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Jacques blinks, completely overcome with shock. “*Kiss* you?”

Dove nods sharply, as if expecting him to understand why she’s asking this. But for once, he doesn’t feel as smart and wise as he always prides himself to be.

Why does she want him to kiss her? Wouldn’t that just make the situation worse?

“Your highness –”

“Dove,” she cuts him off bluntly, despising the formalities. Scooting closer to the edge of the bed, she is dead serious when she speaks, “Look, I can’t afford to make a mess of this betrothal. I need to see this through, and I can’t do that while you’re living in my thoughts. So, please, just kiss me so I can get it out of my system.”

Shaking himself from his shock, Jacques comes to his senses. “That is literally the worst plan ever, Princess. Not only are you, in fact, the princess and bloody betrothed, but did you forget how old you are”

The look she fixes him screams ‘Old enough for my parents to marry off, thank you’, and he realizes the point he tried to make, failed. And knowing her, she won’t let this go. She’s as stubborn as she is determined, and once she’s got an idea in her head, no wall or obstacle will stop her from chasing it.

Desperate for her to listen to reason, Jacques plays his last card, “Have you not had your fair share of kissing lately? Or is Prince Charming’s kisses not up to your standards?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Dove says evenly. “I turned my head before he could land one.”

His face drops at the revelation. But he saw them, how they both leaned in and…then he turned his back. He missed her turning away. She…she couldn’t kiss the prince.

His resolve shattered.

Jacques hadn’t process when he had moved from the chair to the bed, or when he grabbed her by the back of her neck until he brought her lips to his, claim them at last with the white-hot passion he’s been bottling up.

Dove gasps against his mouth and he breathes it in, filling his lungs with the air she steals whenever she would enter a room. He kisses her with vengeance for the sleepless nights she caused him for days. And he kisses her with abandon for every day he was forced to be apart from her.

He takes back every ounce of sanity he’s lost when he breaks the kiss, leaving her breathless and tortured as he had been.

“Is your head clear now, Princess?” He hadn’t let go of her yet. “Has the fantasy finally left your system?”

The way she looks at him through her lashes, drunk on his kiss and pleading for more, nearly has him on his knees. “I’m not sure. You should kiss me again. We mustn’t take any chances.”

Jacques doesn’t waste a moment before claiming her lips once more. His arm winds around her waist and pulls her flush against him while her own arms tangle around his neck, gripping onto him as though he’s the only thing keeping her anchored on this planet. And when he moves to pull away, she chases his lips with hers until they’re kissing again.

This time, Dove had taken control without him even realizing, grabbing the lapels of his coat as she lies back down on her pillows, thus pulling him down with her. It only takes a little shift and he’s locked between her legs, hand at the arch of her back, and pulling her closer than both of them thought possible.

Jacques sighs deeply into her mouth when she rocks her hips upward, causing his length to spring alive in his trousers. Only that little twitch is what ultimately snapped him back to reality.

“Wh-what are we doing?” He breathes, breaking the kiss by removing himself from her bed.

However, the state of her is almost compelling enough for him to dive back in and do worse. flustered cheeks and swollen lips – he wanted to do worse.

The panic in his tone shakes Dove from her stupor. Realizing they’ve almost crossed a certain line; she sits up and smooths down her hair. “I think my head is clear now.”

“Is it?” His brows arch exasperatedly. “Are you certain there aren’t more *fantasies* you’d like to explore, Princess? Because it sure seemed like it when you nearly lured me into your bed.”

Dove’s brows furrow at the implication in his words. “Well, if you put that way, no, I’m good.”

Jacques’ heart jolts when he realizes how that sounded. “Dove, I didn’t mean –”

“I know what you meant,” she says through clenched teeth, not meeting his eyes. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. I was right, the fantasy is all gone now. You may be dismissed.”

Numb and completely speechless, the healer stands at her side while her words dig into his heart. He didn’t mean to offend her; he knows she would never…she wasn’t like that. It slipped out before he could think. And this is certainly not how he wants to part ways. Especially not while knowing he must go back to avoiding her hereafter.

But she’s conveying no signs that she wishes to talk to him any further. He had served his purpose, he had helped her put an end to her fantasy, and now she is done with him, at last. There is just no coming back from what they’ve done.

And realizing that, the healer’s heart shatters to pieces.

Collecting his bag, he solemnly crosses the room to the door, moving slow on purpose in case she calls him back. He prays she’ll call him back, even if to only examine her leg.

But Dove says nothing, and he reaches the door without any luck.

Twisting the handle, Jacques almost leaves before pausing. Looking back at her curled-up form, he says softly, “All the best, Princess. I hope Prince Rubin makes you very happy.”

He leaves without waiting for her response.

Dove refuses to cry. If she starts now, she won’t be able to stop. Is this what being a princess means, to serve her realm by sacrificing her happiness? She has never hated her title more. Why must she be the one who abandons her hopes and dreams while her siblings are free to pursue their own goals? Why couldn’t she have the fairytale-like ending her parents were lucky enough to have?

With the anger and frustration boiling beneath the surface, Dove grabs the first thing she can find – a glass of water – and hurtles it at the wall. It shatters to pieces and scatters over the rugs.

“Dove?”

Her head snaps to the door where Chelsea was standing. Realizing she had seen everything is the final nail in the coffin. Face contorting, Dove chokes out a sob, and buries her face in her pillow.

“Oh, Dovie.” Chelsea hurries over to wrap her sister into her arms, allowing her to cry as much as she needs. Stroking her hair, she says softly, “Whatever it is, it’ll be alright.”

“No, for once I don’t think it will.” Dove shakes her head, looking at her sister with glassy eyes. “I did something terrible, Chels. Something I can’t take back.” Chelsea stays silent while she searches for the courage to confess. “I…I fell in love with someone who’s not the prince.”

Chelsea inhales slowly, her breath wavering. “O-oh. That is…bad.” She pulls a contemplative face before adding, “I wouldn’t call it terrible, though. It happens, Dovie. You can’t always decide who to love, your heart does that for you.”

“But why did the *stupid* thing go and chose Jacques of *all people*?” She whines, feeling a fresh wave of tears coming along.

Dove drops her head on her sister’s shoulder and cries with abandon, all while Chelsea can only hold her close with a look of absolute shock on her face. She couldn’t believe it. Of all the castle staff – the stableboy, the kitchen help, hell, even the jester – her little sister had fallen in love with their healer.

Their father’s best friend.

For once, she had no advice to give. All she could provide her sister this time was comfort, a kind ear, and a silent promise that, if there was a way she could fix this, she’d do so in a heartbeat.

Chealsea frowns when a thought crosses her mind. It’s completely and utterly madness, but it’s a thought, nonetheless.

Holding on to is, Chelsea hums a soft tune while gently rocking her sister to the melody. “Shh, it’s alright. Everything will be alright,” she softly promises. “You’ll see.”