Under the Oak Tree - Riftan's POV - Multiverse

Chapter 42: The other Kiss

Maximillian

Paxias came and went with no words from Riftan.

Each day that passed was another needle pressing deeper into Maximilian's chest. At first she told herself his letter must have been delayed, that he was too busy with campaigns, that he would come when he could. But as the days grew into weeks, silence was all she received.

Her rejection had broken him. He had not trusted her enough to wait, not believed she could find a way to stand against her father. Surely, he had given up.

The Duke's fury after her secret meeting with Riftan had been swift. She was moved into a different chamber, one stripped bare of windows, as though she were some bird to be caged. Guards shadowed her steps. Even Princess Agnes was refused entry, her father snapping that Maximilian had no need for "meddlesome distractions."

Her magic studies halted. Her tutor was dismissed. She spent her hours with books alone, reading what she could not practice. Still, in her solitude, she felt her mana breathe a little steadier, as if her very stubbornness was honing it in secret.

Kuehl visited twice. His manner was patient, respectful, though his gaze carried a weight that unsettled her. She offered politeness, nothing more, yet his presence lingered like a looming verdict.

By Aquarias, word came of a grand tournament in Wedon. Knights from every province were gathering. The court's invitation included her name—though, she suspected, it was Kuehl's doing. Agnes swept into her chamber that morning, fiery and determined, refusing to leave her behind. For once, Maximilian was allowed to step beyond Croix's suffocating halls.

The tournament roared with clashing steel and thundering cheers. Maximilian sat beneath the pavilion, her eyes searching endlessly for one face among the knights. Duel after duel passed—men unhorsed, swords shattering, blood staining the sand. Yet Riftan did not appear. Her heart twisted tighter with each round, until whispers behind her seat caught her ear.

"...Calypse isn't here."

"He's in Livadon, I heard."

"They say one of the dukes means to wed his daughter to him. Political gain, you know. A man like him can climb high with the right alliance."

The words struck harder than any blow. Riftan. In Livadon. Courting a noble daughter.

The ground seemed to tilt beneath her. Of course. He had moved on. He had not trusted her. All his words—mine, forever, I will come back to you—meant nothing now.

That night, for the first time outside her father's walls, Maximilian drank. The wine was sharp, burning her throat, but it dulled the ache in her chest, blurred the whispers that tore her apart. She laughed too loudly with Agnes, stumbled when she rose, and felt the heavy weight of eyes on her.

Kuehl. He was watching, his jaw tight, his expression dark.

Later, she excused herself from the pavilion, insisting to Agnes she only needed rest. "I-I'm fine," she stammered, "I'll go to my tent."

The cold air bit her cheeks as she left, the wine swirling in her head. But before she reached the campfires, Kuehl caught up with her.

"You think I don't notice?" His voice was low, simmering with anger. "You pine for him. You disgrace yourself in front of everyone. I won't tolerate it."

She froze, staring at him. The words cut her, but somewhere beneath the sting, a pitiful thought wormed through: at least he still wanted her. When Riftan had abandoned her, when her father despised her, when even her magic had been stripped away—Kuehl still claimed her.

Her lips parted, but no words came.

"You are mine," he said harshly, his hand gripping her arm. Before she could turn away, he pulled her around, his mouth crashing against hers.

Maximilian stood stiff in his hold, her mind a storm of grief, shame, and confusion. She did not kiss him back, yet she did not push him away either.

Kuehl's mouth pressed hard against hers. At first Maximilian stood frozen, her body rigid, her hands hovering uselessly at her sides. His lips moved with practiced certainty, coaxing her to respond.

A small, treacherous voice whispered in her mind: Why resist? Riftan has left you. Your father will never relent. At least someone still wants you...

The wine blurred her thoughts, numbing the sharp edges of her despair. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and before she realized it, she let herself lean into the kiss. Kuehl groaned softly, his grip tightening on her waist as if claiming her surrender.

He deepened the kiss, insistent, unyielding. His hand slid up her back, pulling her flush against him, and for a moment she let herself be carried by the heat, by the dizzying illusion that she was not utterly alone.

But as his lips grew hungrier, as his breath mingled with hers in desperate possession, something inside her screamed. This was not right. This was not him... Riftan...

Maximilian broke away, her breath ragged. "S-stop..."

Kuehl's eyes burned with a heat that made her flinch. He searched her face, frustration tightening his jaw. Then, softer but no less fierce, he whispered, "I can wait... I'll wait until I make you my wife. But you will be mine, Maximilian. No one else."

His words, meant to soothe, pressed down on her chest like an iron weight. The promise of patience felt like a cage, no less suffocating than her father's locked rooms.

She drew back a step, her throat tightening. "I..." But the words withered. The wine made her tongue heavy, her mind foggy. All she could feel was the suffocating pressure of being claimed—by her father, by duty, by Kuehl—while the one man she wanted had left her behind.

Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she whispered, "I c-can't..." she whispered, her voice breaking. Before the plea could even escape, his mouth was on hers again, swallowing her protest. His kiss was harder this time, unyielding, as if he could drown out her resistance by sheer force.

Maximilian stiffened, her hands pressed against his chest, but the wine dulled her strength, muddled her resolve. His lips moved over hers relentlessly, and for a heartbeat she thought—this is it. This is the path that's been chosen for me.

Her chest ached with the crushing weight of it. The suffocating certainty that perhaps there was no escape—no Riftan, no freedom, no way out of her father's will. Only this.

Only resignation.

She closed her eyes, her tears trapped between their mouths, tasting salt and despair as the kiss devoured the last of her voice.

At last he tore his lips from hers, his breath ragged, his gaze fevered. "I can't wait to make you my wife," he murmured, his words heavy with possession.

The declaration pressed down on her like a shackle. Maxi felt the air vanish from her lungs, her body trembling with the awful knowledge that she was being bound, piece by piece, into a fate she had never chosen.

Writer 's Note:

Wrote this one with variations about 3 years ago! I am happy that I am finally able to publish it! 

Thank you for reading!