ANNARIEVETTA

Meeting Us Halfway

Veta was slowly becoming a shadow of herself. She hadn’t stepped outside in days—not by choice, but by order of the prince. Everything she needed was brought to her, yet she felt trapped. Sick with worry. Dying of boredom. It was the seventh day now. Another reason why royalty could feel like a curse.

What bride wants to spend a whole week apart from her newlywed husband, especially when danger loomed so closely around him? And yet, her heart—stubborn and strong—held on.

Two days earlier, she'd slipped out to the gardens for a breath of air and quiet thoughts. There, she stumbled upon Princess Avshi—whom she recognized as Jamal’s mother—and Princess Recilia, wife of the seventh prince, Giyazi. They were speaking before Veta arrived. She had tiptoed closer, intentionally overhearing their words.

“Baobab. I hope he survives it,” Recilia had said.

“I pity Veta, his bride,” Avshi replied with a bitter sigh. “She may soon become a widow.”

“You know the king has been trying to get rid of him. This is the perfect opportunity,” Recilia added. “No one would blame the king for his death.”

Veta’s heart dropped. Tears spilled from her eyes uncontrollably.

Where she came from, people loved one another freely. But in Zerubabel, love was power—twisted, transactional, and dangerous. In Astria, her small and gentle homeland, love had been the greatest weapon, and kindness a way of life.

She was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice the women walking past her. She stammered, “My princesses,” as she bowed respectfully.

Recilia smirked. “Look what we have here. Princess Veta, the little eavesdropper.”Avshi chuckled and tugged Recilia along, leaving Veta standing there in shame. That night, she cried until her eyes burned.

The thought of never seeing her husband again haunted her like a shadow she couldn’t shake.

he next day, there was still no sign of Karan. She badly needed someone to talk to. It would have been better if Yexi and Yvonne were there. She missed them so much.

She summoned her maid.

“My princess, you sent for me?” Jova asked, bowing.

“Yes. Have a seat,” Veta said.

Jova’s eyes widened. “Princess, you said…?”

“Have a seat.”

Jova hesitated, then sat beside her on the bed.

“How many years have you been here?”

“Seven,” Jova replied. “But both my parents have been here since I was born.”

“So what do you know about this family?”

“Nothing much, I swear,” Jova replied.

“See, I’m part of this family now. I need to know something. Or I’ll go crazy.”

“Why don’t you ask the prince?” Jova asked.

“That’s just it,” Veta said. “I haven’t seen him in seven days. One of the things I want to know is if it’s normal to leave your wife two days after marriage — and not even send a message.”

Tears escaped her eyes. Jova gently consoled her.

“I’ll tell you,” Jova said. Veta’s eyes lit up.

“Go on.”

“In this family… only Prince Karan doesn’t have a mother. They say he killed her when he was four. I don’t know if it’s true. They call him ‘the possessed’ — because he’s better than everyone at everything. They send him to all the wars. This is the first time Zerubabel is at war with Baobab. I hope he comes back,” Jova said, ending in a whisper.

Veta nodded. Her tears flowed harder.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” Jova said, patting her shoulder.

As soon as Karan stepped into the palace, his voice rang out with urgency, “Where is my princess?”

“We’ve been following your orders since the day you left,” replied Sylvan, one of the guards.

“She hasn’t left her room. She’s there now.”

“She’s there now?” Karan echoed, eyes narrowing.

The guards nodded in affirmation.

Without another word, he turned and strode swiftly toward Veta’s chambers.

He stood still for a moment. As he reached her doorstep, a wave of guilt crashed over him. He knew he was wrong—wrong for leaving her all alone—but he had been afraid. Afraid because, even he hadn’t been certain he’d return alive.

Four hundred men had ridden out with him; only one hundred and forty returned. They had lost the rest—but won the battle.

He shook his head, trying to shake off the ghosts of war—the same memories that had haunted him for years. Memories of killing men with his bare hands, of ripping out hearts, of watching life slip away through bloodied fingers.

It had never stopped—the nightmares. With a deep breath, he stepped into the room.

A slender figure turned toward the door at the sound of it creaking open.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she breathed, relief flooding her features.

“Can I do this?” she asked softly, already walking toward him.

Karan furrowed his brows, unsure of what she meant. “What?” he asked, studying her carefully.

Instead of answering, she threw herself into his arms, wrapping him in a tight embrace. This time, she didn’t hold back—she let herself feel everything.

“I heard you wouldn’t come back... that I would become a widow,” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Whoever said that—I’ll deal with them,” he replied gently, guiding her closer, her head resting against his chest.

His height naturally enveloped her, one of the quiet things that made them fit so well together.

They remained like that for a long while, sinking into the comfort of each other’s arms. But Veta seemed to relish it most—sniffling quietly, curling into the familiar warmth of his embrace, and breathing in the manly cologne that clung to him like home.

Karan held her close, uncertain of how tightly he was allowed to. Veta’s arms were already around him, yet he still questioned his place in them. The war had taught him to obey orders, to take what was his without hesitation. But here, in the quiet warmth of her embrace, he hesitated. Not from fear—but from reverence.

“You’re really here,” she whispered. Her voice trembled slightly, but there was wonder in it. “I thought maybe… I’d imagined you.”

He chuckled softly. “Do I seem that unreal?”

Veta pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. Her face was calm, but there was something unreadable behind her gaze, like she was still deciding who he was. “You do,” she said. “I mean… we married quickly. Barely knew each other. And then you were gone, almost as soon as you came.”

Karan looked down. “I know. I don’t even know what tea you like.”

“I don’t drink tea,” she said, her lips curving into a small smile.

“Then I’ve already learned something,” he replied, relieved at the softness in her tone. It was the first time since he’d entered the room that he felt like maybe, just maybe, there was still room for laughter between them.

She reached for his hand, then paused, as though second-guessing herself. But he met her halfway, their fingers brushing lightly before settling into an awkward but sincere hold.

“Do you want to sit?” she asked.

He nodded, and they moved to the edge of the bed. Not too close, but not far either. The silence between them stretched, not uncomfortable, but filled with quiet curiosity.