The Man From My Dreams: He Came Back For What Was His

The kingdom was alive tonight. Serelith could feel it. The noise pressed in on her as she stepped into the palace—laughter, voices, restless excitement woven together. Today marked the return of the Crown Grand Prince, victorious from a campaign that had expanded the kingdom’s borders. The grand hall stood open, filled with nobles and servants alike, all drawn by the same anticipation. Serelith kept her gaze fixed on the doors. She had longed for this day and counted down to it. “Finally, the day you've been waiting for. Aren’t you the happiest Princess alive?” Zena, her personal maid, whispered with a giggle. Serelith chuckled softly. “I am...” The great doors began to open, and then he stepped in. Silence fell as everyone rose to their feet, welcoming him. The High Lord Herald stepped forward, his voice echoing across the hall: “Announcing His Highness, Crown Grand Prince Vladya Caelthar Draven—Victor of the Eastern—” The titles blurred. She didn’t hear them and didn’t care to, because all she saw was him. He looked the same, perhaps a little worn, but the war had stolen nothing from him. Her chest tightened at the sight. Vladya moved forward, head slightly bowed. And then it happened; his gaze flickered briefly before settling on her. It was so quick, no one else would have noticed, but she did. And that was more than enough. At the high dais, King Aurelio Caelvaris Valor rose from his throne. His presence silenced the room. With a proud smile he extended his arms widely. “By the god of Ziph and this great throne,” he said, his voice deep and steady, “we welcome you home, Vladya. Your victories honor this kingdom and all Ziphodiens. You have made me proud.” A small wave of murmured approval accompanied this. “Tonight, we celebrate my son. Everyone is invited,” the king continued. “Dismiss the court and prepare the feast.” His gaze settled on Vladya. “Rest now, son. Tonight, we honor you.” As the grand hall emptied, Serelith could not think properly. All she wanted was to see him. Just once, before the celebration. The thought alone made her hesitate. Vladya might not welcome her presence, but when had she ever listened to him? So she decided. If I perish, I perish for love. As Serelith stepped into his chamber, the scent of saffron and warm vanilla filled the air. Only one person could smell this way, and she loved it. The faint sound of water ceased; for a moment, the room fell into a suffocating silence. Then the inner doors opened. Vladya stepped out. Steam curled faintly around him, clinging to the sharp lines of his frame before fading into the cool air. His dark hair, still damp, fell slightly over his forehead; droplets of water traced slow paths down his skin, disappearing beneath the loose fabric resting low on his waist. He paused the moment he saw her. Not surprised, he had already sensed her presence, but still... “You shouldn’t be here.” His voice was calm. Serelith didn’t move; she couldn’t. Her eyes were fixed on him, drinking in the sight of him as though confirming he was real, that he had returned home unharmed and whole. “You’re back,” she said softly, though the words carried more than relief. Vladya exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his damp hair as though grounding himself. “I am.” The distance between them felt too small... and yet not small enough. Before he could say a word, she crossed it quickly and without permission. Her arms wrapped around him, holding tight, as if letting go would mean losing something she could never get back. For a second—just one—he went completely still, so still that she thought he would push her away. But he didn’t. His body tensed beneath her touch, every instinct in him pulling in opposite directions. He had told her not to do this; he had warned her not to cross the line, and yet... Slowly, almost reluctantly, his arms came around her. Careful at first, but they stayed. Serelith tilted her head up, searching his face. “Don’t,” he said quietly. She ignored him and leaned in impulsively, her lips barely a breath away from his. He pulled back. “Go to your room.” His voice dropped, edged with something dangerous. “Now.” She inhaled deeply, exhaustion evident in every breath. “When will you stop pushing me away?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I know you feel the same way. Stop lying to me.” She lifted her gaze to his. “To yourself, Vladya.” He said nothing, only watched her. Then, evenly, he said, “Go back to your chamber, Serel.” “I know you want me.” Her voice trembled now. “And by the gods... I want you too.” For the briefest moment, something flickered in his eyes, but it vanished almost instantly. “You and I shouldn’t even be having this conversation, Grand Princess.” His jaw tightened. “We. Are. Siblings.” “We’re not even related by blood,” she retorted. His gaze shifted away. “Please,” he said, quieter now. “Leave.” That broke her. Her shoulders fell, the fight draining out of her. “... Fine,” she whispered. “Then I suppose I’ll seal my fate with Prince Therion.” She let the words linger. “I’ll perform the bonding ritual. Like Father always wanted.” That did it, because, whatever restraint he had left broke. His eyes darkened, something wild rising beneath the surface. In a flash, he bridged the space, pulling her close as his lips collided with hers, fierce and guarded. Her breath hitched as everything in her surged forward at once—months, and centuries of restraint all collapsing into a single moment. Her fingers curled into him, pulling him closer, afraid he might disappear if she didn’t hold on. For a moment, he didn't fully respond, but eventually, he relented, his hand tightening at her waist, holding her there. Her heart pounded wildly. This was real. This was happening. “Serel...” He broke the kiss, his voice lowers now. “Do you understand the gravity of what we’re doing? If anyone sees us—” She didn’t pull away, instead her hands wrapped tightly around him. “I don't care. All I know is, I’m yours,” she murmured, staring deep into his eyes. His hands closed around her waist, firm, anchoring her to him as if letting go would cost him his life. And so he kissed her... hard. A breath shuddered out of her as she pressed closer, her fingers slipping into his hair, drawing herself deeper into it. And this time, he didn’t hold back. Then her body shifted, a little at first, then more. Her lips moved closer, chasing the kiss... even as the warmth began to fade away. She gasped as the world tilted. And then... the edge of the bed vanished beneath her. A sudden drop— THUD. Nyla hissed as pain shot through her, the impact tearing her violently out of the dream. Her eyes flew open as reality rushed in, ruthlessly. Her heart pounded as she lay there, breathing unevenly, lips still parted. “That damn dream,” she muttered. The same dream that haunted her. Every. Single. Night.