That night — we crossed every line we'd spent centuries carefully maintaining.
Not recklessly. Not without knowing exactly what it meant.
Just — finally. Honestly. Without the weight of titles or distance between us.
I don't remember when the candles burned out.
I don't remember when the artificial sky shifted toward morning.
I only remember her. The warmth of her beside me. The way she laughed once — softly, at something small and completely insignificant. The way her hand found mine in the dark without either of us deciding it would.
The way the empire outside continued turning — indifferent, permanent — and for once in two hundred and ninety-seven years—
I didn't care.
She turned her head toward me as dawn crept through the window.
Eyes soft. That small crooked smile.
"Good morning," she said quietly.
I looked at her.
At two hundred and ninety-seven years of careful distance finally, completely, gone.
"Good morning," I said.
The most honest words I'd ever said.
The door broke open.
Not knocked. Not announced.
Broke.
Royal guards — four of them, filling the doorway before either of us had understood what was happening.
I was on my feet instantly.
"What is the meaning of—"
They moved past me.
Toward her.
She had barely had time to sit up — the blanket pulled around her, the only thing between her and the cold air that rushed in with them, her hair loose, her eyes wide.
"Wait—" I stepped forward. "Wait—"
"By order of His Majesty—"
"She is under my protection—"
Two guards moved to restrain me.
I fought.
It wasn't enough.
They were older. Stronger. Assigned to orders that weren't meant to be questioned.
I watched them drag her out.
The blanket — the only thing she had — clutched around her with both hands, her knuckles white, her feet barely finding purchase on the floor.
She looked back at me once.
Not asking me to save her. Not panicking.
Just — looking.
Like she wanted to remember this.
Then the door closed.
The royal court assembled like it had been waiting.
Maybe it had.
They brought her in — still wrapped in nothing but the blanket, still barefoot, hair loose and undone in a way the court would make mean everything it wanted to mean.
The whispers started before she'd even fully entered.
The maid.
Did you hear—
In his quarters. All night.
Filthy.
Witch.
What did you expect from something like that.
They didn't whisper quietly. They weren't meant to. The words were aimed — precise and deliberate, designed to land, designed to mark.
She stood in the center of it.
Barefoot. The blanket her only dignity.
She didn't look down.
She didn't cry.
She stood straight — shoulders back, chin level, eyes forward — with the quiet dignity of someone who had been told her whole life she was worth nothing and had simply refused to agree.
It was the most dignity I had ever seen in that court.
And they despised her for it.
I took one step forward.
A guard's hand landed on my shoulder. Heavy. A warning.
I looked at Father.
He was watching. Expression unreadable. A decision already made.
"Atherion."
He looked at me.
"Do something." Everything I never showed anyone — visible all at once. "Please. I'll do anything — anything — just help her. You have his ear, you always have, just—"
My voice broke.
"Please."
Atherion looked at me for a long moment.
Then at her.
Then back at the court.
He said nothing.
Did nothing.
The kind of nothing that was its own answer.
Father gave the order.
"Remove her from the empire."
The words landed in my chest like something physical.
I lunged forward.
Both guards caught me before I'd taken two steps.
"Don't—" My voice wasn't a prince's anymore. "Don't you dare—"
"Keltherion." Father. Still calm. "Stand down."
I looked at Atherion one more time.
Desperate. Completely, humiliatingly visible.
Please.
He met my eyes.
And looked away.
She was already being moved toward the doors.
Still not crying.
Still not looking down.
At the threshold she stopped — just for a moment — and turned her head slightly.
Not toward the court.
Toward me.
Her eyes found mine across the room.
She didn't say anything.
I know, her eyes said. I know. It's okay.
Like she was the one comforting me.
Even now.
The doors closed.