Chapter 107: Chapter-107

She held the white rose up toward him, even though the distance was far too great to actually hand it over.

“Then come down here,” she called, her voice cutting clearly through the music and celebration, warm and certain and just slightly teasing. “And make it official!”

—

Larus didn’t think.

There was no room for thought, no space for hesitation or second-guessing or practical considerations like ’how exactly am I supposed to get down there’.

He just ’moved’.

He vaulted over the balcony railing—one hand on the stone, one foot on the top rail, and then he was over, his body moving on pure instinct.

Several guards below shouted in alarm, starting forward with hands outstretched, clearly convinced he was about to plummet to his death.

But there was a decorative trellis running up the side of the building—wrought iron worked into patterns of vines and leaves, meant to be beautiful rather than functional but sturdy enough to hold weight if you were desperate enough.

And Larus was ’very’ desperate.

His hands found the metalwork, gripping tight, and he climbed down with reckless speed—bare feet finding purchase on the lattice, hands grabbing vines and iron supports, moving faster than was remotely safe.

He was crying the whole time, tears making his vision blur, but he didn’t slow down.

Didn’t stop.

Just climbed and climbed until—

He dropped the last six feet and landed hard on the grass, stumbling forward, catching himself with one hand before he face-planted completely.

For half a second he just knelt there, breathing hard, grass soft and cool beneath his palm.

Then he lurched to his feet and ’ran’.

Sprinted across the garden with absolutely no dignity whatsoever, his sleep shirt billowing behind him, his too-long pants trying to trip him, his hair flying wild, tears still streaming down his face.

Flower petals scattered in his wake. Servants jumped out of the way, laughing and cheering. The music swelled even louder.

And Heena stood there watching him come, her smile growing wider with every step, her eyes bright with something that might have been tears of her own.

He crashed into her with enough force that she had to brace herself to stay upright.

His arms wrapped around her immediately—tight and desperate and trembling violently—and he buried his face against her shoulder and just ’sobbed’.

Not delicate tears.

Not quiet crying.

Full, body-shaking sobs that came from somewhere deep in his chest, somewhere he’d been holding everything he wasn’t allowed to feel, everything he’d taught himself not to want.

Heena held him—steady and strong and utterly unbothered by the fact that he was falling completely apart in her arms in front of hundreds of witnesses.

One hand came up to stroke his hair gently, fingers running through the tangled mess with surprising tenderness.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured, quiet enough that only he could hear over the music and celebration. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. You’re allowed to feel this. You’re allowed to be happy.”

That made him cry harder.

His whole body shook with it, weeks or months or maybe ’years’ of held-back emotion finally finding an exit and pouring out all at once.

Heena just held him and let him cry and didn’t rush him or tell him to compose himself or suggest that this wasn’t appropriate for a prince to be doing in public.

She just held him.

And around them, the celebration continued—music and flowers and laughter filling the morning air, the whole garden alive with joy.

System 427 floated nearby, invisible to everyone except Heena, literally vibrating so hard he looked like a blur.

“HOST!” he screamed into her mind, so loud she almost winced. “HOST, THAT WAS—THAT WAS—I CAN’T EVEN—”

“I know,” Heena replied silently, still holding Larus as he cried into her shoulder. “I’m pretty pleased with it myself.”

“PLEASED?! HOST, THAT WAS THE MOST ROMANTIC THING I’VE EVER WITNESSED IN MY ENTIRE EXISTENCE! THE ’FLOWERS’! THE MUSICIANS! THE PROPOSAL! HE’S ’CRYING’!”

“Happy tears,” Heena said. “Those are the good kind.”

“HOST, HE JUMPED OFF A BALCONY!”

“I know. It was very dramatic. I appreciated it.”

The system made a sound like a tea kettle about to explode and then just gave up trying to form words.

Heena smiled and kept holding Larus, one hand still stroking his hair, and decided that yes, this had been worth every coin, every sleepless hour, every frantic order shouted at confused servants in the middle of the night.

Absolutely worth it.

—

Eventually—after what might have been minutes or might have been hours, time having lost all meaning—Larus’s sobs began to slow.

His breathing gradually evened out, though he still hiccupped occasionally. The trembling in his body started to ease, muscles unlocking one by one.

He pulled back slightly—just enough to look at her, though his arms stayed wrapped around her waist like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go completely.

His face was an absolute ’disaster’.

Eyes red and swollen, cheeks blotchy and streaked with tears, nose running, hair sticking to his damp skin in chaotic patterns. He looked like he’d been through an emotional hurricane and had only barely survived.

He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

“You’re insane,” he managed, voice hoarse and wrecked and still trembling at the edges. “This is—you—I can’t even—”

“Breathe,” Heena said gently, reaching up to brush tears off his cheek with her thumb. “You’re going to hyperventilate if you keep trying to talk.”

He laughed—watery and choked but genuine—and tried to get himself under some semblance of control.

“How?” he finally managed. “How did you—all of this—in one ’night’?”

Heena’s smile turned slightly smug. “I’m the Empress. I have resources. And a very competent secretary who I’m now paying significantly more than I was yesterday.”

Larus looked around at the transformed garden—the thousands of flowers, the lanterns still glowing despite the full morning light now, the tables laden with food, the orchestra still playing softly now, transitioning into something gentler and more romantic.

“This is—” His voice broke again. He had to stop, swallow hard, try again. “No one’s ever—I’ve never—”

He couldn’t finish.

Heena reached out and took one of his hands in both of hers.

“Then they were fools,” she said simply, echoing what she’d told him on the balcony the night before. “You deserve grand gestures, Larus. You deserve someone who’ll climb mountains for you. Who’ll move heaven and earth to make you smile.”

She squeezed his hand.

“You deserve to be someone’s first choice,” she said quietly. “Not their political convenience. Not their useful alliance. Their ’choice’.”

Fresh tears welled up in his eyes.

“I chose you,” Heena continued, her voice steady and certain. “Not because I had to. Not because it was strategic—though it is. Not because you’re useful—though you are. I chose you because when I look at you, I see someone worth choosing. Someone worth keeping. Someone worth—” She gestured at the garden around them. “—all of this.”

Larus made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob.

“You’re going to make me cry again,” he warned.

“Good,” Heena said. “Cry as much as you need to. We have time.”

She held out the white rose she’d been carrying.

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