Kate & Ainsley: Why They Work. Why It Hurts.

Some couples are like two jigsaw puzzle pieces: fitting together neatly, instantly, without complication.

Kate and Ainsley are not that couple.

Their attraction and connection are immediate. That much is undeniable. But their relationship? It’s anything but simple. It’s jagged edges and failed communication, stitched together with soft, breath-stealing moments of intimacy. It’s never tidy, never easy, and it doesn’t sit comfortably in any familiar trope, no matter how much I’ve tried to force it. And I’m sure you’ve tried, too.

They don’t fit.
They collide.
And somehow, they still work. God, they work.

They work because they see each other.

Kate is fiercely independent, self-reliant to a fault. She doesn’t ask for help, and she definitely isn’t looking to be saved. If anything, the quote that sums her up best is:

“She wasn’t looking for a knight. She was looking for a sword.”

But Ainsley never tries to be her saviour. Instead, she offers something rarer: solace. A quiet place to land. She doesn’t try to calm the storm; she just stays steady in the middle of it, holding Kate’s hand like it’s a lifeline.
Ainsley gives Kate silence without judgment, presence without pressure, kindness without demand. And Kate? Kate gives Ainsley purpose. She sees past the polished exterior, calls out the quiet strength beneath, and makes Ainsley feel truly seen. Wanted, exactly as she is.

They don’t complete each other. They don’t fill in each other’s gaps.

But they respect them.

They fit not because they’re perfect, but because they’ve both been broken in ways that leave room for the other.

They work because they don’t push, even when it hurts not to.

That’s rare. So many love stories bulldoze boundaries for the sake of passion or plot. But Ainsley never does. She lets Kate keep her walls. She waits—patiently, quietly, faithfully.

And Kate, for all her instincts to run, never lies to Ainsley. She doesn’t pretend. She doesn’t hide. She’s raw. She’s real. And that kind of honesty? That’s intimacy too.

There’s a moment — admittedly small and tucked between two seismic ones in Book Two — when Ainsley drops to one knee and swears binding fealty, eternal devotion, and unwavering support. The trust in that moment is louder than the words.

Love, in their world, often looks like that.

But even when love is real, sometimes the timing is wrong.

And that’s why it hurts.

The storm is not behind them. It’s still here.

Kate isn’t whole. She’s grieving someone she can’t stop loving—someone whose absence is loud. That grief isn’t a ghost. It sits at the table with them, silent and heavy. It shapes how she moves through the world. It sharpens her caution. It stifles her joy. Especially around the people she wants to let in the most.

And Ainsley? She is close.

Too close.

And somehow, still not close enough.

Underneath the layers of insecurity and unspoken fears, they do want the same things. But never at the same time.

Ainsley is held back by quiet doubts—not just her own, but the sharp barbs Kate’s mother left behind. Doubts that whisper she might never be enough. That she might never be more than an advisor or a friend.

Kate, meanwhile, is still learning how to breathe again. One cracked rib at a time. She’s trying to figure out who she is in this new world. She’s carrying a destiny she didn’t ask for and doesn’t feel ready to accept.

And sometimes, love arrives before you’re ready to hold it.

That’s the tragedy.

And the hope.

The future complicates everything.

Even if they finally get on the same page—even if the timing lines up and the weight of grief and fear lifts—there’s still one truth they can’t avoid:

Kate needs children.

Not for herself. For her people. To secure her line. To stop a war before it starts.

And can Ainsley give her that? Can she be the consort Kate needs? Or is she just holding the place until someone else arrives?

These are the questions neither of them has dared to ask aloud. Not yet.

And that makes every glance, every brush of hands, every moment their connection deepens feel that much more tragic. Because both of them are far too dutiful (and far too selfless) not to sacrifice their own love for the greater good.

But even if they ache, they matter.

They are proof that love doesn’t have to be clean to be real. That the messiest, most complicated relationships can still teach us how to hope again. How to try again. How to stay, even when it hurts.

Healing is not linear. And love? Love never is.

Kate and Ainsley aren’t easy.

But they’re worth it.

The question remains: Can love survive when fate demands more than one person can give?

Kate and Ainsley’s story is part of Holly & Oak, a queer fantasy about grief, power, and found family. If this resonated with you, you can explore more of their world here.