Chapter Text
That night, Rishe went to sleep hungry. Her parents frequently used food as punishment, but tonight they had escalated—ordering the maids to strip her room bare of everything except her clothes, her bed, and her coursework.
Rishe was too exhausted to care. The moment her head hit the pillow, she sank into the only bliss she had ever known: the elusive dreams she deliberately forced herself to fall sick for.
Usually, she woke with only hazy fragments—fingers sliding through her hair, a steady heartbeat against her ear, the phantom brush of lips against her hand. She had never seen his face or known his name, yet she longed for him anyway, ignoring the duty owed to her betrothed.
Tonight, something had changed. The haze vanished.
Rishe opened her eyes to a vibrant field under a sky lit in brilliant sweeps of orange and pink. Wildflowers brushed her ankles as the breeze stirred her coral hair. Before she could take in any more of the landscape, the atmosphere shifted sharply.
She spun, bracing herself—and froze.
"Your Highness," Rishe gasped.
Arnold stood before her, his sharp eyes scanning the surreal surroundings with tactical efficiency. "What—" he muttered, his gaze locking onto hers.
The moment their eyes met, a dam broke inside her mind. Years of foggy, locked-away dreams flooded back in full, dazzling clarity. The phantom had a face. He wasn't a distant fantasy anymore; he was solid, real, and standing right in front of her.
“So it was you,” Rishe breathed, her feet rooted to the spot.
Then, the weight of reality crashed over her. Memories of an interaction only an hour prior surfaced, coloring her cheeks crimson. To think my first true meeting with my soulmate was falling sick right in front of him! He must think me entirely incompetent. He probably wants nothing to do with me after seeing how weak I—
A sudden warmth against her skin cut her spiral short. Arnold had stepped close, his palm gently cupping her cheek.
Rishe’s head shot up. Looking into his eyes, she caught the subtle crease in his brow—a flicker of confusion that mirrored her own. Was he experiencing the same flood of memories? Was he too now realizing what they had shared?
“You’re not going to collapse again, are you?” His voice was a quiet, steady tone that eased the ache in her chest. Even if his words burned her with embarrassment.
Rishe buried her face in her hands, wanting nothing more than to run and hide. Yet beneath the shame, the warmth of his hand against her face was a drug she didn't dare turn from.
It was terrifying.
“I’m sorry,” Rishe mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Why are you apologizing?” Arnold asked, his thumb drawing a line up and down her cheek.
“My behavior was unacceptable.” Rishe leaned—just a fraction—into his palm before catching herself and stiffening. “My actions could have gotten you sick as well.”
“Why were you even at the party then? You should have stayed back and rested.”
Rishe let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head at the notion as she dropped her hands so they were clutched tightly at her chest. She kept her head tilted down, too afraid she’d see disappointment in his gaze.
“My parents would have never allowed that. I must fulfill my duties, after all.” She kept her voice flat, echoing her mother's stern cadence. “Showing weakness will only turn the court further against me.”
Arnold stayed silent for a moment. She flinched, her head shooting up as his finger brushed a line just beneath her right eye. His eyes were still the same startling, divine blue that even the goddess would envy. His gaze held hers, searching for something she didn’t understand.
Arnold’s hand paused on her cheek. His thumb rested just below her pulse point, where he could undoubtedly feel her heart hammering.
“So how will things proceed now, Soulmate?”
“Huh?”
“Should I simply find and steal you away?” He tilted his head, hair falling across his eyes, entirely unbothered by the gravity of his own words.
“Pardon?!” Why would he even consider such a thing?
They were far too young to be married—Rishe was only thirteen, and if her memory of foreign nobles served correctly, Arnold couldn’t be older than fifteen.
“It seems rather blasphemous for my soulmate to be betrothed to another, does it not?”
Oh. Rishe hadn’t thought of that.
Subconsciously, she knew becoming crown princess required marrying Prince Dietrich. But she had spent so long throwing herself into her dignitary work, willfully ignoring the reality of the impending marriage, that the realization hit her like a cold shock.
“I suppose so.”
Arnold let out a low chuckle at that, tucking a stray strand of coral behind her ear. The sensation of it sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. Rishe wanted nothing more than to hear that beautiful sound again.
She wanted to say something, though she wasn’t sure what. But before she could, her mother’s stern command ripped her from her dreams.
“Rishe Irmgard Weitzner! What are you still doing in bed?!”
Rishe’s eyes snapped open, her heart hammering against her ribs. She half expected the dream to fade, waiting for the usual morning haze to swallow it. But the haze never came. His voice, his eyes, and the lingering phantom of his touch remained sharp in her mind.
Her mother's harsh scolding continued over her, but the words were mere static. All Rishe could focus on was the devastating truth: she had finally found her soulmate; yet they could never be together.
Even if Arnold could simply “steal her away,” the world was already a tinderbox of fear and animosity. Taking a crown prince's betrothed by force—even from a small nation like her own—would undoubtedly spark a bloody war.
A sharp snap of fingers right in front of her face shattered her thoughts. “…Are you even listening to me?!”
“Yes, Mother,” Rishe managed to murmur over the harsh words being spewed at her.
“Good. If you understand, then get out of bed. His Highness, Prince Dietrich, requested another party tonight. He has an important announcement to make, and has ordered that we must be present, no matter what.”
Great. Another party. Rishe sighed, the aches and pains of over exertion already weighing heavy atop her body. Even after the humiliation of last night—after I collapsed in front of our esteemed guest—they still don’t seem to understand that I’m just not healthy enough to keep up.
“I understand, Mother. I will not fail you again.”
“See that you don’t.” Her mother huffed before storming out of her room, eyes narrowed with barely restrained disdain as she locked the door behind her from outside.
Rishe mourned the comfort of her bed as she dragged her worn body out of the covers. A sharp cough tore from her throat as she stumbled to her desk. It was stacked with her etiquette books, all of which she still needed to study and memorize. The thought sent a spark of dread through her, her eyes burning with exhaustion.
It wasn’t even dawn yet, but she had a lot to catch up on from how much sleep she’d selfishly stolen throughout these last few weeks. Her parents had told her to keep her window closed during these cold, winter months. She hadn’t listened, though. She wanted to be sick, she wanted to sleep and be with the only person that seemed to care for her, even if he wasn’t real.
But he was real. She’d met him only hours ago. She remembered him now. It wasn’t a dream anymore!
Rishe blinked, finding that her vision had blurred—and not from fatigue. No. As she lifted her hand to touch her cheek, she found that it came away wet. She was crying. Why was she crying? It made no sense. Shouldn’t she be happy?
A small, muted hiccup escaped her lips as she hastily wiped her tears away only for more to take their place.
Her parents would be so disappointed! Disappointed that she was running away from her duty as the future crown princess of Hermity. Disappointed that she was chasing after something so far out of reach. Disappointed that she would never be the heir that they had always wanted her to be.
It was laughable to even think that the prince of the world’s most powerful empire would choose her: a sickly noblewoman that nearly destroyed their reputation.
But… Arnold said that he would try to steal me away… He means that, right?
Between her life in this gilded cage of a court that despised her and a life in the world’s most powerful empire with her soulmate, it was easy to choose where she’d rather be. Even so, regrets continued tearing at her heart. After all, she was still a noblewoman of Hermity—and engaged to their crown prince, no less.
Her life was dictated by her duty. The duty that had been placed on her shoulders before she could even walk. Sealed in Domana before her third birthday. As her family's only child, she was the only one that could secure a better standing for them in the court.
So, no matter the pain it would cause her. No matter the regret she would drown in for the rest of her life. Despite it all, she would fulfill her duty.
❃ ❃ ❃
“Rishe Irmgard Weitzner!” Dietrich shouted from the center of the dias, pointing an accusing finger in her face.
The hours bled together in a blur of tomes, frigid drafts, and shivering chills. By the time the maids had shoved her into the formal gown her mother had chosen for her and dragged her to the royal palace, Rishe could barely keep her feet from under her. The chandeliers and candelabras felt like she had stared directly into the sun, searing her eyes. Rishe gritted her teeth, forcing her trembling body to stand straight beside her parents, head tipped low in submission.
“You are a disgraceful woman! A truly malicious creature unworthy of the crown prince! I cannot be engaged to someone so sickly, and so unsightly that you humiliated us in front of our revered guest last night—“
Rishe flinched back, shame coloring her cheeks. Dietrich knew how much those words would hurt her and deliberately used them anyway.
“Therefore,” he paused, drawing out the effect, “I'm breaking off our engagement!” He ended his speech with a smug grin, clearly waiting for Rishe to react in some way.
He… HE WHAT?! Her body was frozen, rooted in place beneath the vindictive glee of his golden gaze. Her legs shook beneath her, giving out from the shock. She supposed he had always resented her, even when they were only children. Why was she so surprised, was this not inevitable?
The first thought that flashed through Rishe's mind was how furious her parents would be—outdoing even the wrath they’d held for her humiliation the night before.
Then came the relief.
It washed over her like a snapping chain in her chest. No longer would she be forced to smooth over his cruelties, gently correcting his rude and selfish slights against others. No longer would she have to stand by his side while he degraded her, whispering snide comments just loud enough for her to hear, all while she strained every fiber of her being to play the flawless future crown princess despite her nature.
And true to form, mere seconds after Dietrich’s grand declaration, her parents swooped in—predators closing in for the kill.
“Rishe! What is this foolishness?! First you collapse in front of the king’s distinguished guest, now His Highness is breaking off your engagement?! How dare you ruin all that we have built for you!”
Her parents continued flinging insults and grievances towards her, but she drowned them out, sinking to the ground as a cough tore through her body. The thought of being liberated from her engagement was far more euphoric than listening to her parents’ insults.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Rishe. To think that my only daughter would embarrass the crown like this,” her father spat out, staring down at her weakened, collapsed form. “As of this moment, we are disowning you.”
Disowning…me…?
That thought had never crossed her mind. She had always prayed for Dietrich to break off their engagement, to spare her of becoming the crown princess, but disownment? That meant she no longer had any protection, no longer had anywhere to go back to. Even if she despised her parents’ treatment of her, at least they gave her a home, a place to go back to if things failed.
But now…
“W-Wait!” Rishe tried to stand up, reaching for her father, as he turned his back on her. “I”m sorry for being a disgrace, I can be better—!” With the last of her strength, she managed to catch up and grab his sleeve—only for him to give her a disgusted glare and fling her to the floor, brushing his sleeve as if her hand was too dirty for him.
“Let go of me, girl,” her father growled, staring down at her like she was a pest. Rishe flinched as if struck. “You were too incompetent to inherit the throne. If you weren’t so sickly, none of this would have happened!”
It’s my fault. Rishe laid on the cold tiles of the ballroom floor, curled up into a tight ball as she held back the tears in her eyes. It’s because I was selfish, because I chose to escape rather than face everything head-on…
“What's this I hear about disowning your daughter because she was—what did you say? ‘Too sickly and incompetent to carry on the throne’?”
Every head whipped around at the sound of a cold voice cutting through the entranceway.
Rishe couldn't force her head up as another violent coughing fit wracked her chest. Her mind was a heavy, suffocating haze, her blood running white-hot with fever. The voice was familiar, but through the pounding behind her temples, she couldn't quite anchor it.
“What are you doing here?! Shouldn't you have gone home by now?” Dietrich’s shrieking voice pierced her ears from above, accompanied by the petulant stamp of his boot.
“You broke off the engagement, then that means she's single now, right?” The intruder's voice remained dangerously calm. “If you refuse to take advantage of her intelligence and phenomenal skills in diplomacy, then let me have her. I will utilize her abilities far better than you ever could.”
Rishe latched onto the statement instinctively, fighting through the suffocating heat that fogged her mind. He isn’t claiming me as a prize or wife, he sees me as an asset. But that makes no sense, unless…A sharp ache tore through her mind, pulling a whimper from her throat. It didn’t matter though, she had figured it out.
Quiet, deliberate footsteps echoed across the marble floor, coming to a halt right beside her. A tall shadow blocked out the harsh light as someone knelt down at her side.
“Can you stand?” the shadow asked, holding out a hand.
With every ounce of strength left in her fever-weary body, Rishe forced her heavy eyelids open. Through blurred vision, she pieced together the dark hair and those striking blue eyes—the very same eyes that had haunted her dreams mere hours ago.
“Prince… Arnold…?” Rishe murmured, her voice barely a raspy breath, her delirious mind struggling to bridge dream and reality.
How often had she dreamed of this? Of the mysterious man saving her from this living Hell? Was he truly standing here? In her dreams, he had been so kind to her—even after witnessing her humiliate her own kingdom. Perhaps…perhaps he really has come to rescue me.
Arnold wasn’t going to take her by force like he had offered in their dream. She was a bargaining piece of sorts, framing her going with him as a treaty that no one who was wise enough would object to. Even half delirious, Rishe marveled at her soulmate's strategic ability as he stripped Dietrich and her father of any remaining leverage they might have had over her.
“What are you saying?!”
“You’re going to take her away?! To Galkhein?!”
“You’d kill her, with how weak she already is!”
Dietrich and her parents snapped in a chorus of outrage, entirely abandoning courtly decorum despite his dangerous station.
'You’d kill her,’ they’d said. Yet his piercing gaze never left her face. I was en route to die here anyway, Rishe thought idly, the heat in her skin burning down to her bones under the weight of their relentless abuse. I’d much rather die with him. Preferably in his arms. At least then… I’d die happy.
“If I heard you correctly—and I am certain that I did—you broke off your engagement to her,” Arnold said, inclining his head toward Dietrich, who flushed a furious, blotchy red. “And you disowned her.” He shifted his gaze to her parents, who flinched beneath the cold weight of his eyes. “Surely it does not matter what I choose to do with her.”
Despite the fever consuming her, a line of cold sweat trickled down Rishe’s temple. He spoke to her with gentle consideration, but the ruthless rumors of the tyrant prince of Galkhein flared at the edges of her hazy mind. Was this merely another cage?
Beneath the cover of her skirts, his fingers closed around hers, a gentle, unspoken question in the pulse of his grip—as if they had done this a thousand times before.
At his subtle pressure, Rishe offered a weak nod. He drew her smoothly onto her feet as he rose, but her trembling legs instantly buckled under the fever. Before her knees could strike the marble, his arm swept around her waist, catching her weight with effortless strength.
A ragged gasp escaped her lips at the contact. Where her skin felt raw and feverish, his frame was solid, cool, and unshakable. It sent a sudden, aching shiver straight to her core—a desperate, starving realization of how many years she had gone without being held, without anyone touching her except to push her down or lock her away. She leaned into his chest with shameless greed, burying her face into his coat just to steep in the impossible warmth of being sheltered.
“She is bound to Hermity by blood and decree!” her father snarled, abandoning courtly decorum in his panic. “You cannot simply march into our hall and claim a daughter of our house as if she were property!”
“She is a disgrace to the crown, but she is our disgrace!” Dietrich shrieked, his face blotchy as he realized how foolish he looked in front of Galkhein’s prince.
‘Our disgrace,’ Rishe thought bitterly as the heat in her skin burned down to her bones. Not a person. Just a ruined transaction.
Why does it matter whose hands hold me now? Rishe’s thoughts swirled uselessly in the heat. Would it not be better for me to die in a place where my existence no longer embarrasses you? She didn't dare speak the thought aloud; the phantom pain of the last time she had dared to challenge her father made her body freeze with instinctual terror.
Arnold’s hold around her tightened, his body stiffening subtly beneath her. She didn’t dare look up, imagining the fierceness of his beautiful, yet unforgiving stare. “A challenge, then,” Arnold proposed, his voice colder than the Coyolles shore.
The contrast was staggering. Where her body was ablaze, his chest was solid, stable, and warm. A sharp ache throbbed in her chest—not from illness, but from a desperate, starving realization of how long it had been since anyone had held her. Since anyone had touched her without intent to harm or discard her.
“If I can heal her,” Arnold’s calm voice rumbled directly against her ear, the deep vibration anchoring her frazzled nerves, “you will let me take her back to Galkhein without further objection.”
Angry shouts erupted around them, but the noise muffled into background static. Rishe pressed her face into his shoulder, concentrating solely on the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat. His heat seeped into her aching muscles. If this was how human touch was meant to feel—a tiny, subconscious sigh escaped her lips as she melted further into his side—she wanted more of it. Craved it with a sudden, terrifying greed no matter how selfish it made her.
“Rishe,” he whispered, his warm breath ghosted over her ear and sent a sharp shiver down her spine. “You need to rest now. Let’s get you home.”
Home? The word hit her fevered brain like ice. She was never allowed to rest at home. Not truly. Panicking, Rishe shook her head weakly, her fingers twisting desperately into the thick fabric of his tunic.
A collective gasp echoed across the grand hall as the disgraced noblewoman clung openly to the foreign prince, but the world was spinning too fast for her to care. Someone was holding her. Someone was protecting her. She couldn't let go—if she let go, she would fall back into the dark. She would be alone again.
“Don’t worry,” Arnold murmured, his arm tightening around her waist, shielding her from the room. “I will make sure you aren't disturbed this time.”
That sounds nice... Maybe if she slept, she would see him in her dreams again. She needed to apologize for leaving him so abruptly last time. She prayed she hadn't offended him.
A cool hand pressed gently against her burning forehead, and Rishe whimpered softly, pressing her face directly into the soothing touch, seeking relief from the fire consuming her skin.
“Damn it. You’re burning up,” his voice grated above her, laced with a sudden, sharp edge.
Rishe flinched violently, her fingers tightening into frantic, white-knuckled fists against his chest. No. She hadn't meant to make him angry. Whenever people were angry with her, they threw her away. They left her in the cold.
She couldn't bear to be alone again.
Dark spots danced across her vision as her breath caught painfully tight in her chest. Overhead, panicked voices shouted, but they reached her muted and distorted—as if filtered through a wall of deep water. She felt weightless, floating through a cold void, suspended only by the single anchor pressing at her back.
A warm, solid hand. His hand.
The heat of his palm seared through the fog in her mind, sending a sharp, sweet ache through her skin. She clung to the physical sensation, starved for a touch she had gone so long without.
Was she dying? Was this it?
She supposed that after all her selfishness, this was the fate she deserved—to leave this world consumed by the very fever she had brought upon herself. The Goddess was certainly poetic.
And yet, she didn’t regret a single second of it.
She had met her soulmate. She had been held in his embrace, felt the unbelievable safety of his arms wrapped around her. He had almost rescued her. Even the attempt alone was more than someone like her deserved.
As the suffocating darkness pulled at the final, fraying strings of her consciousness, the warmth of his hand was the last thing she registered.
She knew that she was smiling as she finally let herself go.
“RISHE!”