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The moonlight poured through the grand windows of Moonhaven Palace, cascading over the polished marble floors and the rows of new moon flower seedlings lined neatly in carved wooden planters. The air smelled faintly of dew and life, soft and warm like a summer promise.
Tara stood in the center of it all — radiant, barefoot as usual, her fingers gently brushing over the silvery petals. “You’re growing perfectly,” she murmured to them, smiling. “Even better than last season.”
The large double doors creaked open behind her.
“Your Majesty,” came Ronin’s voice, deep and steady as ever.
Tara turned, and there he was — the ever-serious Commander of the Leafmen — carrying a bundle of reports that looked like they could topple him at any second. His uniform was crisp, his posture perfect, though his hair looked slightly wind-tossed from the flight.
“Ronin,” Tara greeted warmly, folding her hands before her.
He bowed with the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “Reports from this week’s harvest,” he said, moving to a table and setting the stack down with a relieved sigh. “Everything is in order. The fields near the South Root line are thriving again.”
Tara stepped toward him, a teasing lilt in her tone. “Again? Or perhaps you’re just saying that because you don’t want me flying out there to check myself?”
Ronin gave her a look — the one she knew so well — half stern commander, half patient Ronin. “I wouldn’t dare question your inspection skills, Your Majesty. But I’d rather you didn’t leave the palace just to make sure Finn’s team can count properly.”
Tara’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “You think I wouldn’t?”
He sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “I 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 you would.”
She laughed and turned away, her green gown swishing as she twirled between the flower trays. Ronin exhaled softly, watching as she moved with a grace that both charmed and distracted him. He cleared his throat and opened one of the reports.
“As for the borders,” he began, “we’ve increased patrols on the western side. There’s been some movement near—”
But Tara wasn’t listening. She was humming softly, letting her fingers dance through the air above the petals. Then, with a mischievous smile, she twirled again — right into the center of the hall.
“Queen Tara,” Ronin said, half exasperated, “are you even listening?”
“Hmm?” she hummed, still spinning, her hair floating like a halo. Then she stopped abruptly, extending her hand toward him. “Dance with me.”
Ronin blinked. “What?”
“Dance with me,” she repeated, still smiling.
He frowned, uncertain if this was a trap or a royal command. “Your Majesty, the border length is—”
She cut him off with a teasing tilt of her head. “Can you not dance, Commander?”
Ronin blinked, looking suddenly very much like a man who’d rather face ten Boggans than answer 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 question. “Your Majesty…”
“𝘙𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘯,” she corrected smoothly, her smirk widening.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about “royal mischief” and “no respect for proper briefings.”
“Don’t ignore the question,” she sang out.
Ronin let out a short laugh of disbelief. “My border talk was first!”
Tara giggled, “Just because you can’t dance, Ronin, doesn’t mean you get to avoid your Queen’s question.”
That did it. He straightened, one brow lifting. Oh, she 𝘸𝘢𝘴 challenging him.
“Can’t dance?” he repeated slowly, his voice dropping into that low, warning tone she secretly loved.
She only smiled wider, stepping closer until she was right in front of him. “Well? Prove me wrong, then.”
Before he could protest again, she reached out and grabbed his hand — placing it firmly on her waist.
Ronin froze. His brain short-circuited. His cheeks went red. “Tara—”
“Relax,” she teased softly. “Just follow my lead.”
She began to guide their steps, her other hand resting lightly against his chest. “See?” she whispered, eyes bright. “Not so hard.”
Ronin followed stiffly at first, his movements measured, cautious. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this in the middle of the palace hall.”
Tara laughed. “Oh, come now, you’ve faced worse, Ronin. Surely you can face a dance.”
And then, something in his expression shifted. The commander smirked — 𝘩𝘪𝘴 smirk — the one that usually came right before a tactical move in battle.
Tara blinked as he suddenly 𝘴𝘱𝘶𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳, clean and graceful, her gown fanning around them.
“Ronin!” she gasped, laughing.
He grinned. “You said follow your lead. I’d say I’m doing one better.”
Now 𝘩𝘦 was leading — expertly. They began to waltz across the hall, his movements surprisingly fluid, confident, each step in perfect rhythm with hers. Tara found herself laughing breathlessly, unable to believe it.
“You… you can dance?” she exclaimed between giggles.
Ronin chuckled, spinning her again. “I didn’t say I couldn’t. You just never asked.”
“Oh, you—!”
Before she could finish, he dipped her suddenly — low and dramatic — his arm firm around her back. Her hair brushed the floor, and her laughter filled the hall like music.
“Impressive, Commander,” she said, breathless, eyes gleaming.
He straightened her smoothly, but didn’t let go. “So you’ll stop interrupting my border reports now?” he teased quietly.
She leaned in close, her voice soft. “Not a chance.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Didn’t think so.”
And then, before she could retort, he 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 off the ground entirely, spinning her once more through the air. Tara laughed so hard she nearly forgot to breathe.
When he finally lowered her, her feet touched the marble again — but they didn’t step apart. They were close now. Too close.
Tara’s smile softened. “I judged wrong,” she whispered teasingly.
Ronin smirked, his voice low. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Careful, Commander. That sounds suspiciously like defiance.”
“Maybe,” he said, still holding her, “or maybe I’ve just learned when it’s worth the risk.”
Her laughter faded into something gentler. “You blush too easily,” she murmured, brushing her fingers along his cheek.
He chuckled, but the warmth in his eyes made her heart ache. “Only when I’m caught off guard.”
“And am I so surprising?”
“Always.”
Her hand lingered against his face, and he reached up to touch her cheek in return. She closed her eyes, leaning into his palm.
“I’ve missed this Ronin,” she whispered.
Ronin’s gaze softened. “Tara…” His thumb brushed her skin tenderly. “I’m sorry.”
She knew what he meant. For the distance, for the battles, for all the duties pulling them apart. She only shook her head gently — then silenced him the simplest way she knew.
By kissing him.
It was slow, soft, full of everything words couldn’t fix. When they finally parted, Tara rested her forehead against his.
“No more reports tonight,” she whispered with a smile.
Ronin sighed, smiling despite himself. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re blushing again,” she teased.
He laughed quietly. “Maybe I should write that into the weekly reports.”
Tara’s laughter echoed through the great hall — light, musical, and full of love.
And if anyone happened to pass by the doors that night, they’d find the Queen of the Forest and her Commander still in the center of the moonlit hall — dancing slowly among the blooming moon flowers, both pretending not to notice how perfectly they fit together.