Tobias had fought battles before. He had taken blows, spilled blood, and faced death with a grin. But this? This was the hardest battle yet.
Standing outside Isolde's chamber, he clenched his fists, willing his heart to stop hammering against his ribs like a caged animal.
You've faced worse, Tobias. Just say it and get it over with.
The door creaked open before he could knock.
Isolde stood there, dressed in a deep blue gown, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes held the quiet weight of someone who had seen too much.
"Tobias?" she asked, tilting her head.
He swallowed. "Can we talk?"
---
An Unspoken Truth
The room was dimly lit, the fireplace casting flickering shadows against the stone walls.
Isolde motioned for him to sit, but Tobias remained standing, his hands gripping the back of a chair.
He had rehearsed this in his mind a hundred times. A thousand.
None of those rehearsals mattered now.
"I've been meaning to say something for a while," he started, his usual playful tone nowhere to be found.
Isolde studied him carefully. "Go on."
Tobias exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not a noble. I don't have land or titles or gold. But I've got this." He tapped his chest, right over his heart. "And it's yours, if you'll have it."
Silence.
A long, suffocating silence.
Then—
"Oh, Tobias..."
His stomach twisted. The way she said his name, so soft, so gentle—it wasn't the sound of someone accepting love. It was the sound of someone turning it down.
"I—" Isolde hesitated, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her gown. "I never wanted to hurt you."
Tobias let out a dry laugh, though there was no humor in it. "That bad, huh?"
She looked at him then, truly looked at him, her gray-blue eyes filled with something he couldn't quite place. Regret? Pity?
"I care about you," she said. "More than I can put into words."
"But not the way I want you to."
She lowered her gaze. "No."
The word hit him harder than any punch he had ever taken.
---
A Wound That Won't Heal
Tobias sat in the palace gardens long after leaving Isolde's chamber.
The stars were out, twinkling mockingly above him.
He had known this was a risk. Loving Isolde had always been a dangerous game, but damn it, he had played anyway. And lost.
A familiar voice broke his thoughts.
"You look miserable."
Lucian.
Tobias let out a huff, not bothering to turn. "Observant as ever, Valemont."
Lucian sat beside him, arms resting on his knees. "You told her." It wasn't a question.
Tobias let out a bitter chuckle. "Yeah. And she told me where to shove my feelings."
Lucian was quiet for a long moment. Then, "That's rough."
Tobias scoffed. "That's brutal."
For once, Lucian didn't argue.
They sat in silence, two warriors wounded in ways that no sword could fix.
Finally, Tobias sighed. "I should've known. Isolde—she's not meant for someone like me."
Lucian gave him a look. "That's nonsense."
"Is it?" Tobias shook his head. "She deserves better. Someone... noble. Steady. Not a dishwasher turned palace rogue."
Lucian exhaled. "She deserves someone who makes her happy."
"Yeah, well," Tobias muttered. "That sure as hell isn't me."
Lucian didn't respond.
Because they both knew the truth.
Some battles couldn't be won.
And Tobias had just lost the most important one of all.