nodded faintly, satisfied by the certainty in Rex’s voice. “Good,” he said quietly. “Because if anyone deserves that fight, it’s her.”
Rex didn’t respond immediately. He turned back toward the window, his gaze fixed on the falling snow beyond the glass. “I love her, Cody,” he said again, the words raw with emotion. “I can’t lose her like this. Not over a lie.”
“Then don’t,” Cody replied simply.
The silence that followed was heavy, but this time, it was full of something else—determination.
As Rex stood staring into the frozen landscape, Cody turned slightly, his expression darkening as thoughts swirled through his mind. Someone in the palace had done this—someone who knew exactly what to say to wound (Y/n) so deeply. And Cody was going to figure out who.
For now, though, he watched as his brother straightened, shoulders squared, the weight of his resolve solidifying into something almost tangible. Rex wasn’t a man to give up—not on something real. Not on *her.*
And Cody knew, whoever was responsible for this would soon find themselves on the wrong side of both of them.
****
The library was quiet, so still it felt as though the air itself refused to move. Rex pushed open the heavy wooden door, his chest tight as he stepped inside. The soft glow of the fire in the corner hearth barely lit the expansive room, the dark wooden shelves and towering bookcases casting long shadows across the walls. It was a forgotten space, one of the palace’s many hidden corners, and yet it felt heavy with something he couldn’t explain—something unspoken, unresolved.
And then he saw her.
(Y/n) sat on the window seat at the far end of the room, her figure outlined by the faint glow of the snow-covered gardens outside. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, and her forehead rested lightly against the frosted glass. She didn’t move as he entered, didn’t flinch or even glance his way.
But Rex felt the weight of her presence as though it were pulling him under.
For a moment, he simply stood there, his breath caught in his chest. The sight of her—so still, so small—hit him harder than he expected. (Y/n) wasn’t supposed to look like this. She was supposed to be strong, composed, the woman who had taken the palace by storm with her quiet confidence and sharp mind. But now she looked… *broken*.
“(Y/n),” he said softly, his voice low but steady as it broke the silence.
She didn’t respond. Her shoulders tensed slightly, but she didn’t turn to face him.
Rex swallowed hard, his throat tight as he took a hesitant step forward. “I’ve been looking for you,” he added, his voice catching on the words.
“You shouldn’t have,” she murmured, her voice faint and hoarse, as though it had been scraped raw by tears.
Her words stopped him in his tracks. Rex clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he fought to steady himself. “Why not?” he asked quietly, his tone laced with both hurt and frustration. “Why shouldn’t I look for you?”
(Y/n) finally shifted, her head lifting slightly from the window, though she still didn’t turn to face him. “Because it doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice flat but trembling at the edges. “None of it does.”
Rex stared at her, his chest tightening further. The hollow way she spoke, the lifelessness in her tone—it wasn’t her. It wasn’t the (Y/n) he knew.
“It does matter,” he said firmly, taking another step closer. “You matter. To me, (Y/n). You always have.”
She let out a sharp, bitter laugh, the sound cutting through the stillness of the room. It was a sound Rex had never heard from her before, and it sent a chill down his spine.
“Don’t say that,” she whispered, shaking her head as her arms tightened around her knees. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
Rex’s heart clenched painfully at her words, and he took another step forward, his movements slow and deliberate. “Harder?” he repeated, his voice soft but strained. “(Y/n), I don’t understand. What’s happened? What’s changed?”
She finally turned slightly, just enough for him to see her face in profile. Her cheeks were streaked with fresh tears, her lips trembling as she tried—and failed—to steady herself. “What’s changed?” she echoed, her voice breaking. “Everything, Rex. Everything has changed.”
He shook his head, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “No, it hasn’t,” he said, his voice firm. “Nothing has changed—not for me. I told you how I feel, (Y/n). I told you I love you, and I meant every word.”
At that, she turned fully, her tear-filled eyes meeting his. Her gaze was sharp, almost angry, but behind it was something deeper—something fragile, aching.
“Then why does it feel like I’ve been played for a fool?” she said, her voice trembling but cutting. “Why does it feel like everything I believed was a lie?”
Rex froze, the weight of her words hitting him like a blow to the chest. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost disbelieving.
She shook her head again, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Mara was right,” she whispered, her voice so faint it was barely audible.
“Mara?” Rex repeated, his stomach sinking as the name left her lips. His hands clenched at his sides, his frustration threatening to boil over. “What did she tell you, (Y/n)?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, her tone sharper now, though her tears continued to fall. “Because she’s right, Rex. I should have known better. I should have known this wasn’t real.”
“(Y/n),” Rex said, his voice rising slightly, a desperate edge creeping into his tone. “What did she say to you? Tell me.”
She hesitated, her lips parting as though she wanted to speak, but then she shook her head and turned away from him again, her shoulders trembling. “She said I was nothing to you,” she whispered finally, her voice breaking. “That I was just a distraction. A passing amusement. And she was right.”
Rex felt the words like a punch to the gut. His jaw tightened, his hands flexing as he fought to keep himself from shouting. “No,” he said firmly, stepping closer. “No, she wasn’t. (Y/n), she lied to you.”
“Did she?” (Y/n) snapped, turning back to him with a fiery, tear-streaked glare. “Because it all makes sense, Rex. You’re a prince, and I’m…” Her voice broke again, and she looked away, her hands trembling as she swiped at her tears. “I’m no one.”
“You’re not no one,” Rex said fiercely, his voice low and full of conviction. He stepped closer, his hands outstretched as though to reach for her, but he stopped himself, afraid she might pull further away. “You’re *everything* to me, (Y/n). You’ve been everything since the moment you walked into this palace.”
Her breath hitched, her lip trembling as she shook her head. “I can’t believe that,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“Why not?” Rex demanded, his voice softer now, pleading. “Why can’t you believe it? You know how I feel. I’ve shown you. I’ve told you. What else can I do to prove it to you?”
(Y/n) didn’t answer. Her tears fell silently now, her chest rising and falling unevenly as she turned back to the window, her arms wrapping around herself tightly.
“(Y/n),” Rex said again, his voice trembling with emotion as he took another step forward. “Please don’t do this. Don’t let her—don’t let *Mara*—take this from us.”
“It was never ours to take,” (Y/n) said softly, her voice hollow.
Rex froze, his chest heaving as he stared at her, his desperation mounting. “You don’t believe that,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. “You *can’t* believe that.”
(Y/n) turned back to him slowly, her gaze full of sorrow, of something final. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
And with that, she stepped past him, her skirts brushing against his leg as she walked toward the door.
“(Y/n),” Rex called after her, his voice trembling.
She paused in the doorway, her hand resting on the frame. For a moment, he thought she might turn back, might give him one last chance to fix what had been broken. But then she stepped through, her tears glinting faintly in the firelight as they rolled down her cheeks.
Rex stood frozen, staring at the empty doorway long after she was gone, his chest tight with the weight of everything unsaid. For the first time, he felt powerless—powerless to stop her, powerless to fix what Mara had shattered.
And as the fire crackled faintly behind him, Rex knew that this wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t let it be.
***
The palace was a frenzy of last-minute preparations, the hum of activity filling its grand halls like a symphony of barely controlled chaos. Servants bustled to and fro, their hurried footsteps echoing against the polished marble floors. Crystal chandeliers had been polished to a brilliant gleam, casting a soft glow across the ballroom’s ornate decorations. The air was rich with the scent of fresh flowers, their delicate arrangements lining the tables and mantles. Outside, snow continued to fall in soft, silent waves, adding to the magical atmosphere that had been weeks in the making.
But (Y/n) felt none of it.
She moved through the ballroom with a quiet efficiency, her clipboard clasped tightly in her hands. Her dress was simple, her hair pulled back in a low twist—functional rather than festive. She wasn’t there to dazzle or impress. She was there to ensure everything went according to plan. The seating arrangements, the music cues, the placement of the desserts—all of it had her careful, practiced touch. If she kept busy, she could push the ache in her chest aside, bury it beneath a mountain of logistics and perfection.
At least, that was what she told herself.
“Miss (Y/L/N),” a voice called from across the room. (Y/n) looked up to see a steward approaching, his expression polite but slightly harried. “The musicians have asked if you’ll approve the final set list.”
“Of course,” (Y/n) said, nodding briskly. She took the sheet he offered and scanned it with a practiced eye, noting the order of the pieces. She nodded again, her tone steady. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
The steward inclined his head and hurried off, leaving (Y/n) to her thoughts once more. She glanced around the ballroom, her gaze flicking over the glittering chandeliers, the golden accents on the walls, the polished floor that would soon be filled with dancers. It was beautiful. Perfect, even.
And she wanted nothing more than to leave.
The weight of the last few days pressed heavily on her, a knot of tension and sadness coiled deep in her chest. She had heard the whispers that morning—whispers of Mara’s banishment. It seemed that, after years of tormenting her brother’s family, her scheming had finally caught up with her. She had lost her title, her privilege, her place. She was gone, banished from the planet with a severity that spoke to the gravity of her actions.
But the knowledge brought (Y/n) no relief.
She had spent too many sleepless nights replaying Mara’s words, the venom that had dripped from her tone. Even knowing the truth, even knowing that Mara had been cast out, the scars left by her cruelty remained. The doubts Mara had sown still lingered, their whispers far louder than any reassurances (Y/n) could muster.
****
The morning light streamed through the tall arched windows of the palace as (Y/n) sat in one of the side parlors, her clipboard laid forgotten on the table before her. She’d been staring at the seating chart for the ball for what felt like an eternity, the lines and names blurring together. She’d meticulously checked it three times already, but her heart wasn’t in it. Not today. Not after everything.
The door creaked softly, and (Y/n) instinctively straightened, schooling her expression into polite efficiency. She expected a steward, perhaps a musician with yet another last-minute adjustment. Instead, Cody walked in, his usual air of authority softened by the weight he carried behind his steady gaze.
“(Y/n),” he said, his tone quieter than usual as he approached.
“Your Highness,” she said quickly, standing, her professional mask snapping back into place. “Is there something you need? The ball—”
“Stop,” Cody said gently, holding up a hand. “Please, sit.”
(Y/n) hesitated, her grip on the chair tightening. “I’m quite busy, Your Highness. There’s still so much to—”
“(Y/n),” Cody said again, firmer this time. He pulled out the chair across from her and sank into it, folding his arms across his chest as he studied her carefully. “Please.”
She sighed softly and obeyed, though she kept her back straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. She didn’t trust herself to meet his gaze for long, not after the way this week had crumbled around her.
For a moment, Cody said nothing. He just watched her, his sharp eyes taking in the faint shadows under her eyes, the slight tremble in her fingers where they gripped the edge of her skirt. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it.
“I’m not going to marry anyone tonight.”
(Y/n)’s head shot up, her eyes wide as she stared at him in disbelief. “What?”
Cody leaned back slightly, his brow furrowed as though he had already anticipated her reaction. “You heard me. I’m not choosing anyone, (Y/n).”
Her throat felt tight as she searched for the right words. “But… but the ball—the introductions—everything. You said…”
“I know what I said,” Cody interrupted, though his voice remained calm. “And I know how hard you’ve worked to make this happen. But I owe you the truth.” He hesitated for a moment, his gaze softening. “None of the women I met feel right to me. Not one of them.”
(Y/n) swallowed hard, her chest aching with the realization. **Another failure.**
“I see,” she said quietly, looking down at the table to avoid his gaze. “Then I’ve wasted your time. And everyone else’s.”
“Stop that,” Cody said immediately, his voice sharpening just enough to make her look at him again. “You didn’t waste anyone’s time. Least of all mine.”
“Your Highness—”
“(Y/n),” he interrupted, his tone softening again. “Listen to me.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table as he held her gaze with an intensity she hadn’t expected. “I won’t marry someone because it’s convenient. I won’t marry because it’s expected of me. I’ll marry for love, or not at all.”
(Y/n) blinked at him, stunned into silence.
“I know that’s not what people wanted to hear,” Cody continued, his voice thoughtful. “I know what’s at stake—believe me, I do. But I’ve seen what a loveless life can do to a person. I refuse to be that kind of king. And I won’t be that kind of man.”
(Y/n) shifted uncomfortably, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. “And what about the ball tonight?”
“I’ll go,” Cody said simply. “I’ll dance with the woman I liked most out of respect for everything you’ve done. But that’s all it will be—*a dance.* Nothing more.”
(Y/n)’s chest tightened again, and she looked away, staring at the window where snow fell softly beyond the glass. “So that’s it, then,” she said quietly. “Everything I worked for… it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters,” Cody said firmly, and she felt his gaze settle on her again. “You brought people together, (Y/n). You’ve done more for this palace in a few weeks than anyone’s done in years. And more than that, you’ve reminded us of what matters most.”
(Y/n) let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking her head as she stared at the snow. “And what’s that?”
“Love,” Cody said simply.
The word made her stomach twist, and she flinched slightly. “Love,” she repeated, her voice faint, almost hollow.
“Yes.” Cody paused, letting the word settle before continuing. “Which brings me to Rex.”
(Y/n) froze, her breath catching as her gaze shot back to him. “What about him?”
Cody’s expression softened again, though there was a deep seriousness in his eyes. “I know what happened,” he said quietly. “And I know Mara had a hand in it.”
(Y/n)’s throat tightened, the familiar sting of tears threatening her composure. “It doesn’t matter,” she said quickly, her voice trembling. “It’s done.”
“No, it’s not,” Cody countered, his tone gentle but firm. “Because my brother loves you, (Y/n). I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
Her breath hitched at his words, and she looked down, unable to hold his gaze.
“You think you’re not enough,” Cody said softly, his voice cutting through her defenses like a blade. “That’s what Mara told you, isn’t it? That you don’t belong here. That you were just some passing amusement to Rex.”
(Y/n)’s hands curled into fists in her lap, her shoulders trembling slightly.
“But that’s a lie,” Cody continued, his voice unwavering. “Rex hasn’t been the same since the day you walked into this palace. He’s happier, stronger, more alive. You did that, (Y/n). You.”
She looked up then, tears shimmering in her eyes as she shook her head faintly. “I can’t—”
“You can,” Cody said softly. “And if you don’t believe him, believe me. Rex doesn’t give his heart lightly. When he told me he loved you, I believed him, because I’ve never seen him care about anyone the way he cares about you.”
(Y/n)’s heart pounded painfully in her chest, and for a moment, the walls she had so carefully rebuilt felt as though they might crumble. “He… he said that to you?”
Cody nodded, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, he did. He said he’d never felt this way about anyone before.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “If you walk away from this, (Y/n), you’re not just hurting him—you’re hurting yourself. Don’t let Mara’s lies steal what’s real.”
(Y/n) stared at him, tears spilling down her cheeks now despite her best efforts to hold them back. She shook her head slowly, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can.”
Cody smiled faintly, his gaze kind. “You can,” he said simply. “Because love like this? It’s worth fighting for.”
(Y/n) looked away again, blinking back her tears as his words echoed in her mind. For the first time in days, the smallest flicker of hope stirred within her—a hope she wasn’t ready to name just yet.
Cody stood, pausing at the door as he glanced back at her. “Think about it, (Y/n),” he said gently. “And when you see Rex tonight, really look at him. You’ll see the truth.”
And then he was gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts, her doubts, and the faintest, most fragile spark of belief.
***
The ornate doors to the king’s private study loomed tall and imposing as (Y/n) approached. Her steps were slow, hesitant, as if each stride brought her closer to something she wasn’t ready to face. The ball preparations had been left behind—forgotten, unimportant. Her conversation with Cody echoed in her mind, each word pulling apart the carefully constructed walls she had spent days rebuilding. *“Rex doesn’t give his heart lightly… He loves you, (Y/n). You did that.”*
She wanted to believe him. For the smallest moment, she *had* believed him. But doubt clung to her, wrapping itself around her heart like thorns.
When she reached the study doors, she paused, inhaling sharply as though to steel herself. The guards standing to either side gave her a small nod, their presence silent but acknowledging. One reached for the door, opening it with a soft creak.
“Miss (Y/L/N),” the guard announced respectfully.
Jaster looked up from where he stood by the wide window, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. Snow fell softly outside, blanketing the grounds in untouched white, but it didn’t soften the lines of grief and quiet anger etched into the king’s face. At the sight of her, his stern expression melted into something warmer, though his sharp gaze remained unyielding.
“(Y/n),” Jaster said, his deep voice resonating through the quiet room. “Come in.”
(Y/n) hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside. The door closed behind her with a heavy finality that sent a flicker of unease through her chest.
“Your Majesty,” she said softly, dipping her head respectfully.
“Sit,” Jaster said, motioning to the chair in front of his desk. “Please.”
She obeyed, her movements quiet and precise as she lowered herself into the seat. Jaster turned back to the window for a long moment, his broad frame casting a dark silhouette against the pale light outside. When he finally turned to face her, his expression was measured but full of something she couldn’t quite place—resolve, maybe, or something gentler beneath it.
“I hear you’ve had a difficult few days,” he began, his voice low but pointed.
(Y/n) blinked, startled by the directness of his tone. “I—”
“I know what happened,” Jaster interrupted, raising a hand to stop her. “I know about Mara.”
(Y/n) flinched slightly at the name, her gaze falling to her lap as her fingers twisted together tightly. “Your Majesty, it doesn’t matter—”
“It matters *very much,*” Jaster said firmly, his voice cutting through her protest like steel. He moved toward his desk, the weight of his presence filling the room as he stopped just in front of her. “Mara is gone, (Y/n). I threw her out myself this morning.”
(Y/n)’s head snapped up, her eyes widening in shock. “Gone?”
“Banished,” Jaster said, his tone cold and unrelenting. “Stripped of her title, her privileges, and her influence. She will never step foot on this planet again.”
(Y/n)’s breath caught in her chest as the full meaning of his words sank in. Mara, the woman who had spent years undermining the royal family, had finally been cast out.
“You… banished her?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Jaster’s eyes softened slightly as he looked at her. “She’s tormented this family long enough—Rex, Cody, all of my grandsons. I tolerated her cruelty for too long because of blood, because I thought I owed her something.” His voice hardened. “But when she turned that venom on you—on someone who brought light and purpose back into this palace—I had no choice. She sealed her fate the moment she tried to destroy you.”
(Y/n) swallowed hard, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. She looked away, shaking her head slightly. “She didn’t destroy me,” she murmured, though the words felt hollow even to her own ears.
Jaster was quiet for a long moment, studying her carefully. “Didn’t she?” he asked softly.
(Y/n) looked up sharply, her chest tightening at the weight of his question.
“Because it seems to me,” Jaster continued, his voice gentler now, “that she struck at your deepest fears and made you believe them. She took something beautiful—something real—and made you doubt it.”
(Y/n) opened her mouth to argue, to deny it, but no words came.
“Do you know what I saw the other night?” Jaster asked suddenly, his gaze locking onto hers.
(Y/n) frowned, confused. “What?”
“I saw you and Rex in the gardens,” he said simply, his voice steady. “I saw the way he looked at you, the way you looked at him. That kind of love doesn’t come often, (Y/n). And when it does, it’s not something you can turn away from—not unless you let fear win.”
(Y/n)’s heart skipped painfully in her chest. “It’s not that simple,” she said softly, her voice cracking. “You don’t understand—”
“I understand more than you think,” Jaster interrupted gently. “I’ve watched my grandsons grow up without their father. I’ve watched them lose so much and still carry on. But what I saw between you and Rex was something I haven’t seen in this family for years. *Hope.*”
(Y/n)’s breath hitched, her fingers trembling in her lap. “I don’t know if I can believe that,” she whispered.
Jaster sighed, his gaze filled with a quiet kind of sorrow. “Then let me help you see it. Rex isn’t a man who loves lightly, (Y/n). He’s stubborn, reckless, and infuriating at times, yes—but when he loves, he loves with everything he has. I’ve seen it in him.”
(Y/n) blinked quickly, trying to fight back the tears threatening to fall. “Your Majesty—”
“Don’t throw this away because of Mara,” Jaster said, his voice firm but kind. “Don’t let her win.”
(Y/n) stared at him, her chest rising and falling unevenly as the emotions she’d buried for days clawed their way to the surface. “I don’t know if I can fix it,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You don’t have to fix it alone,” Jaster replied. “Rex will fight for you—he already is. But you have to meet him halfway, (Y/n).”
The tears finally spilled over, trailing down her cheeks silently as she looked away. She had fought so hard to keep herself together, to convince herself that walking away was the right thing to do. But Jaster’s words chipped away at the walls she had so carefully rebuilt, leaving her feeling raw and exposed.
“You’re stronger than you think,” Jaster said softly. “And you deserve to be loved, (Y/n). Don’t let anyone make you believe otherwise.”
(Y/n) inhaled sharply, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. “I… I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Think about what you *do* know,” Jaster said gently, placing a warm, reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You know Rex cares for you. You know the way he looks at you isn’t a lie. And you know, deep down, that what you feel for him is real, too.”
(Y/n)’s heart twisted painfully at his words, the truth of them settling over her like a weight. She nodded faintly, though she couldn’t bring herself to speak.
Jaster straightened, his expression calm and resolute. “The ball is tonight, (Y/n). Go. Face him. Let him remind you of the truth.”
(Y/n) swallowed hard, her tears drying on her cheeks as she looked up at him. There was something in his gaze—something steady, unwavering—that gave her the faintest flicker of strength.
“I’ll think about it,” she whispered finally.
Jaster smiled faintly, though his eyes remained serious. “Good,” he said simply. “Because love like this doesn’t come twice, (Y/n). And I would hate to see you let it go.”
(Y/n) rose from the chair on unsteady legs, nodding softly as she made her way toward the door. Her thoughts swirled like a storm, but for the first time, a quiet voice broke through the chaos.
*What if he’s right? What if Rex really does love me?*
And for the first time in days, (Y/n) allowed herself to hope.
***
The hallway stretched endlessly before (Y/n) as she made her way back to her chambers, the soft echo of her footsteps the only sound in the otherwise silent corridor. The snow outside had darkened as the late afternoon wore on, casting pale gray shadows across the stone floor through the tall, arched windows. The palace, for all its grandeur, felt like a maze she couldn’t escape, every turn and every corner reminding her of where she was—and who she was not.
Jaster’s words still lingered in her mind, their truth pressing against the walls she’d so carefully built around herself. *“Rex loves you. I’ve seen it. Don’t let Mara win.”* She clutched those words tightly, even as doubt clawed at her resolve.
(Y/n) wrapped her arms around herself as she walked, the tension in her chest a constant weight she couldn’t shake. She was caught somewhere between hope and fear, the two warring for control of her heart. *What if they’re right? What if Rex really does care for me?*
Lost in her thoughts, she nearly missed the figure standing at the far end of the hallway.
She froze mid-step as her gaze landed on him—**Wolffe.**
The eldest son of Mara, Wolffe was tall and imposing, his presence alone enough to make anyone hesitate. He leaned casually against the stone wall near an alcove, his arms folded across his chest. A shaft of soft, fading light from the window caught the scar that slashed over one eye, giving him an almost predatory air.
For a long moment, they simply stared at each other. (Y/n)’s heart hammered painfully in her chest, a surge of unease rising before she could stop it. This was Mara’s son. The very thought sent a jolt of fear through her veins, her earlier conversation with Jaster suddenly echoing in her mind. *Banished.* Mara was gone, but had she left behind a shadow in her son?
Wolffe pushed off the wall and took a slow step forward, his boots heavy against the marble. (Y/n) tensed instinctively, her spine straightening as her hands gripped the folds of her skirt. She forced herself not to look away, though her pulse raced wildly.
“Miss (Y/L/N),” Wolffe said quietly, his voice gruff but oddly measured, like a man searching for words.
(Y/n) swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. “Wolffe.”
He stopped a few paces away, studying her carefully. His scarred face, so often a mask of indifference, was softer than she’d ever seen it. For a moment, the hallway seemed impossibly still, as though the palace itself were holding its breath.
“I think I owe you an apology,” he said finally, his tone gruff but sincere.
(Y/n) blinked, stunned into silence. “An… apology?”
Wolffe nodded, though he looked away briefly, as though gathering himself. “For my mother,” he said simply, his voice low. “For everything she’s done to you. To Rex. To this family.”
(Y/n)’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though her heart still beat too quickly. “It wasn’t your doing,” she said softly, unsure of how to respond.
“No,” Wolffe agreed, his gaze meeting hers again. “But I didn’t stop it either. I stood by for too long.” He paused, his scarred brow furrowing as though the admission pained him. “I should’ve known she would take things this far. She’s been bitter for years, clawing at what she thought was her due.”
(Y/n) frowned, her voice quieter now. “And what about you? Do you share her… ambitions?”
Wolffe let out a humorless laugh, though there was no anger behind it—only regret. “No,” he said firmly. “I’ve never wanted the throne. I never wanted her games or her schemes, either. All I ever wanted was to be free of it.”
(Y/n) watched him carefully, the tension in her chest easing a little more as she studied the sincerity etched into his face. Wolffe wasn’t his mother—at least, not in this moment.
“Then why are you here?” she asked softly, though the question wasn’t sharp, only curious.
Wolffe hesitated, his arms falling to his sides as he took another step closer. “Because of Rex,” he admitted. “And because of you.”
Her breath caught slightly, and she looked at him, her brow furrowing. “Me?”
“I saw it,” Wolffe said simply, his voice low but steady. “The way you looked at each other. I saw the way Rex smiled when he talked about you—and that’s not something you see often with him. I watched him change these last few weeks. He was happy, *really happy,* and it was because of you.”
(Y/n)’s chest tightened, her breath hitching as Wolffe’s words cut through her defenses. “And yet your mother ruined it,” she whispered bitterly, the truth stinging even as she said it.
Wolffe’s expression darkened briefly, shame flickering in his stormy gaze. “She did,” he admitted. “And I hate that. I hate that she twisted your fears against you, that she poisoned something so genuine.” He paused, his voice softening. “You have to know she lied, (Y/n).”
(Y/n)’s eyes burned, and she looked away quickly, unable to hold his gaze. “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly.
“Believe what you felt,” Wolffe said quietly. “What you *know* is real. My mother couldn’t stand to see Rex happy—she couldn’t stand to see any of us happy. But that’s on her, not on you.”
(Y/n) blinked quickly, tears welling up despite her best efforts to hold them back. She turned to look at him again, her voice trembling. “Why are you telling me this?”
Wolffe’s lips twitched faintly into the ghost of a smile, though it was tinged with sadness. “Because Rex deserves to be happy,” he said simply. “And so do you. And if I can do one good thing to undo the damage my mother caused, it’s this. Fixing this—fixing what she tried to break.”
(Y/n) swallowed hard, her heart aching at the sincerity in his words. For a moment, she simply stared at him, unsure of how to respond.
“I don’t know if I can,” she whispered finally, her voice barely audible.
“You can,” Wolffe said firmly, his gaze unwavering. “Because I saw the way you looked at him too. Don’t let my mother win, (Y/n). Don’t let her take this from you.”
(Y/n)’s tears slipped down her cheeks silently, and she nodded faintly, though the weight of it all still pressed heavily on her. “I’ll… think about it,” she said quietly.
Wolffe offered a small, approving nod, though his expression remained serious. “Good. That’s all I ask.”
He turned then, his movements slow and deliberate as he stepped past her, pausing briefly when he reached the hallway’s corner. “For what it’s worth,” he added softly, “I’m rooting for you two.”
And with that, he disappeared down the corridor, leaving (Y/n) standing alone in the silence.
She brought a trembling hand to her chest, her heartbeat pounding beneath her palm. *What if they’re right? What if this isn’t broken beyond repair?*
For the first time, (Y/n) allowed herself to imagine it: the possibility that she and Rex could be something real, something unshakable. The thought terrified her, but somewhere beneath the fear, something fragile began to bloom.
*Hope.*
***
Yoda’s words from earlier that afternoon lingered in her mind, his quiet wisdom echoing in her thoughts like a steady drumbeat. She had been halfway to her chambers when she had felt his presence, his small figure waiting just outside her door. His eyes, ancient and full of knowing, had seemed to peer straight into her heart.
“Miss (Y/L/N),” he’d greeted, his voice soft but firm. “May I speak with you?”
She hadn’t known how to refuse him, and so she’d stepped aside, allowing him to follow her into her chambers. There, he’d stood quietly, his small hands clasped before him as he spoke words that had unraveled something deep within her.
“The winter rose, you remember?” Yoda had asked, his tone light but purposeful.
She had nodded, her throat too tight to speak.
“Grows in the harshest cold, it does. Blooms not because the world is kind, but because it is strong enough to endure.” His gaze had softened, his tone gentler now. “Love is like this, hmm? Not easy, no. But real it is, and worth fighting for.”
(Y/n) had looked away, her chest aching. “It’s not that simple,” she had whispered, the words barely audible.
“Simple, no,” Yoda had agreed, his ears twitching slightly. “But true, it is. Rex—his feelings, they are true. In his eyes, I see it. In his heart, I feel it. You must see it too.”
The tears she had fought so hard to hold back had slipped free then, rolling silently down her cheeks. “I don’t know if I can trust it,” she had admitted, her voice trembling. “What if I’m wrong?”
Yoda had stepped closer, his gaze steady. “The rose does not ask if the sun will rise, nor if the snow will fall. It simply blooms. Trust your heart, you must. Stronger than fear, love always is.”
****
The grand ballroom was alive with light and sound, a stunning blend of opulence and festivity. The chandeliers sparkled like captured stars, their crystal prisms casting delicate rainbows across the gilded walls. The crowd moved in a swirling sea of color, men in sharp formal attire and women draped in gowns that shimmered like flowing water or soft moonlight. The strains of violins filled the air, their melody weaving effortlessly with the gentle hum of conversation and laughter.
(Y/n) lingered at the edge of the room, her hand gripping a champagne flute that she hadn’t taken a single sip from. Her eyes scanned the room, catching glimpses of Cody and his brothers as they moved through the crowd. Cody was engaged in polite conversation with one of the noblewomen she had introduced him to weeks ago. He appeared composed, as always, but (Y/n) could see the slight stiffness in his posture, the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was here, fulfilling his duty, but his heart wasn’t in it.
She tore her gaze away, exhaling softly. The weight of the evening pressed heavily on her shoulders, mingling with the nerves that had been building since her conversations earlier that day. Jaster’s words still echoed in her mind, strong and deliberate, reminding her of the love she’d felt growing between herself and Rex. And Yoda’s quiet wisdom, gentle but unwavering, urged her to trust what was real, to trust herself.
But the doubt lingered. It always did.
(Y/n) smoothed the folds of her gown, the rich red fabric soft beneath her fingertips. The dress had been a last-minute choice, pulled from the wardrobe in her room after her assistant insisted she look her best for the evening. The strapless design left her shoulders bare, the bodice hugging her frame before falling into elegant folds at her waist. Her hair had been swept up into a neat bun, silver pins glinting faintly as they caught the light. She had tried her best to mask the shadows beneath her eyes with a touch of makeup, but she still felt the weight of the last two days etched into her face.
As the room around her bustled with life, (Y/n) remained on the outskirts, unwilling to throw herself into the crowd. She didn’t want to dance, didn’t want to smile or laugh or pretend. She wanted to blend into the walls, to become invisible, if only for a while.
“Miss (Y/L/N),” a voice called softly, breaking through her thoughts.
She turned, startled, to find Fives standing a few steps away, his usual smirk tempered with something softer. He was dressed sharply, his black suit and navy sash accentuating his roguish charm. But his sharp eyes held a hint of concern as they met hers.
“You’ve been standing here for nearly twenty minutes,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? Lost your nerve?”
(Y/n) forced a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m just observing,” she said lightly, gesturing toward the crowd with her champagne flute.
Fives crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed by her answer. “Observing,” he repeated. “Sure. That’s why you’re hiding by the pillar.”
(Y/n)’s cheeks flushed faintly, and she turned her gaze back to the crowd. “I’m not hiding,” she insisted, though the words rang hollow even to her own ears.
Fives tilted his head, studying her for a moment before stepping closer. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” he said quietly, his teasing tone replaced with something more genuine. “Whatever it is you’re carrying around tonight—there are people here who care about you. People who would drop everything to help you if you’d just let them.”
(Y/n)’s chest tightened at his words, her fingers curling around the stem of her flute. She wanted to argue, to push him away, but the sincerity in his voice caught her off guard.
“I’m fine,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly. “Really.”
Fives frowned, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he gave her a small, knowing smile. “Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be around,” he said lightly. “Probably dragging Echo into some kind of trouble. You know where to find me.”
With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving (Y/n) alone once more. She exhaled shakily, her gaze falling to the untouched champagne in her hand. The small interaction had left her feeling raw, as though Fives had seen through every layer she’d carefully constructed to protect herself.
She turned away from the crowd, slipping through the side of the ballroom toward one of the alcoves that lined the outer edge. The alcove was quiet, its marble bench bathed in the soft glow of the chandelier above. She sank onto the bench, setting her flute down on the small table beside her. For a moment, she simply sat there, her hands folded tightly in her lap as she tried to steady her breathing.
The sound of laughter drifted from the ballroom, light and carefree, a stark contrast to the turmoil swirling within her. (Y/n) closed her eyes, letting the melody of the violins wash over her, though it did little to calm the storm in her chest.
*What am I doing here?* she thought bitterly.
She should have left days ago. She had come to this palace with a purpose, a clear goal—to find Cody a bride. And she had failed. Worse, she had allowed herself to feel something she never should have felt, to hope for something she had no right to hope for.
Her chest ached as she thought of Rex, his voice soft but steady as he had confessed his feelings to her. *“You mean everything to me.”* The memory of those words sent a fresh wave of pain through her, mingled with a flicker of something she refused to name.
“(Y/n),” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. “Get it together.”
But the ache didn’t fade.
As she sat there, lost in her thoughts, the faint sound of footsteps approached from behind her. She stiffened, her heart racing as she turned to see who it was, but the figure disappeared before coming into view. Her nerves felt stretched thin, her emotions fraying with every passing moment.
*“Trust your heart,”* Yoda’s voice echoed in her mind. *“Stronger than fear, love always is.”*
(Y/n)’s hands trembled in her lap as she forced herself to take a deep breath. For the first time in days, she allowed herself to truly think about what she wanted—not what was expected of her, not what her fears told her, but what she *truly wanted.*
Her gaze drifted back toward the ballroom, the soft glow of the chandeliers beckoning her forward.
And slowly, she stood.
Her steps were hesitant at first, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor as she made her way back toward the heart of the ball. She wasn’t ready to face Rex—not yet. But somewhere deep inside her, a quiet voice whispered that she wasn’t ready to walk away, either.
****
The violins swelled as Rex led (Y/n) to the center of the ballroom, their movements deliberate, unhurried. The crowd parted for them as if by unspoken agreement, a ripple of quiet curiosity spreading through the attendees. Whispers began to drift among the nobility, the swirling silks and sharp suits slowing as all eyes turned toward the couple stepping onto the polished dance floor.
(Y/n)’s heart pounded, her hand trembling slightly in Rex’s firm but gentle grasp. His other hand rested lightly against her waist, the warmth of his touch grounding her even as her mind swirled with emotions she couldn’t yet name. She lifted her gaze hesitantly, her eyes locking with his, and suddenly, everything else faded away.
The music began softly, the lilting melody carrying them into a gentle sway. Rex’s movements were fluid and confident, guiding her effortlessly across the dance floor. (Y/n) followed instinctively, her steps matching his as if they had been dancing together their whole lives.
Neither spoke. They didn’t need to.
Rex’s gray-blue eyes held hers with a steady intensity, the vulnerability she had seen before now replaced by quiet certainty. In his gaze, (Y/n) saw everything she had been too afraid to believe: the truth of his feelings, the depth of his care, and the unwavering promise that he would stand by her no matter what.
Her chest tightened, but not with the fear or doubt that had plagued her for days. This was different. This was hope, blooming quietly in the space between them. The walls she had built around her heart, the ones Mara’s lies had tried to rebuild, began to crumble, leaving her exposed but no longer afraid.
Rex saw it too. His grip on her hand tightened slightly, not enough to pull her closer, but enough to remind her that he was there—that he wasn’t letting go. His thumb brushed lightly against her palm, a small, unspoken reassurance that everything they felt was real.
Around them, the ballroom seemed to hold its breath. The guests who had come expecting a royal announcement, a declaration of marriage from Cody, now watched in rapt silence as another story unfolded before their eyes. The disappointment that no engagement had been announced seemed to dissipate, replaced by a quiet awe at the couple gliding across the floor.
“They’re perfect,” someone whispered, the words carrying through the still air.
Others murmured in agreement, drawn to the unspoken connection between (Y/n) and Rex. There was no grand proclamation, no spectacle to impress the court. But there was something far more captivating: the way they looked at each other, as though the rest of the world didn’t exist.
As the music swelled, (Y/n) felt herself relax into the rhythm of the dance, her body moving instinctively with Rex’s. The weight of the last few days—the fear, the doubt, the heartache—seemed to lift, replaced by the quiet, steady beat of the song and the warmth of his gaze.
She didn’t need words to understand what he was telling her.
*You’re enough.*
*You’re everything.*
*I love you.*
And in that moment, she believed him.
The song began to slow, the violins softening as the final notes drew near. (Y/n) felt Rex’s hand on her waist shift slightly, his movements guiding her to a gentle stop. The crowd watched silently, their curiosity and admiration palpable as the music faded into stillness.
Rex’s gaze never wavered, his gray-blue eyes searching hers as if to confirm what he already knew. (Y/n)’s breath caught, her heart pounding as she realized the answer he was looking for. She didn’t need to say it aloud. Her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, told him everything.
*I love you too.*
****
The music from the ballroom spilled out into the crisp night air, muffled but still carrying the vibrant energy of the celebration. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the heavens, blanketing the balcony in a soft shimmer of white. The light from inside cast a warm glow onto the stone floor, contrasting with the cool silver of the moonlight that bathed the snowy gardens below.
Cody stood at the edge of the balcony, his hands braced against the balustrade as he gazed out at the serene winter landscape. His tailored suit was immaculate, the golden sash marking his rank as heir to the throne glinting faintly in the light. But his posture was tense, his shoulders rigid as if carrying a weight no title or crown could ease.
He had danced with a handful of the noblewomen (Y/n) had so meticulously arranged for him to meet. They had been graceful, polite, and undoubtedly qualified for the role of queen. But none of them had stirred anything within him beyond vague appreciation. None of them had ignited the quiet fire he had been carrying in his heart for years.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
The familiar voice broke through the quiet, warm and teasing with a thread of calm certainty beneath it. Cody turned, his breath catching slightly as Obi-Wan stepped onto the balcony, his presence as steady as ever.
Obi-Wan looked as composed as always, his formal attire a perfect blend of understated elegance and practicality. The deep blue of his coat brought out the rich auburn of his hair, and his piercing blue-gray eyes seemed to catch the light in a way that Cody found almost unfairly captivating.
Cody let out a quiet breath, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the turmoil inside him. “It’s a little cold out here for you, isn’t it?” he asked, his tone lighter than he felt.
Obi-Wan chuckled softly, stepping closer, his boots crunching faintly against the thin layer of snow that had settled on the stone. “Perhaps,” he admitted, “but I was worried you might freeze to death out here on your own. It’s not every day the future king of an entire planet broods on a balcony during his own ball.”
Cody’s smile faltered slightly, and he turned back to the view, his hands gripping the edge of the balustrade. “I’m not brooding,” he muttered.
“Of course not,” Obi-Wan said smoothly, coming to stand beside him. “You’re simply reflecting with an air of profound melancholy.”
Cody huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible,” he said softly, though his voice lacked any real bite.
They stood in companionable silence for a moment, the snow continuing to fall gently around them. From the ballroom, the music shifted to something softer, more romantic, the melody carrying faintly on the wind.
“You didn’t propose to anyone,” Obi-Wan said finally, his voice even but not accusatory.
Cody exhaled slowly, his breath misting in the cold air. “No,” he admitted. “I didn’t.”
Obi-Wan’s gaze flicked to him, his expression unreadable. “Why not?”
Cody hesitated, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words. “Because it wouldn’t have been fair,” he said quietly. “To them. To me. To you.”
The last two words slipped out before he could stop them, and he tensed, cursing himself inwardly.
Obi-Wan tilted his head slightly, studying him with that maddeningly calm expression that Cody could never quite decipher. “To me?” he repeated, his tone careful.
Cody’s hands clenched against the stone, his heart pounding. “You know why,” he said finally, his voice low.
Obi-Wan didn’t respond immediately, and the silence stretched out between them, heavy and charged. Cody could feel his pulse thundering in his ears, his usual composure unraveling under the weight of everything he had kept buried for so long.
Finally, Obi-Wan spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “Say it, Cody.”
Cody turned to him sharply, his gray eyes meeting Obi-Wan’s with a mixture of frustration and longing. “You already know,” he said, his voice trembling slightly.
“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan said gently, his gaze unwavering. “But I want to hear it from you.”
Cody let out a shaky breath, his chest tightening as the words he had held back for years fought their way to the surface. “Because I love you,” he said finally, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. And standing in that ballroom tonight, dancing with those women… it felt wrong. Because none of them were you.”
The confession hung in the air, raw and unguarded, like a fragile thread of hope waiting to be cut. Cody looked away, his hands trembling as he braced himself for the rejection he had always feared.
But it didn’t come.
Instead, Obi-Wan stepped closer, his expression softening in a way Cody had rarely seen. “Cody,” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with something deeper, something warmer.
Cody turned back to him, his breath catching as Obi-Wan reached out, his hand brushing lightly against Cody’s cheek.
“I’ve known for a long time,” Obi-Wan admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And for just as long, I’ve tried to convince myself that it didn’t matter. That it couldn’t matter. But standing here now… I realize how foolish I’ve been.”
Cody’s heart ached, his throat tight as he searched Obi-Wan’s face. “Then why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, his voice trembling.
“Because I thought it was my duty to stay silent,” Obi-Wan said softly. “To let you fulfill your role without complication. But I see now that I was wrong. Love isn’t a complication—it’s a strength. And I… I love you, too.”
The words hit Cody like a wave, overwhelming and undeniable. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. And then, without thinking, he closed the distance between them, his hands coming to rest gently on Obi-Wan’s waist as he leaned in.
Their lips met softly, the kiss slow and filled with years of unspoken feelings finally given voice. The cold of the night melted away, replaced by the warmth that radiated between them.
When they pulled back, their foreheads rested together, the world around them falling into a quiet stillness.
“Stay with me,” Cody whispered, his voice barely audible.
“Always,” Obi-Wan replied, a small, genuine smile curving his lips.
And for the first time in years, Cody felt truly whole, he’d see what the future would bring, but for now, this was enough.
***
And then, as the last note of the song hung in the air, Rex leaned in.
The kiss was soft at first, a tentative brush of lips that quickly deepened into something more. The world around them seemed to disappear entirely, the murmurs of the crowd, the flicker of candlelight, even the snow falling silently beyond the windows—all of it faded into nothing.
(Y/n) felt the kiss in her very soul. It was a promise, a reassurance, a confession all wrapped into one. The last of her worries, her doubts, her fears—they dissolved like snowflakes melting against warm skin, leaving behind only the truth.
When they finally pulled apart, the room erupted into quiet applause, a ripple of admiration and approval spreading through the court. (Y/n) felt her cheeks flush, but she didn’t look away from Rex. His eyes held hers, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
(Y/n) smiled back, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she murmured, her tone teasing but full of warmth.
He chuckled softly, his hand still resting lightly on her waist. “Stay with me,” he said, the words simple but filled with meaning. “Not just tonight. Stay.”
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she felt the tears threaten to return. But this time, they weren’t tears of fear or sadness. They were tears of joy, of hope, of love.
“I’ll stay,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the emotions swirling within her. “I’ll stay.”
The crowd, still watching, seemed to sense that something extraordinary had just taken place. The disappointment of the evening’s earlier lack of announcements faded entirely, replaced by the quiet, undeniable sense that a new chapter had begun—not just for the royal family, but for Rex and (Y/n).
As the next song began, Rex pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her protectively as they swayed together. The world could wait. For now, there was only them.
****
The first thing Rex noticed was the warmth.
The golden light of dawn filtered through the heavy curtains, casting soft shadows across the unfamiliar room. For a moment, he blinked groggily, his mind piecing together where he was, why the bed beneath him felt different, why the faint scent of jasmine lingered in the air.
And then it came rushing back—*the ball, the dance, the kiss.*
He closed his eyes briefly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as the memories played out with perfect clarity. He remembered the way (Y/n) had looked in her red gown, how her eyes had shone with unshed tears and unspoken truths as they danced. How the world had fallen away the moment he kissed her, as if nothing else mattered but the two of them.
He remembered escorting her to her rooms afterward, his arm around her waist, their steps slow as though they couldn’t bear to part.
*“Stay,”* she had whispered as they reached her door, her voice so soft he had barely heard it. He had turned to her, his heart pounding, unsure if he’d heard her right.
“I—are you sure?” he had asked, his voice filled with both hope and hesitation.
She had nodded, her gaze steady but vulnerable, her fingers brushing lightly against his hand. *“Just to sleep,”* she had clarified, her cheeks flushed. *“I don’t want the night to end with us apart. Not again.”*
And now, here he was, in her bed, the events of the night still fresh in his mind. He turned his head slightly, and there she was, nestled against him, her breathing slow and steady in the quiet of the room.
Her hair was slightly tousled, the pins from the night before long discarded, and her face was soft and peaceful in sleep. She had curled into his chest sometime during the night, her arm draped across his waist as though she had instinctively sought him out.
Rex felt his heart swell as he looked at her, a feeling so strong it almost took his breath away. He had never imagined this—this quiet, perfect moment of peace, of belonging. And yet, here it was, more real than anything he’d ever known.
Carefully, so as not to wake her, he tightened his arm around her, pulling her just a little closer. Her warmth against him, the steady rise and fall of her chest, the faint scent of her hair—it was all so grounding, so achingly right.
For the first time in weeks, his mind wasn’t a storm of worry or doubt. Everything felt clear, like the pieces of a puzzle finally falling into place.
She stirred slightly, her hand curling against his chest, her brow furrowing as she slowly woke. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a brief moment, she looked disoriented, her gaze sweeping the room before settling on him.
“Rex,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep, her lips curving into a soft, drowsy smile.
“Good morning,” he said quietly, his voice low and warm.
She blinked, her cheeks flushing faintly as she registered their position, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she settled back against him, her head resting on his shoulder. “You stayed,” she whispered.
“Of course I stayed,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You asked me to.”
Her smile widened slightly, and she closed her eyes again, a contented sigh escaping her lips. “Good,” she murmured. “I didn’t want to wake up alone.”
Rex pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his hand running soothingly up and down her back. “You won’t,” he promised. “Not ever.”
The words hung in the air, soft but certain, and (Y/n)’s hand tightened slightly against his chest, as if holding onto the truth of them.
They lay there in comfortable silence for a while, the sunlight growing brighter as it spilled across the room. For once, there were no interruptions, no duties pulling them apart, no fears or doubts to cloud their thoughts. There was only this—the quiet intimacy of two people who had finally found their way to each other.
“Rex?” she said softly after a while, her voice hesitant but steady.
“Hmm?”
She lifted her head slightly to look at him, her eyes meeting his. “Last night… everything you said… you meant it, didn’t you?”
He cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing against her skin as he looked at her with an intensity that left no room for doubt. “Every word,” he said firmly. “I love you, (Y/n). I have for weeks. And I’ll spend as long as it takes proving that to you.”
Her breath hitched, tears glistening in her eyes as she searched his face. And then, slowly, she smiled—a smile so genuine and radiant that it made his chest tighten.
“I believe you,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
The weight of her words settled between them, not heavy but freeing, lifting the last of the shadows that had lingered in their hearts.
Rex leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. “Good,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of promise. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
Neither of them did.
For the first time in what felt like forever, (Y/n) felt at peace. And as she nestled back into Rex’s arms, she allowed herself to believe that this—*they*—were exactly where they were meant to be.
