IWAPUF 48

“I’m not sure,” I said, my tone deliberately vague.
“Really now!” he exclaimed, clicking his tongue as if disappointed.
“How can I make you see what’s in my heart?” he pressed.
“How could I possibly know what’s in Your Highness’s heart?” I replied, deflecting.
“What if I tore open my chest and laid bare everything inside for you to see—would you
understand then?”
The image of him ripping open his chest to show me its contents flashed through my mind, vivid
and unsettling. My face twisted in distaste. “That’s gruesome.”
He chuckled softly. “Then what should I do?”
His golden eyes darkened, heavy with intent. We were only a couple of handspans apart—close
enough that a slight lean would bring us into contact. Unnerved by the heat in his gaze, I tried to
steer the conversation elsewhere.
“Why don’t you think about that later and focus on drying your clothes for now?” I suggested.
“You always slip away like that,” he said, closing the distance between us. His hand reached out,
gently lifting my chin.
“Teasing me, keeping me just out of reach,” he murmured, his thumb brushing slowly across my
lips. His touch was searing, almost feverishly hot.
“Your Highness, your body—” I began, concern creeping into my voice.
“Cis,” he interrupted, pressing a finger to my lips. “Call me Cis.”
His hands cupped my face, enveloping it completely. The heat radiating from his palms flooded
through me, far too intense to be normal. The shock of the fall and hours in the rain must have
taken its toll. I’d been fooled by his calm demeanor, not realizing how bad his condition had
become.
“Your hands are burning,” I said, my voice sharper. “Your body—”
“Call my name, Beonne,” he insisted.
“Is your name the issue right now?” I snapped, raising my voice.
His eyes widened, still holding my face, his expression caught between surprise and vulnerability.
“How long are you going to hide it?” I demanded, grabbing his wrists and pulling his hands
away. He let them fall without resistance. “If you’re this unwell, you need to say so. Were you
planning to push through until you collapsed?”
“Won’t you call my name?” he asked, his voice soft, almost pleading.
“What, are you haunted by some ghost that’ll kill you if I don’t?” I retorted. “Why is your
name such a big deal—”
His plaintive expression stopped me mid-sentence. He looked at me like a lost child, his eyes wide
and unguarded. I sighed, giving in. “Cis. There, satisfied—”
Before I could finish, he pulled me into his arms, enveloping me in a fierce embrace. His body
was as feverishly hot as his hands, trembling faintly.
“Not once…” His voice quivered, barely above a whisper. “Not once has anyone called me by
that name.”
His full name was Sirius Aisan Ro Fristen, Crown Prince of the Fristen Empire. Declared heir at
birth, only a select few had the right to address him by his given name—his late mother, the
former Empress, and the Emperor himself. But the Empress had died when he was too young to
remember, and the Emperor called him “Crown Prince,” never Sirius.
“It was a pet name my mother gave me,” he continued, still holding me tightly. “But no one has
ever used it.”
He tightened his grip. “I wanted to hear my name from your lips.”
“Cis,” I said softly.
His arms tightened further, almost constricting, but I didn’t push him away. Instead, I reached out,
carefully running my hand down his back, soothing him.
*…Cis.*
I hadn’t known he had a pet name. Such names were typically reserved for those closest to you,
yet no one called him by it—not even Lady Deisha, whom he’d once loved so fiercely. She had
addressed him only by his formal name, never this intimate nickname.
What did that mean?
Having acknowledged my love for him, I’d resolved not to dwell on her. But it wasn’t that simple.
He loved me now, unlike before, and I wouldn’t let her steal him away again. Still, the unease
lingered, a shadow I couldn’t fully shake. Yet, the moment I spoke his name—Cis—that
deep-seated anxiety seemed to dissolve. A newfound confidence surged within me: I would never
let him be taken from me.
“Cis,” I said again.
“Just stay like this a little longer, Beonne,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion.
Perhaps sensing that I might push him away, the Crown Prince tightened his embrace, his voice
laced with quiet urgency. The rapid thud of his heartbeat seemed to pulse through our pressed
bodies, as if it were my own. I wanted to keep listening to that rhythm, but the feverish heat
radiating from him was alarming.
“Your body’s too hot,” I said, my voice tinged with worry. “We need to do something—”
“I’m fine,” he interrupted.
“Cis!” I exclaimed, exasperated.
“This kind of injury won’t kill me,” he said, his tone calm but firm.
“Is that supposed to be reassuring?” I snapped, my frustration boiling over. I tried to push him
away, but he held me tighter, resisting with a stubborn strength.
“Do you know how happy I am right now?” he asked softly.
I froze, my hands stilling against him. My tension eased, and he pulled me closer, his voice
dropping to a whisper. “Every time my name falls from your lips, it sends a shiver through my
heart. How could I ever describe this feeling?”
“Cis,” I said again, softer this time.
“I wish this moment could last forever,” he murmured, his voice trembling faintly, like a sigh
carried on the wind.
He was a strong man. As Crown Prince, destined to become Emperor, he could never afford to
show weakness. He was always resolute, composed, both as a prince and as a man. To see
someone who seemed unshakable in the face of any crisis reveal such vulnerability stirred a mix
of concern and quiet joy in me. The fact that he felt safe enough to let his guard down around me,
despite the strength he’d been trained to project, filled me with a sense of pride. I had claimed a
place in his heart.
Unlike the man who once pushed me away with cold indifference, this version of him loved me.
In his warm embrace, that truth felt undeniable. He cared for me, protected me, loved me—he was
mine.
“If you wish, I’ll call your name for a lifetime,” I said, my voice earnest. “But please, take care
of yourself. I’m worried.”
This time, when I pushed against him, he let me go, his arms falling away gently. His expression
was a strange blend of sadness and joy, or perhaps something in between, impossible to pin down.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, searching his face.
“Did you just say you’re worried about me?” he asked, his voice soft.
“Yes,” I replied. “Is something wrong with that?”
He lowered his head without a word, leaving me bewildered. His silence stretched on, and I began
to fear his condition had worsened.
“Is your body—” I started.
“You…” he said, so quietly I barely caught it, unlike his usual low, clear voice.
“What?” I asked, leaning closer.
He lifted his head, his face flushed as if it might burst into flames. I stepped forward and placed a
hand on his forehead. His skin was scalding, confirming my fears.
“This won’t do,” I said urgently. “We need something to cool your fever—”
I moved to grab the still-damp clothes to wet them further, but he caught my wrist. When I looked
at him, he shook his head slowly.
“I’m fine,” he insisted.
“Fine? How is this fine?” I exploded, my patience snapping. “You’re burning up, and you’
You’re being so stubborn! Do you think it’ll just magically get better? You call this injury minor? How
can you be so sure? Even a small scratch can kill! Where’s that brazen confidence you usually
have? Why are you being so infuriating?”
I was shouting, my words spilling out like rapid gunfire, when I paused to catch my breath. He
looked at me, a faint smile curling his lips.
“That’s nice,” he said.
“What?” I demanded, anger flaring again.
I opened my mouth to unleash another tirade, but he spoke first. “I thought you hated me.”
“What?” I blinked, caught off guard.
“I thought you wouldn’t care what happened to me,” he said quietly.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, incredulous.
He released my wrist and took my hand, his fingers lacing carefully with mine. The gentleness of
his touch spoke volumes about how much he cherished me.
“You always frown when you see me, always scheming to slip away from me,” he said, his
voice tinged with vulnerability.
“That’s…” I trailed off. He wasn’t wrong. I had wanted to avoid him, to keep my distance. If
I could have, I wouldn’t have seen him at all. Falling in love again and plummeting into despair
was the last thing I wanted. But that was then. Now, I loved him.
Before I could explain, he spoke again. “I wish this moment could last forever.”
He lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. The gentle, tickling sensation
sent a shiver through me.
“I know you don’t like me,” he said, his voice low. “I know your concern is just out of human
decency. But even so, I wish this moment could last forever.”
He pressed my hand to his cheek, his eyes full of quiet longing. “I love the way you say my name.
Seeing you worry about me makes my heart swell. I’m so happy right now, I could die content.”