Life resumed with routines that had nearly become foreign. The sun rose and set, the days passed. The rain came, fell, and receded again. Summer was in full swing, the air fresh with the scent of new life, of growth.

Every morning, Ansel would report to her study, always punctual, standing with the stiffness of a soldier awaiting orders. He would greet her, his smile strained but polite, and she would return the greeting with a cool, formal nod. The pleasantries were always there, as they always had been, but something had shifted—something between them that neither could name, though both could feel it hanging in the air, heavy as a storm cloud.

He would perform his duties as a squire, helping her organize reports, answer letters, and assist with other administrative tasks. The work was mundane, but it had a certain rhythm to it, a predictability. But then there was the way he moved about the room—always a little too far from her, never stepping into her space the way he had before. The familiar ease they once shared was gone. And with it, so much of the comfort they had both relied on.

The training, too, had changed. In the late afternoons, they would train together. Bouts that once felt like the exchange of sharp wit now seemed tinged with something else—something harder to define. Claudia could not ignore how his body moved in the ring, the tension in his shoulders, the determination in his blows. She found herself watching him more closely, noting the way his muscles bunched under his shirt, the way his brows furrowed in concentration. He moved with a fluid grace that was hard not to notice, and it left her distracted, her focus flickering, slipping away from the blades in their hands and onto the heat that radiated off him as they sparred.

Ansel no longer helped her don or remove her armor. She didn't know when the change had occurred, but she felt it each time.

And, just as subtly, she realized that she had stopped asking. She didn't go to his room anymore to check on him after spars. She didn't sit beside him, laughing at his bad jokes or letting herself get lost in the comfort of his presence.

Some things, though, remained the same. She still saw the fierce determination in his eyes, the same steely resolve. He was still her squire, still loyal, still strong. But it felt like something had snapped between them. Something neither of them had been able to fix.

Despite the desire to forget everything—to bury it all under the weight of the next battle, the next challenge—something lingered. Something had changed.

And that change was what made everything worse.

Claudia would find herself, late at night, staring at the ceiling of her quarters, her mind wandering to that night. The memory—haunting, unshakable—gripped her. She remembered the way he'd looked at her, his gray eyes dark, his pupils blown wide with desire. She could still feel the warmth of his skin, the strength in his arms, the way he'd held her, like she was something fragile and precious.

And now…

Now she couldn't erase it. She couldn't wipe the taste of it from her thoughts, and every time she tried to refocus, there was only that quiet, burning ache, that guilt gnawing at her from the inside out.

She regretted it. With every ounce of her being. Every single breath she took seemed to remind her of the weight of it. And yet, despite her best efforts, she kept thinking about that night. Poor Klaus.

Klaus. The man she loved. The man she had sworn herself to. The man she had betrayed.

The thought of him made her feel heavy—physically heavy, as though the weight of the world had settled onto her shoulders. She couldn't even think about his letters anymore, let alone read them. The script on the parchment seemed to mock her, each word filled with his love, his faith in her, his trust.

A trust she had so callously broken.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the high windows of Claudia's study, bathing the room in muted gold. The light cast long shadows across her desk, highlighting the neat stacks of parchment, the inkwell sitting untouched, the half-written letter to Klaus she had abandoned hours ago.

Ansel stood near the door, poised to leave for the day's spar. He wasn't expecting her voice to stop him.

"Not today," Claudia said.

He hesitated, fingers curling around the handle. "Oh," he said, glancing back at her. "Sorry, I didn't know you had other plans."

"I don't, I…" She hesitated, drawing in a slow breath, feeling the weight of the moment before her.

This had been a mistake. She could feel it already. But she had let this distance stretch between them long enough, let it fester into something unbearable. And the longer she let it linger, the more it felt like something permanent.

For the first time in who knows how long, she forced herself to truly look at him.

Ansel stood with the usual ease that came so naturally to him. The light from the window cast a warm glow over his face, highlighting the faint scar just above his brow. He looked the same.

And yet, he wasn't.

There was something in the way he held himself now, a wariness that hadn't been there before. His shoulders were set tighter, his movements more deliberate. He was no longer that eager young soldier eager to prove himself. Now, there was a hardness to him. A tension that she had never noticed before, like a bowstring stretched too tight, ready to snap at any moment.

Somewhere along the way, he had changed. And perhaps… so had she.

She forced herself to continue. "I wanted to talk to you."

Ansel's wariness deepened. He turned slightly toward her, shifting his weight onto one foot, a movement so small that most wouldn't have noticed. But Claudia did.

She saw how his throat worked as he swallowed, the flicker of something unreadable behind his gray eyes.

His response was carefully casual. "Yeah? About what?"

She didn't answer right away. The silence filled the space between them, heavy and suffocating.

She watched as the shift in his stance became more pronounced. A muscle in his jaw twitched. His fingers flexed at his sides.

"…Oh," Ansel said quietly. He exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair, as though hoping that, if he gave her enough time, she'd change her mind. That she'd say something different. Something easier.

She didn't.

"Ansel," she said, her voice low and steady. "We need to talk. About…" She hesitated, the words catching in her throat like thorns. "We can't pretend that… that everything's fine."

He didn't respond immediately. For a moment, he simply stood there, his face a blank mask that revealed nothing. Then, slowly, he stepped away from the door and moved to stand before her desk, his body tensing as if bracing for a physical blow.

He didn't look at her. "I thought you wanted to... forget it," he said. "Act like it didn't happen. You said..."

She shook her head. "I was wrong," she said. "It's not... We can't just..." She paused, trying to find the right words, but they eluded her. "I'm tired of this," she finally said, voice heavy with exhaustion.

He let out a short, mirthless chuckle. "Me too. It's just..." He heaved a heavy sigh, scratching at his jaw. "I don't know if I want to talk about it. If there even is anything to talk about."

There it was.

The thing neither of them had dared to say, finally spoken aloud.

She could feel the sting of it—of him trying to minimize what had happened, of both of them being too afraid to give it weight, to acknowledge the full gravity of what they had done.

Claudia drew in a breath, straightening, steeling herself. Her hands rested on her desk, her fingers lacing together. She looked directly at him, her gaze unwavering. "It was wrong of me," she said at last. "I shouldn't have pushed you to—"

"Pushed me?" Ansel interrupted, shaking his head. His voice was sharper now, though not with anger. It was something else. Frustration. Maybe even disbelief. "Master..." He hesitated for a moment, then went on; "Claudia. I was the one who..."

She didn't press him. She knew what he meant.

She nodded once. "Fine. We're both at fault, then." Her voice was level, controlled, as if saying it aloud could make it feel more like the truth. "I just couldn't stand to keep it like this. To let things stay like this."

Ansel exhaled through his nose. He crossed his arms loosely, glancing down at the floor, as if searching for the right words among the cracks in the wooden boards.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Things aren't the same. We can't pretend like they are."

Claudia swallowed. "You're right. And above all else, we can't let it happen again. We…" Her throat felt dry. She licked her lips. "We..." She tried to finish the sentence, but she couldn't.

She couldn't say it.

She didn't want to.

The air in the study seemed different now. Heavier. The tension between them stretched so tight that she could almost feel it pressing against her skin.

Ansel shifted his stance again. He was closer than he had been before—had he moved, or had she?—and she could feel the warmth radiating from him even in the slight space between them. The realization sent a shiver of something through her.

The way he looked at her was different. It had been different ever since that night. The ease was gone, stripped away by something neither of them had the courage to name.

She could see the hesitation in his expression. The way his lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn't bring himself to.

She felt it before she realized what she was doing—her body moving without permission, as though caught in the pull of something inevitable.

A single step forward. A breath of space between them.

Ansel went very still. His hands clenched at his sides. His jaw tightened. His pulse was visible where it beat at his throat.

This is a mistake.

She knew it. He knew it. But neither of them moved away.

She could feel his breath, shallow and uneven. Could see the way his chest rose and fell, the way he was waiting—for her, for himself, for something neither of them could take back.

Ansel swallowed hard. "...I should go," he said, his voice low and strained. But his feet remained firmly planted on the floor, as if they had become part of the ground beneath him.

Claudia's own breathing quickened, her chest tightening with a desperate, urgent need. "Yes," she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper. "You should."

Neither of them moved.

The silence stretched taut between them, a fragile thread that threatened to snap under the weight of everything that remained unspoken.

Claudia could feel her heart pounding in her chest, its rhythm a frantic, desperate plea, urging her to step back and put an end to this.

Ansel's gaze held hers, and in that moment, she saw something shift behind his eyes. A flicker of heat, of hunger, of a desire that mirrored her own.

He muttered a quiet curse under his breath. His hands lifted, hesitantly, as if he were afraid that the touch might shatter the fragile illusion of control they had both been clinging to. They settled at her waist, warm and steady, as he drew her towards him. Claudia let out a shaky breath, her hands lifting to press against his chest. She felt the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palms, a rhythm that mirrored her own. His fingers flexed against her skin, pulling her even closer, until there was barely any space left between them.

She could smell the hint of leather and sweat on his skin. He smelled like a fighter, like a man, like everything she'd been trying so hard to ignore. Her own breath hitched in her throat.

"Here?" Ansel asked, his voice so quiet it was barely above a whisper. His grip on her tightened, his fingers flexing against her waist. "Now?"

Claudia didn't respond. She didn't trust her voice, didn't trust anything other than the desperate, aching need coursing through her. She could only nod, a small, silent affirmation.

Then she turned away, not looking at him as she walked back to her desk. Her heart was pounding, her pulse a frantic rhythm in her veins, even as she leaned forward and braced her weight on her hands. She heard him move, his boots heavy on the wooden floor. And then he was behind her. Close, but not touching.

"Claudia?" His voice made her shiver, but still she didn't move.

His hand hovered near the small of her back. She could feel the heat of him, so close. Her body trembled, an involuntary shudder that seemed to course through her at the proximity. "...Don't make me say it," she said, and the words came out more strained than she had intended. "Please."

The anticipation was a palpable thing, coiling tightly in her stomach. She could hear his breath, ragged and uneven. His fingertips brushed against her, light as a feather, a question and a promise all at once. Then he was touching her, hands settling over her hips, warm and strong, and she sucked in a sharp breath as he pulled her back against him.

She felt him, hard and insistent, through the layers of their clothing. A quiet gasp escaped her, unbidden, as his fingers tightened their grip. She could feel the tension in him, the barely restrained desire, as his hands slid upward, tracing the curves of her body. Her skin tingled, alive and responsive to his touch.

And then his mouth was at her neck, hot and demanding. His lips pressed against her skin, sending a shock of pleasure down her spine. She gasped, arching against him, feeling the scrape of his teeth, the slick heat of his tongue. Her head fell back, resting on his shoulder, as his kisses moved lower, tracing a line along her throat.

A hand slid up and found her breast, cupping it through her shirt. Claudia sighed, her eyes fluttering shut, as his fingers kneaded her, sending sweet, hot jolts through her. He was gentle, but his touch wasn't timid. There was a hunger there, a need, that mirrored her own. Her breath quickened as his thumb brushed over her nipple, teasing it into stiffness beneath the fabric. She bit her lip, stifling a moan, as he rolled the sensitive bud between his fingers.

His other hand delved lower, tracing the curve of her waist, her hip, before coming to rest between her legs. She shivered, anticipation coiling in her belly, as his fingers stroked her through her trousers, teasing at the ache that was building within her. Her thighs parted, a silent invitation, and he didn't hesitate, pressing the heel of his palm against her, drawing a low groan from her throat. His fingers worked her, rubbing slow circles over her clit, finding a rhythm that made her grip the edge of the desk, knuckles white with tension.

Claudia could feel the wet heat building between her thighs, the fabric of her trousers dampening under his touch. His fingers pressed harder, faster, and her hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more.

Her breath was coming in short, ragged gasps now, punctuated by soft whimpers she couldn't hold back. Ansel was relentless, driving her higher with each stroke, each caress pushing her closer and closer to the edge, until she was trembling, on the brink of release. But just as she was about to topple over, he stopped, withdrawing his hand. She made a small, desperate sound in her throat, a cry of frustration and need.

"Ansel, I—"

He was already moving, shifting his position. He pressed against her once more, the hard length of his arousal grinding against her, and she moaned, the sound raw and wanton. Her hips pushed back, seeking more contact, more friction, more of him.

She felt his hands then, working at the fastenings of her trousers. She lifted her hips, helping him slide them down. His fingertips grazed the bare skin of her thighs, sending shivers of anticipation through her. There was a dull rustle as her trousers fell, forgotten, to the floor, and she shivered as she felt the cool air against her bare skin. She was slick with arousal, the evidence of her desire undeniable.

She could hear him fumbling with his own clothes, the sound of fabric being hastily undone. Claudia turned her head, her heart pounding in her chest, one hand reaching back to tug at the fastenings of his trousers. He shifted, his hands moving to help her, and together they managed to undo the last of the barriers between them.

His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, standing upwards nearly to his navel. She swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry as she grasped him in her hand, giving a single stroke. A groan escaped his throat, and she felt another rush of heat between her thighs at the sound.

Her fingers curled around him, exploring the velvety softness of his skin, tracing the thick vein that ran along the underside. He was warm, pulsing, his tip already glistening with a pearl of clear fluid. She smeared the fluid with her thumb, feeling him twitch in her grasp. Some deep fascination led her to stroke him again, marveling at the way his breath hitched, the way his body responded to her touch.

He let out a low hiss through his teeth. "You can... stop doing that now."

She did, letting her fingers trail up, splaying across the flat plane of his stomach. And then she was bending over the desk again, the wood cold against her palms, and she could feel his hands—hot and calloused and so, so eager—gripping her hips, squeezing, kneading her flesh. Her breath caught in her throat as his cock brushed against her and she rocked her hips, inviting him, urging him.

He guided himself to her entrance, his tip pressing against her slick folds. For a moment, he paused, his breath warm against her neck, as if he was hesitating. For a moment, Clauda hesitated as well.

Was this really happening? Again? She closed her eyes, a shudder passing through her as a torrent of conflicting emotions washed over her—guilt, shame, and above all, a deep, aching need. It was a mistake. The worst kind of betrayal. She knew that. They both did. But in that moment, with his body pressed against hers, his scent filling her nostrils, the warmth of his skin searing into hers, none of that seemed to matter.

She didn't want him to hesitate, she realized. She wanted him to take her, to feel him deep inside her, filling her, satisfying an ache that had been building since that night together. Her heart pounded, her skin flushed. Her body was on fire, every nerve alive and thrumming with desire. She wanted this. Needed it.

Claudia arched her back, pushing back against him, feeling the tip parting her open. A low, desperate moan escaped her. "Please," she breathed, and that was all the permission he needed. He pushed inside her, slow and deliberate.

"Ahh... Ansel...!" His name came out in a breathy sigh. Her fingers curled against the desk, nails scratching at the wood as she was stretched and filled. She could feel every inch of him, the friction sliding deeper within her, igniting sparks that ignited into a fire within her. His fingers tightened on her hips, pulling her back onto him until he was fully seated inside her.

Then, without warning, Claudia's breath caught in her throat. Her walls clenched around him, her body quivering, her knees almost giving out as she was hit by a wave of pleasure that washed over her, unexpected and overwhelming. Ansel groaned, his grip on her tightening, his hips pressing firmly against hers as she squeezed around him, her orgasm taking her by surprise. She shuddered, gasping for breath, her head hanging low between her shoulders as she rode out the waves of her climax, her body trembling with the force of it.

She could hear his breathing, harsh and ragged in her ear, as he fought for control. He waited until the spasms of her orgasm began to subside, his hands smoothing up her sides, over her shoulders, and back down again, a gentle touch at odds with the way he was buried inside her.

"Fuck, Claudia..." Ansel murmured, his voice strained. "You... Are you alright?"

She could only nod, unable to find her voice. Her body still trembled, aftershocks of her orgasm coursing through her. He held her, his touch both comforting and arousing, his thumbs tracing slow circles on her skin.

When her breath finally steadied, he drew back, pulling out nearly all the way before sinking back in, a slow, deliberate thrust that left her gasping. She braced herself against the desk, her fingers curling around the edge. The next thrust was firmer, the sound of his hips meeting her skin echoing in the room. He set a rhythm then, a steady, deep pace that had her panting, her body arching to meet him, welcoming every inch of him as he filled her again and again. His pace was deliberate, each stroke sending waves through her. Her hips rolled back to meet his, seeking more, seeking everything.

Ansel's movements became harder, more insistent. His hands roamed over her body, caressing and claiming. One hand slid back up to cup her breast, his fingers finding her nipple, teasing it to a stiff peak. The sensation sent jolts straight to her core, amplifying the feeling of him inside her.

Her hand flew back, gripping his forearm, her fingers digging into his skin. She needed an anchor, something to hold onto as he continued to thrust into her. She could feel him—every inch of him, every ridge and vein, the heat, the stretch—driving her closer and closer to that edge again.

His movements grew more urgent, his hips slamming into hers with a force that rocked her forward, the desk creaking beneath them. Her breath came in gasps, mingling with his own ragged breathing, and the sound of their bodies coming together in a fierce rhythm.

With her eyes half-closed, she almost didn't notice him drawing closer, until his breath was hot against her neck. She shuddered, her skin prickling with goosebumps, as his eyes met hers. His gaze was heavy, dark with a desire that mirrored her own. Claudia could see the question there, the hesitation, the silent plea for permission. Her heart raced, pounding against her ribs, as she realized what he was asking. Her throat felt tight, her breath catching in her chest. She wanted to say yes, to give him everything he was asking for, but some final remnant of clarity held her back.

Claudia turned her face away, breaking eye contact, but she couldn't ignore the way her pulse quickened, the heat that flared in her cheeks.

Ansel didn't press the issue. He didn't ask again, nor did he withdraw. Instead, his lips found the curve of her shoulder, kissing and nibbling at her skin, his teeth grazing her lightly, sending shivers down her spine. Claudia gasped, her head falling forward, hair tumbling over her face. Her hand, still clutching his forearm, guided his movements, urging him on.

She lost herself in the sensations—the feel of his mouth on her skin, his hand on her breast, and the relentless push and pull of his cock as it moved inside her, each thrust pushing her closer and closer to orgasm again. She could feel it building within her, a coiling, tightening tension that threatened to break free at any moment. Her breaths came in short, sharp gasps. Her body tensed and quivered, her legs trembling with the effort of keeping her upright.

"I'm close," Ansel gasped into her ear, and the sound of his voice, ragged and strained, only heightened her own arousal. His hand had left her breast now, snaking back down her body to find her clit. His touch was firm and sure, knowing exactly what she needed. He stroked her with quick, firm circles, the pressure building alongside the relentless push of his cock inside her.

Claudia bit down hard on her lip, her eyes squeezing shut, as the intensity became too much to bear. It built, cresting like a wave, and then finally, finally, broke over her. Her climax tore through her, a white-hot surge of ecstasy that left her trembling and crying out, her voice mingling with his as he, too, reached his peak.

His thrusts grew erratic, his hips stuttering as he made one final thrust before drawing back with a low, guttural groan. She felt the warmth of his cum spilling across her thighs, the small of her back, and dripping down her skin, each splash sending another shudder through her body.

Claudia slumped over the desk, her legs shaking, barely able to hold her up anymore. Ansel was behind her, his forehead pressed against her back, hands on her hips, holding her steady, grounding her as they both rode out the last tremors.

For a moment, Claudia could hear nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing, the pounding of their hearts. Slowly, gradually, the world came back into focus. Claudia's fingers curled against the desk, her body still tingling from the afterglow.

Claudia was the first to move. With shaking hands, she pulled her trousers back up, the fabric sticking to her skin, damp and sticky from his release. She could still feel him, the imprint of him, the memory of him inside her, lingering even as she tried to regain her composure. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. She could only hope that the layers of her clothing would hide it well enough until she could bathe. A hot, proper bath.

Ansel was just as silent as he fumbled with his own clothes. Once they were both decent again, they simply stood there, unmoving. Claudia could feel the weight of their silence hanging in the air, thick and suffocating. She swallowed hard, her throat tight, as she grappled with the tangled knot of emotions churning inside her.

It was Ansel who broke the quiet first, his voice low and hesitant. "I... I'll let you be."

The words hung between them. Claudia could only nod, her eyes fixed on a spot on her desk, unable to meet his gaze.

Ansel turned to leave. His footsteps echoed in the study, each step a thunderous drumbeat in Claudia's ears. As he reached the door, his hand resting on the doorknob, he paused, the silence stretching out between them like an endless chasm. He didn't look back, didn't say a word, and then he was gone, the door shutting softly behind him.