For the rest of the day, and even through the night, nobody dared to come close to the room Max stayed in. Many had overheard the wild passion that lasted until morning, and by sunrise, whispers had already spread through the castle like fire. That night was later called the unofficial crowning of a king and his queen.
Early in the morning, both Max and Rosalia lay in bed, their naked frames barely covered by a thin blanket. They were curled up together as if letting go would separate them forever.
Rosalia rested close against his chest, while Max's arm remained wrapped around her waist even in sleep, holding her as if his body refused to release her. The fights they had endured for almost two weeks had melted away after a night of intimacy, leaving behind only warmth, tired breaths, and the strange peace neither of them had felt in far too long.
Yet the kingdom could not wait for its king to wake up.
