King and Valjean had been friends for as long as either of them could remember. They'd faced countless challenges together, growing stronger with each battle, their bond like iron forged in fire. To anyone who saw them, they were inseparable—loyal friends who could always count on each other. But what no one knew, not even Valjean, was that King had feelings for her, feelings he'd kept hidden for years.

King admired Valjean's spirit. She was fierce and free, like the wind that swept through the valleys they often rode through. There was something wild in her, something that no one could tame, and King had fallen for it long ago. He had never told her, though. He feared that speaking those words would shatter the delicate balance they had. He feared losing her, even as just a friend.

Valjean, for her part, never suspected anything. To her, King was a constant presence, someone she could always count on—a trusted companion, but nothing more. She often spoke of dreams that took her to faraway places, to castles and princes she had yet to meet. Her heart was set on a fantasy, and King could only watch, heart aching, as she dreamed of someone who wasn't him.

It wasn't easy for King. Every time they laughed together, every moment they shared in quiet companionship, his feelings simmered beneath the surface. Sometimes, late at night, when the campfire burned low and Valjean had fallen asleep, he'd look at her and wonder what it would be like to tell her the truth. But the thought of her pulling away, of losing what they had, kept him silent.

One evening, after a particularly hard day, Valjean confided in King about her latest dream. She talked of a man she had met in passing, someone who had captured her attention, someone who seemed like the prince she'd always imagined. King's heart sank, but he smiled and listened, offering the advice of a friend.

That night, as Valjean slept, King made a decision. He would bury his feelings. He could not bear the thought of losing her, even if it meant hiding the truth forever. His love for her was real, but their friendship was all he had, and that had to be enough.

In the morning, nothing had changed between them. They laughed, they rode, they fought side by side, just as they always had. But for King, something had shifted. He had chosen to move on, to let go of a love that would never be returned. He would be her friend, her loyal companion, for as long as she needed him.

And though his heart ached, there was a quiet peace in knowing he had made the right choice—for her, if not for himself.