The Weight of Choice.

Winter’s POV:

When Mother leaves, a different unusual feeling floods my nerves. I look around and the first thing I notice is the herbs. My mind is no longer on the fading pain of the earlier attack. The exhaustion that threatened to pull my under had now transitioned into a calm feel.

The herbs Jet left behind still sit untouched on the stool. Their strange glowing liquid fill the room with an earthy scent that settles my racing thoughts. Beneath it, however, another scent lingers.

Keon's.

Like something my body recognizes before my mind can argue against it.

I close my eyes.

For a moment, I let myself exist without thinking.

No relics.

No attacks.

No expectations.

No choosing.

Just breathing.

But peace has never lasted long for me.

Eventually, reality returns.

And with it comes the memory of everything Adriana said.

My mother.

Her words.

The way she looked at me like she had always known something I was still trying to understand.

Like she had spent years seeing a version of me that I never allowed myself to believe existed.

Strong.

Not perfect.

Not unstoppable.

Just strong.

I look around the room.

The room is exactly as it was before she left, each piece of furniture and each piece of room decor perfectly arranged and organized. I look at my thighs, and how his clothes nearly touch my knees, the cover cloth doing the rest of the work.

His clothes are on my back. His scent is on my skin, all around me.

Everything about this place feels like a confession I’m not ready to make.

And suddenly I remember.

I am not supposed to be here.

The thought hits harder than I expect.

Not because I regret it.

That is the problem.

I do not.

I had needed him.

And he had been there.

But that does not make everything simple.

It does not erase the fact that there is another person waiting for me.

Another person whose room I should be standing in.

Another person whose life is connected to mine.

Derrick.

I stand slowly.

My body protests slightly, but I ignore it.

I have rested enough.

I have hidden enough.

Blue light gathers around my fingertips before spreading across the room like ripples across water. The world folds in on itself for a heartbeat, then it unfolds again, and I'm inside Derrick's room.

The first thing that hits me is his scent.

It wraps around me instantly.

Familiar.

Comforting.

Painful.

My chest tightens.

Because unlike Keon, Derrick is not something I am trying to understand.

Derrick is something I already know.

My eyes move around the room.

Everything is exactly where it should be. The sheets lays rumpled mess, and flashes of our last night together hit me.

A wave of guilt-like feelings wash over me. Once again I’m reminded of the never ending ping-pong of my heart between the two Royals.

I blink back the memory into the recesses of my mind.

I look around the room again and truly, nothing’s changed.

Maybe except me.

My fingers brush against the edge of the bed.

And suddenly I remember the first attack.

Derrick sitting beside me.

Checking my injuries.

The worry in his eyes that he tried so hard to hide.

The way he looked at me like losing me was something he could not accept.

A small ache forms in my chest.

Because that was real.

Whatever else existed between us.

That was real.

It would be easier if Derrick was only an obligation.

If he was only the person chosen for me.

If I felt nothing.

Then maybe this would not hurt.

But I do.

I like things about him.

The way he tries.

The way he listens to me like I’m someone worthy of an audience, and how he treats me like my own person, how he goes out of his way to make me happy.

The way his presence can feel like something steady.

And that is what makes this so cruel.

Because I like things about Keon too.

The way he sees through me.

The way he protects without asking.

The way he makes me feel like I’m the only thing that matters in the world.

The way my soul recognizes him.

How am I supposed to choose between something my heart built and something my soul already knew?

I sit down.

Because suddenly standing feels impossible.

I cannot have both.

That is the truth I have been avoiding.

No matter how much I wish things could be different.

No matter how much I wish there was an answer where nobody gets hurt.

There isn’t.

If I choose Derrick…

Then I choose all of him.

Not just the good parts.

Not just the moments where he looks at me like I matter.

I choose the coldness too.

The distance.

The moments where his anger becomes silence.

Derrick’s anger is not fire.

Keon’s is.

Keon burns.

Everyone knows when Keon is angry.

But Derrick?

Derrick freezes.

And somehow that can hurt just as much.

That is the risk.

Choosing someone means choosing every part of them.

Not just the pieces that make you happy.

I stand again.

I need a shower.

Maybe because I feel dirty.

Not physically.

Something deeper.

Like I am carrying too many emotions that do not belong in one body.

I walk into the bathroom.

The water runs, and for a while, I just stand there.

Letting it fall.

The steam fills the room.

My hands move slowly.

Almost absentmindedly.

And then I remember the forest.

The first time we met.

Keon.

The blood moon and the dark of night threw us together in a way we could neither resist or forget.

The mark.

The way I fought it.

The way I tried to scrub away his scent afterward.

Like removing it from my skin would remove what it meant.

Like my body had betrayed me.

I remember how desperate I was to convince myself it was nothing.

That it was just magic.

Just a bond.

Just something that happened.

But the water did not remove it then.

And it does not remove it now.

Because the problem was never the scent.

It was never the mark.

It was never something on my skin.

It was always here.

My heart.

The shower ends eventually.

But I feel no different.

Cleaner.

Maybe.

Lighter.

Not really.

I put on one of Derrick’s shirts. I inhale his scent deeply and let it wash over me.

A familiar action.

Something normal.

Something that makes me feel like maybe I can pretend everything is normal too.

I leave the room.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, I just walk.

No guards rushing.

No emergency.

No fighting.

Just the palace existing.

People living.

A maid laughing softly with another.

Children running through the halls.

Guards changing shifts.

Someone complaining about paperwork to his fellow worker.

Normal.

It almost feels wrong.

Because my entire world feels like it is falling apart.

But everyone else is still moving.

Still eating.

Still laughing.

Still living.

Maybe that is how the world works.

It does not stop just because one person is struggling.

I eventually find food.

Something simple.

I sit for a while.

Watching.

Breathing.

Trying to remember what normal feels like.

As I walk again, I see them.

Lo and behold, before my very eyes, a wolf who I believe to be Draken and another, a girl walk side by side, engaging in a lively chatter that has Draken laughing out loud.

His hair sways freely in the wind and he actually looks happy.

At least when he’s not firing hate speech at me for merely existing.

I try not to gain their attention but of course, they notice me. Our eyes meet as we walk past each other.

They go dead silent, their backs immediately straightening.

“Lady Winter.”

I blink.

Not because of the title.

Because of the respect behind it.

“We heard you were feeling a little under the weather. Are you are feeling better?”

The question is genuine.

I almost do not know how to respond. I eventually regain control of my senses. I nod.

“Yes.”

They nod.

“We are glad.”

They walk ahead, continuing with their discussion a few seconds later.

That is it.

No insult.

No mocking.

No challenge.

Nothing.

They simply continue walking, the girl making gesticulations and Draken struggling to hold his laughter.

I remain there for a moment.

Confused.

Because I expected resentment.

I expected them to hate me and by extension Sabrina for punishing them.

But instead…

They learned.

Sabrina’s punishment actually changed something.

That is strange.

Back home, if someone disrespected me, my father would have said it was because I allowed it.

That only the weak were treated poorly.

That strength was the only thing that earned respect.

But here?

Someone protected my dignity. And it actually changed something about the way people saw me.

Not because I proved myself.

Not because I was powerful.

Simply because I deserved it.

The thought feels unfamiliar.

And maybe that is why it scares me.

Because what if my father was wrong?

What if I was never weak?

What if I was just somewhere I was never allowed to grow?

The necklace around my neck feels heavier. It’s been hidden under the collar of Derrick’s oversized top.

The relic.

The dreams.

The attacks.

The expectations.

Everything.

My mother’s voice returns.

You are not weak.

I close my eyes.

My mother has never considered me weak. Even growing up, after getting punished yet again for failing to reach father’s expectations she would treat my aching back with special herbs and whisper about how brave and strong I was, telling stories of strong warriors who she claimed I was like, quiet, but never weak.

For once…

I let myself consider it.

What if she is right?

What if I have spent my entire life trying to prove I am not something I never was?

The thought is terrifying.

And strangely comforting.

I turn back toward Derrick’s room.

Maybe I do not have answers yet.

Maybe I do not know who I am supposed to choose.

But maybe…

Maybe I am finally starting to know myself.

Then I stop.

Because something changes.

A scent.

Familiar.

Immediate.

My back heats.

My breath catches.

No.

Not here.

Not now.

I turn slowly.

And before I even see him, I know.

Derrick.

His voice reaches me.

“Winter.”

My heart sinks.

The timing is cruel.

Almost like the universe waited until I finally started understanding myself…

Just to remind me I still had a choice to make.