I stand under the shower until the water runs cold, watching the red swirl from my knuckles down the drain. Not blood this time—just skin rubbed raw, a habit I never outgrew. I tell myself I’m washing the night off. I know better. Some things don’t rinse away.
When I finally step out, I pull a towel through my hair and catch my reflection in the mirror.
A stranger stares back.
One who looks too tired.
Too lonely.
Too aware of what he wants and can’t have.
I grab a shirt from the chair by the door, but don’t bother buttoning it all the way. The wound at my shoulder aches, a dull reminder of what happens when I let my guard down.
And yet, here I am, already walking down the hall toward the one thing I can’t protect myself from.
Her.
Her door is cracked open. A line of soft light spills across the floor from the city beyond the windows.
She’s curled on her side, tangled in the blanket, the notebook Sofia gave her resting against her chest. The sight stops me in my tracks.
Every part of me says to turn around. To go back to my room. To keep the distance I’ve been fighting to maintain.
But my feet don’t listen.
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, and… watch.
She sleeps like she fights—with all of herself. Brow furrowed, mouth soft but determined, one hand clutching the edge of the pillow like it’s the only thing anchoring her.
The moonlight catches her hair, turns it silver at the edges. I shouldn’t notice. I shouldn’twantto notice.
But I do.
God help me, I do.
I tell myself I’m here because I need to make sure she’s safe. That’s the lie I cling to every time I find an excuse to come near her.
Truth is, I just needed to see her.
To prove she’s still here.
Still breathing.
Still mine to protect, even if I have no right to think of her that way.
She shifts in her sleep, mumbling something under her breath. My name, maybe. Or maybe I want it to be.
The sound pulls a sharp ache through my chest.
I push a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. My heart shouldn’t be doing this. Beating like it had forgotten what kind of man it belonged to.
I should leave.
But instead, I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor just outside her room, head tipped back against the doorframe.
From here, I can see the outline of her through the crack of light. Hear the faint rhythm of her breathing. It’s steady. Calming in a way I haven’t felt in years.
Sofia’s words echo in my head—Papà needs a Queen to help him carry the crown.
