She Was Heavy-Breathing, So She Obviously Wants Me

Finally, Rod reached Princess Rylen’s bedchamber. Keeping his stride tight, he climbed the final flight of stairs, thankful he hadn't encountered a single guard or assassin along the way. In fact, it was unnervingly quiet. That meant either everyone was laying low, or Lucan had already resolved the threat.

Another irritating thought crossed his mind: what if he was wrong, and Lucan really had jumped down from the citadel balcony? That pointed toward a far more dangerous scenario—the attackers were numerous, powerful, and organized.

Rod pressed both hands against the ornate wooden door in front of him. No sound emerged from within. No heated arguments, no metallic clashing. He considered pressing his ear to the timber, but thought better of it. If Lucan had been defeated, an enemy might be waiting on the other side, ready to run a blade through the paneling and straight into his chest.

After a full minute of pacing back and forth, he decided to fall back on what he did best. If an enemy burst out and attacked, he’d simply incinerate them. If Lucan had been defeated and the princess taken captive, Rod was certainly clever enough to rescue her—after all, he had tracked them down with virtually no clues.

He knocked firmly on the door. “Princess Rylen? It’s me—Rod from the Banner of Dawn. Are you in there?”

Silence stretched out, lasting far longer than he liked. He cursed himself for skipping the tracking magic Valen had offered to teach him. At the time, he had reasoned there was no point learning to detect a monster that was already standing right in front of him. Now, that laziness was coming back to haunt him. Should he wait patiently, trusting she was safe and had heard him, or should he kick the heavy door off its hinges and clear the room with a fireball?

Rod shook his head. A true hero always believed in the best-case scenario. Holding tight to that conviction, he refrained from knocking a second time.

“I’m here… Rod—”

Rod found himself beaming like a child. That voice—the very same one that had thanked him for felling the Red Dragon—was as lovely as he remembered. Rich as milk, sweet as honey, like a thick, juicy steak after a week of eating dry jerky and wild berries.

“Forgive the intrusion, but I grew concerned for your safety,” Rod said, forcing himself to speak slowly and calmly. “Are you well?”

Princess Rylen’s breath hitched on the other side of the door. Rod recalled how graceful she had sounded at the ceremony, but now her tone carried an entirely different cadence. She sounded rushed, winded—perhaps even elated? Was she truly that thrilled by his sudden appearance?

“Yes, I—I am well. But… perhaps n-not entirely,” Princess Rylen said, catching her breath sharply. “I fear the evening's festivities have t-taken a toll on me, so I d-decided to retire early. I am deeply honored and grateful that you were w-worried for someone like me, Sir Rod.”

Rod’s smile widened until his cheeks ached. He tried to maintain a vigilant watch over the hallway, even as he practically vibrated with excitement. She was glad—no, grateful—that he cared. And most importantly, she had called him Sir Rod, acknowledging his gentlemanly honor.

The more he analyzed it, the more convinced he became that her gentle touch during the award presentation had been entirely intentional. She had wanted to feel his hand, his skin, close to hers. Rod crouched down and let out a silent, breathless cheer. How romantic!

He took a deep breath, stood back up, and cleared his throat toward the door.

“You flatter me, Princess. Of c-course I’d be worried about you. Your safety comes before all else.”

His heart swelled. Rod wrestled with what to do next. On one hand, he could take this massive victory, walk away, and celebrate the official beginning of their romance. On the other hand, in every legendary romance he had ever read, the heroic protagonist pursued the girl of his dreams with bold, unrelenting passion—sealing their eternal love with a passionate kiss. In some tales, the princess would throw open the doors wearing a sheer, lacy gown, begging the hero to take her. Take her where? Rod wasn't entirely sure, but usually somewhere far away, as the book always ended right there.

Rod balled his hands into fists. The crucial question remained: should he confess right here and now? And if so, what should he say? He was painfully aware that he was keeping her waiting.

“I am e-ever so grateful, Sir Rod,” she continued in her soft, breathless voice. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must r-return to—”

“I care about you deeply!” Rod blurted out, the words bursting forth before his brain could filter them. “It’s the absolute t-truth!”

“I… Sir Rod, what a-are you—” Princess Rylen’s voice rose in pitch. “I a-apologize, but—”

That was unequivocally the dumbest thing he could have said. He wanted to scream, punch himself in the jaw, sprint back to that moonlit balcony, and hurl himself off the edge. But he couldn't back down now. He pressed his right fist firmly against his chest over his heart.

“I care about you deeply, Princess Rylen!”

“I… I really don't think t-this is the right time for—wait, Sir Rod—”

Rod could only pray his genuine feelings reached her. “I’ve been unable to stop thinking about you since the moment I saw you. Words can't describe how I feel right now—I'm sick to my stomach, yet bursting with energy! And when our fingers touched at the ceremony, my… my l-love… this feeling was sealed. Since that moment, I’ve wanted nothing more than to stand by your side forever!”

Princess Rylen gasped sharply, her voice catching in her throat before she could speak. She sounded completely overwhelmed, clearly straining just to remain standing near him. A soft thud echoed as weight pressed against the wooden door separating them. Listening to her erratic, labored breathing through the central seam, Rod felt the agonizing distance between them more than ever.

Rod took a step back and lowered his gaze. He was a commoner. He had no noble lineage, no political backing. The aristocrats looked down on him. All he possessed was his raw, peerless strength—the power to obliterate a Red Dragon with a single strike.

He remembered Valen’s question earlier: did he genuinely care for Princess Rylen, or was he merely enamored with the fantasy of courting royalty? He hadn't known how to answer then. His motives were undeniably childish. But if they were childish, didn't that mean his love was pure? Standing before her door, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wanted her for who she was, not her title.

“I… I am honored to learn how y-you feel, Sir Rod,” she stammered, her voice trembling. “But… this is hardly the t-time. Truly, I must apologize, but—”

“I understand.”

Princess Rylen was clearly summoning the last reserves of her strength just to lean against the door and answer his confession. How deeply admirable. Princess Rylen Talvarin. His devotion to her burned brighter than ever.

“So, it really is true,” Rod said softly.

“P-pardon?”

“It’s true that you weren’t feeling well,” Rod continued gently. “And that Lucan escorted you up here to rest—”

“Where did you h-hear such a thing, Sir Rod?!” Princess Rylen practically gasped. “That is—”

“I saw it myself,” Rod replied, smiling in profound relief. “You don't need to explain anything. That just means I owe Lucan a debt of gratitude for taking care of you. Had I noticed your discomfort sooner, I would have escorted you myself.”

“I… I see.”

“In any case, I shall take my leave.”

Part of him desperately hoped she would unlock the door, standing there in a nightgown to invite him in, asking him to carry her away to a quiet sanctuary where they could be together. But he knew it would be utterly ungentlemanly to press a highborn lady for an answer when she was clearly exhausted.

“Before I go, may I ask for one small promise?”

“A-anything, Sir Rod.”

Rod drew a deep, steadying breath, recalling the most dramatic romantic vows from his favorite books. “I shall return tomorrow. Once you have rested and recovered, I would like to hear your true feelings about us.”

He opened himself up to the agonizing possibility of rejection. Yet the prospect was equally thrilling—the belief that giving her space tonight would only fan the flames of passion in her heart.

“I will return for your answer tomorrow. Farewell, Princess Rylen.”

No answer came from within, but that was more than enough. All that remained was to return to the banquet hall, excuse himself, and get a full night's sleep to prepare for tomorrow’s life-changing news.

He couldn't wait to tell Marion everything.