Silk & Sabotage

The sunlight spilled across the Prime Suite like it had no idea it was intruding.

Mia sat near the window, barefoot, brushing out her hair with lazy strokes. The silk robe she wore was loosely belted, the color a soft lavender — not a political color, not a war color. Just... hers.

For once she left the name Lucas mumbled and the letter Irina handed her right where they were — untouched, unread.

Not because she wasn't curious. But because she was tired. She just wanted to breathe without bleeding.

Lucas was on the other side of the room, sharpening his ceremonial dagger for no real reason other than to avoid looking at her legs stretched over the plush carpet.

Between them sat the bed — and across it, a satin ribbon. Ivory. Taut. Their agreed divide.

He hated that ribbon more than he hated politics.

"You know," Mia said, twisting a strand of her hair around her finger, "we could just get twin beds like civilized enemies."

Lucas didn't look up. "We're not enemies."

"Oh?" she tilted her head. "Then why does it feel like war every time you get within breathing distance?"

He didn't answer.

She watched him for a beat longer, then stood — slow and unbothered — and walked to the wardrobe. The robe slipped just slightly off her shoulder.

Lucas's grip on the dagger tightened.

"You're staring, Colonel," she teased without turning. "Does guilt sharpen your vision?"

That hit home.

He set the blade down, finally meeting her eyes. "I wasn't staring."

She turned, fully facing him now. "You were."

"I wasn't."

"Lucas," she stepped toward the bed, voice like silk over steel, "you've fought entire regimes with less restraint than you're using right now."

The ribbon between them fluttered slightly in the breeze from the open balcony.

She didn't cross it.

But she leaned in, just close enough for her perfume to reach him — something floral, unfamiliar, yet warm. Human.

He didn't move.

"You're afraid," she whispered. "Of crossing the line."

"No," he said, too fast. "I'm afraid of what happens if I don't come back."

Her smile faltered for a second. Just a second. "Then don't go."

He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came.

Because the truth was—he was already breaking the rules.

At night, when the palace was asleep and guilt was a dull roar in his ears, he still went to Mino.

And when morning came, it was Mia's voice that stayed in his head.

The hall was lit gold and blue — soft candlelight flickering against frost-lined windows. It was a celebration. Technically. But Mia could taste the tension in the honey-glazed air. The evening was too perfect, too rehearsed, too heavy with eyes.

A string quartet hummed in the background. The floor was open. No couples dared step into the center — not until the bride and groom did first.

Lucas approached.

No words. Just his hand, palm open.

She placed hers into it.

They moved like two pieces of choreography written decades apart — close enough to look beautiful, too different to truly align.

Mia's breath hitched when his hand found her waist. His fingers were warm. But she felt the cold guilt humming beneath his skin.

"You look like you're trying not to enjoy this," she said, voice light.

Lucas didn't answer right away. His jaw flexed. His grip stayed firm.

"I'm not sure what I'm allowed to enjoy," he replied quietly.

Mia arched a brow. "Is that the soldier talking, or the man?"

"Both," he said.

They spun gently — gliding across the room. Everyone watched. Everyone pretended not to.

His hand slid slightly lower. She didn't stop him.

"I should warn you," she said, tone teasing, "I'm not the type of girl who falls for soft touches and sad eyes."

"You're not the type of girl who falls, period."

She smiled. It was too sharp to be sweet.

"And yet, here we are. Twirling in front of two kingdoms, dancing to a lie."

Lucas leaned in slightly. "It doesn't feel like a lie right now."

A pause.

Then her voice, barely above a whisper: "That's what makes it dangerous."

Later, on the balcony, the chill bit at their skin — but they didn't move. Not yet. Mia stood against the marble rail, half-lit by the moon. Her dress clung like a threat, red and sleeveless, the wind teasing at the silk as if it knew how dangerous it was to be looked at too long in a place like this.

Behind her — footsteps. Precise. Controlled.

Lucas.

She didn't turn. Not at first.

"Why are you out here?" he asked softly.

"I could ask you the same," she replied, fingers tightening around the railing. "Shouldn't you be inside... entertaining peace treaties?"

Lucas came closer, slow, like approaching a wild animal that might bite or bolt.

"You're mad at me," he said.

Mia stood beside him, arms crossed, eyes on the stars.

"I thought you didn't believe in pretending," she said.

"I don't."

"And yet, you pretend so well."

Lucas looked at her. "It's not pretending when I touch you."

She turned. Met his eyes.

"Then why do you flinch every time I get too close?"

Silence.

The wind tugged at her veil.

Lucas reached out. Fingers brushed it back behind her ear — soft, reverent, guilty.

"I don't flinch because of you," he said. "I flinch because... I shouldn't want this."

"And yet you do."

Another breath.

"I do," he admitted.

She stepped closer and whispered "I'm just tired of being treated like I don't see what's right in front of me."

He didn't answer that. Couldn't.

Instead, he stood beside her, close enough for his arm to brush hers.

"Mia—"

"I know," she cut in, voice soft but sharp. "You're sorry. You're always sorry."

She looked up at him now. Really looked. The moonlight didn't lie — but his eyes did. They always had. Even when they were kind.

"Tell me something," she said, eyes narrowing. "When you look at me… who do you wish I was?"

He froze. Not in guilt. In panic.

She saw it — the flicker behind his silence.

It wasn't her he was picturing.

Not really.

"No one," Lucas said too quickly. "That's the problem."

It hit her like a slap.

And still, she leaned in. Just a little. Just enough.

Their faces hovered in that dangerous space where choices are made — where mouths forget who they belong to and skin starts asking questions the soul isn't ready to answer. Their lips slightly brushed each other.

But Lucas pulled away.

Like she burned him.

"I can't," he whispered.

She stepped back. "You won't."

His hand clenched at his side.

"It's not that simple."

Mia gave a sad little laugh. "No, Lucas. It never is with you."

She walked away before he could say another lie.