Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A peasant, the lowest of the low, a good-for-nothing. That’s what you were: a nobody with a nobody’s job. Working as a waitress in Micky’s inn wasn’t clean, wasn’t satisfying, wasn’t anything worth bragging about. Ever since the rumour about the cobbler Mike, the tailor Davy, the innkeeper Micky, and the peasant Peter saving Princess Gwen spread across the kingdom, you’d been forced to work double shifts, because the number of travellers visiting the inn had skyrocketed.

You didn’t like the job one bit. The endless catcalls from drunken men, the mediocre pay, and the lack of free time made it unbearable. Each night you came home with aching feet and a mind full of regret.

“Hey, fill this up for me, will you?” asked Micky, holding a jar and waving it at you. You didn’t even react at first; your body moved slower than your thoughts. “Hello?” he called again, snapping you out of your daze.

“Sorry, I’ll fill this up,” you mumbled, taking the jar and heading to the barrel to refill it, bored out of your mind during yet another dull shift.

The men were rude, nasty, always calling you names and pretending they were the funniest guys around when they obviously weren’t. Micky never paid much attention to them; he was too busy running the inn to care about that kind of nonsense. You’d never had an eye for men anyway — they just didn’t have that spark that could ever make you like them. Not even Davy, and that cat was handsome, charming, and smooth-talking enough to make half the town swoon. But you? You never felt it. Not once.

Sometimes you wished it were easier to fall in love, to feel something real. Because, if you were honest with yourself, you’d never actually been in love. Sure, you’d had a few boyfriends here and there, but the truth was ugly: you never really liked them. Not like that. It made you feel broken somehow, like something inside you was missing. Why couldn’t you fall for even the most handsome man around? There had to be something wrong with you.

“Daydreaming again, huh?” said Micky, grinning as he wiped down the counter.

“I just…” You hesitated, not sure if you should spill what was on your mind. He was just your boss, after all. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“Well, cheer up, baby. Tonight’s a nice one,” he said, flashing his usual sunny smile.

“I know…” you muttered.

“C’mon, what’s the problem?” he asked, this time with concern in his tone.

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. “It’s just… I don’t know. Maybe it’s silly, but… I’ve never really been in love. With a man, I mean.”

“Oh, I have,” he said with a half-laugh, shaking his head. “And trust me, it’s not as dreamy as people make it out to be.”

You managed a small smile, but it faded fast. Maybe he was right. Maybe it wasn’t that deep. You went back to work quietly, letting the noise of the inn swallow your thoughts.

The rest of the shift dragged on, just as dull as ever. Davy tried his luck again, strolling up with that grin of his, thinking he could charm you for the hundredth time. You turned him down —again— and caught the flicker of amusement in Peter’s eyes from across the room. That boy, you thought, could move faster than lightning when it came to crushes. One day a princess, the next a tailor. Or maybe he’d never really moved on at all —just circled back, the same way people always do.

When you finally left work and began the long walk home, you spotted Peter—the same man who’d once been hopelessly in love with the princess—talking to Mike, the cobbler. You couldn’t hear what they were saying from afar, but as you drew closer, fragments of their conversation reached your ears.

“She’s just so groovy, I mean, look at her! That hair, those sideburns…”

“I don’t know, Mike. I don’t think I want to work for her,” Peter said, holding a crumpled piece of paper.

Curiosity got the best of you, and you stepped closer. “Excuse me… work for who?”

Both men stared at you as if you had three heads before Mike finally spoke. “For Princess Gwen. She’s looking for someone to work for her.” Peter handed you the pamphlet, and you read it carefully. Maybe—just maybe—this was your chance to find a better job.

That night, as you got ready for bed, you decided you’d go for it. Tomorrow, you’d apply. You’d sleep well, dream of something better, and hope the next sunrise would bring it along.

The morning came bright and quick. You cooked yourself a big breakfast — eggs, bacon, toast, milk, orange juice — the works. Then came the hardest part: what to wear. You tore through your tiny wardrobe, pulling out a plain brown dress, a long green skirt that was a bit too tight, and a faded white blouse. None of them screamed princess material, but after a good while, you settled on the blouse and skirt combo, brushing your hair down as best as you could and tying it with a ribbon you’d saved for special occasions.

Of course, it was going to be hard. Everyone in the kingdom dreamed of working for the princess. Still, you couldn’t resist the urge to go to what they called the interview.

The palace was enormous, dazzling in its golden light. The walls were covered in tapestries depicting ancient legends, and marble floors shone like mirrors. Chandeliers hung from high ceilings, filling the air with a faint scent of candle wax and roses. The sound of distant harps echoed softly as servants moved like ghosts through endless corridors.

A servant, tall and stiff as a board, led you through the halls and stopped in front of a heavy wooden door. “This way,” he said curtly. When you entered, the room was empty. No other candidates. No chatter. Just silence. You frowned. How could it be that no one wanted to work for the princess? Perhaps you were late.

But before you could sit down, another man entered — dressed in fancy velvet, holding a scroll. He looked you over once, expression blank. “Sign it,” he said flatly.

“Excuse me?” You blinked, confused. “Isn’t there supposed to be an interview? Or… where’s everyone else?”

“No one else came. You’re the only one.”

You stared, baffled. “Really?”

“Yes. Sign if you want the job.”

You hesitated for only a second. Of course, you wanted the job. It sounded perfect: no more sleazy men shouting at you, a steady pay, and a life in a palace. You signed without a second thought. How bad could it really be?

The man gestured for you to follow, and you walked behind him through a maze of corridors and staircases. You passed the kitchen, where servants laughed and sang as they prepared dinner; the dining hall, glittering with silver cutlery and crystal glasses; the ballroom, so wide it seemed to echo your very breath; and finally, the guest quarters, where your modest little room awaited. A soft bed, clean sheets, and a window overlooking the royal gardens—it already felt like heaven compared to your cramped space back home.

“You will be her lady-in-waiting. You’re both her friend and her assistant. Doing her hair, makeup, and helping her choose her clothes will be part of your duties. Later, I’ll give you something that explains everything in detail,” he said, his tone calm but distant. You nodded quietly after hearing that. He didn’t seem particularly eager to explain further, and for a second, you weren’t sure whether that made you nervous or relieved.

One door, however, stood out from all the others. It was larger, decorated with golden carvings and roses sculpted into the wood. The man knocked twice, and a high-pitched voice from the other side told you both to come in.

“My princess,” the man announced, bowing deeply, “here is your new maid.”

She turned, her expression confused. The princess was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen—and the most groovy-looking one, too. Her golden hair fell in long, wavy locks that caught the light, her brown eyes gleamed beneath dark thick lashes, and her sideburns framed her face in perfect symmetry. Her gown shimmered with every movement. You could have spent hours admiring her.

But all that beauty shattered the moment she spoke. “Them? Really” she said in a shrill Texan accent, her tone sharp and condescending. “What’s their name?”

“I’m Y/N. A pleasure to meet you, princess,” you replied politely. Gwen gave you a look that could curdle milk and turned her back on you, muttering something under her breath. The man bowed again and left, leaving you alone in awkward silence.

You didn’t know what to say or do. She was far more imposing than you’d ever admit, her presence filling the room like thunder before a storm. People said she’d punched the evil herald who tried to kill her before those groovy boys swooped in to save the day — and honestly, you believed it. Rumour had it that everyone despised her for being a real drag to deal with, but you didn’t buy that completely… though, truth be told, her first impression wasn’t helping her case. Still, plenty of folks talked about how dashing and magnificent she was, like some golden dream walking through the castle halls. She couldn’t really be that bad, could she? After all, she’d even rewarded the guys who’d helped her — there was no way that could be the same woman everyone supposedly hated.

“Can I do anything for you?” you asked carefully.

“Go get me something to eat, peasant,” she ordered without turning around.

You left, feeling oddly deflated. She wasn’t what you expected. Sure, she was beautiful, but she wasn’t kind. Her attitude—and that grating voice—made her almost unbearable.

The kitchen, on the other hand, was warm and lively. The servants chatted and laughed as they cooked, their energy contagious. You told them what the princess had asked for, and they handed you a plate of leftovers. Apparently, those were Gwen’s favourite, which you found strange, but you didn’t ask, it wasn’t your place to do so. You just took the tray and headed back upstairs.

When you entered her room again, Gwen was sitting by a large open window. The soft breeze danced through her golden hair, making it shine like threads of sunlight. The curtains fluttered gently, and the light framed her like something out of a dream. For a moment, you almost forgot how bad she’d been.

“My princess, I have brought the food you asked for,” you said softly. She turned and smiled faintly. “They’re… leftovers.”

“Oh! My favourite!” she said brightly, clapping her hands together. Seeing how joyful she looked over something as simple as leftovers, you couldn’t help but think she was a little naive —maybe not the brightest chick in the palace, too innocent to realise how strange it sounded to call yesterday’s food your favourite meal. Still, she smiled so sincerely that it was hard not to soften up. What a curious, silly woman, you thought, almost smiling yourself.

“Are they, really?” you asked.

“Of course! What else?”

“I don’t know… real food? Like, not real, but… you know, freshly made?”

She said nothing, just kept chewing quietly, eyes lost in the distance.

“Now get out of my sight before I fire you!” she demanded in a lower, sharper tone that almost made you flinch. You never really knew what to expect from her; one moment she could be calm, and the next she’d sound like thunder. You turned around silently, trying not to show how shaken you were, and made your way out of the room.

As you walked down the corridor, a heavy feeling started to grow in your chest. Thinking of it now, it made you feel kind of bad leaving Micky alone at the inn. He’d said it was okay, that you should go ahead, but still, something about it didn’t sit right. There was an odd, ugly twist in your stomach, a feeling you couldn’t shake off no matter how hard you tried. Maybe you’d miss working for him after all.

You sat down on the staircase, the silence pressing against you. Your fingers pinched absentmindedly at the folds of your skirt while the sound of birds chirping outside drifted faintly through the windows. It was lonely there—really lonely—and for a second, you couldn’t help but wonder how the princess must feel. No one to talk to, her own staff despising her, and no one willing to serve her except you. Maybe she wasn’t as bad as everyone said. You wanted to believe that. You really did.

You let out a small sigh and leaned your head against the railing. Maybe tomorrow you could take a walk through the gardens, surrounded by all those beautiful flowers and the tiny creatures running about. It sounded like a dream—being in a palace, seeing all that magic around you—and yet, there was still that sour taste in your mouth, that feeling that something just wasn’t right. They hadn’t even let you pack your things, rushing you to start working as soon as you arrived. You were just thankful you’d told Micky about your plans before leaving. Maybe things would get better eventually. You really hoped they would.

Chapter Text

The bed was pure heaven. It made you feel as if you were floating on a cloud, wrapped in a pile of soft, sweet-smelling feathers. The sheets were smooth and warm against your skin, a world apart from the rough, scratchy ones you had back home. You buried your face into one of the pillows and sighed—they smelled faintly like lavender. For a second, you forgot you were just a servant. You could almost believe this fairytale life might not be so bad after all.

When you finally got up, the first thing you did was look through the wardrobe. Inside were gowns that shimmered even in the pale morning light, made of fine fabrics you didn’t even know the names of, so delicate it looked like it would fall apart if you breathed on it. You ran your fingers along them, feeling the texture of something so far from what you were used to. There was one that fit you perfectly, simple enough not to draw too much attention, yet clearly made by someone who knew how to make a woman look elegant. You slipped it on and stood before the mirror, brushing your hair until it shone. You had to make a good impression; after all, you were now in the service of a princess.

Last evening, the man who had introduced you to Princess Gwen had spotted you wandering the hallways. Without saying much, he had handed you a small notebook filled with neat handwriting—your list of chores as a lady-in-waiting. You had read through it under the candlelight, each line making your new role seem both clearer and heavier. You were to attend to her every morning, help her choose her gowns, style her hair and makeup, assist her with jewelry, accompany her on walks, and be ready for her every whim—no matter how small or sudden. At first glance, it didn’t seem too difficult, just being by her side and doing whatever she told you to. But there was something about her tone, the way everyone in the castle seemed to avoid mentioning her name, that made you uneasy. What if she didn’t want you there at all? What if she thought you were a nuisance? The thought made your stomach twist in knots.

After breakfast—served by a maid who wouldn’t even meet your eyes—you made your way through the long marble corridors toward Gwen’s chambers. The air was cool and smelled faintly of roses from the gardens outside. You hoped, perhaps foolishly, that she’d be in a better mood that morning. You knocked softly, then entered without waiting for a reply. The room was drenched in the soft glow of morning, and Gwen was still asleep beneath a cascade of silk sheets. You moved quietly, opening the curtains and windows to let in the daylight and the fresh air, making as little sound as possible. You opened her wardrobe, scanning the endless rows of gowns that sparkled with gemstones and embroidery. Every single one looked like it belonged in a fairy tale, but your eyes landed on a light blue one, simple yet graceful—it seemed perfect for the day.

“Good morning, my princess,” you said softly as she stirred, blinking at the sunlight. “How did you sleep last night?”

She didn’t answer immediately. She just squinted, trying to gather herself, the morning light catching the faint curl of her hair.

“I chose a dress for you,” you continued, your voice unsure. “I… I don’t know if you wanted me to do that. I can put it back if—”

“You talk too much,” she interrupted, her voice low and slightly groggy. Sitting up, she brushed her tangled hair out of her face. “The dress is fine. Whatever.”

You bit your lip and bowed your head slightly. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

She ignored you, moving lazily toward the vanity, her long hair messy and unkempt but still gleaming in the sunlight. Even with that bedhead, she somehow looked regal, as if being beautiful was simply part of breathing for her.

“Let me brush your hair, princess,” you said, approaching her slowly, picking up the brush with both hands as though it were something sacred. You began to work through the tangles, gently, carefully, the soft strands falling perfectly into place. Her hair smelled faintly of rosewater and something warmer—like the sun. You couldn’t help but admire her reflection in the mirror; even when she wasn’t smiling, her face was captivating.

“I’m jealous,” you admitted quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Your hair’s so perfect, it practically untangles just by touch.”

“Well, obviously it’s perfect,” she replied, tilting her head with mock pride. “It’s the hair of a princess.”

But for a moment, just a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of surprise behind her confident expression, as if no one had ever spoken to her that kindly before.

When you finished brushing, you carefully styled her hair into soft waves and pinned a few loose curls behind her ear. Then you began her makeup—just a touch of powder, a bit of colour on her cheeks, and a subtle shade on her lips. She watched you in silence, her eyes studying your every move. Finally, you helped her into the blue gown, which, though clearly designed for someone with a more masculine figure than most princesses, still draped gracefully across her shoulders. Adjusting the waist and smoothing the folds, you stepped back, admiring how the light played on the fabric.

“Beautiful,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.

“I know,” she said with a small smirk, standing and glancing at herself in the mirror. “Now, let’s eat. I’m starving.”

You followed her down the corridor, opening the tall dining room doors for her and pulling out a chair at the head of the long oak table. You caught the eye of one of the servants, who looked at you with thinly veiled irritation when you asked him to bring her breakfast. You didn’t understand their bitterness, nor why they all seemed to dread serving her. But the moment you looked at Gwen—her chin lifted high, her posture impeccable—you began to guess.

It didn’t take long for the meal to arrive: eggs, toast, fruit, and a cup of steaming tea. The servant set it before her without a word, and Gwen looked unimpressed. Then, with a sly smile, she turned to you.

“Try this for me first.”

You blinked. “Why, may I ask?”

“Well, what if it’s poisoned?” she said, as if she were talking about the weather.

You frowned. “I mean… why would it be?”

“Well, everyone here hates me, so naturally I have to test it,” she said, casually sipping her tea. Her voice was calm, but the words made your skin crawl.

“Alright…” you murmured, picking up a fork. You took a cautious bite of the food, waited a few seconds, then shrugged. “It’s fine, princess.”

She clapped her hands once in delight and began to eat. “Lovely. I was starving.”

As she ate, you stood quietly beside her, trying not to fidget. Your feet began to ache, and you couldn’t help but think of Micky’s inn—the noise, the laughter, the easy company of people who didn’t think they were better than you. Here, every word felt like a test. Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to resent Gwen. Maybe it was the way she held herself, or maybe it was something deeper—a loneliness she wouldn’t let anyone see.

Later that day, when her meal was finished and the hours dragged by without a single visitor or task, you found her sitting idly by the window. The silence stretched between you until you finally dared to ask, “My princess, don’t you ever get bored? All day here, no one to talk to… I’d go mad.”

She turned her head slowly, her brow arched. “What’s your point?”

“I… I don’t know,” you stammered. “Do you want to go for a walk? Through the gardens, I mean. It’s a beautiful day.”

“A walk?”

“Yeah, I mean—yes, your highness. The gardens look wonderful. It’d be nice to get some air.”

She hesitated, her lips pressing together, then finally shrugged. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”

You could hardly contain your joy. The idea of walking through those gardens—with the princess—made your heart race.

When you stepped outside, the world changed completely. The air smelled of lilacs and wild roses. The gardens stretched endlessly, a mosaic of colours and scents. Marble fountains sang softly as clear water spilled into pools filled with koi fish. The hedges were cut into perfect shapes, and the trees swayed lazily in the gentle breeze. Butterflies danced among tulips, and the sun filtered through the leaves, painting everything gold.

“This is beautiful, my princess,” you said, awed.

“I know,” she answered simply, as though it was her doing.

“If I were you, I’d come here every day.”

“Every day? Don’t you have something better to do?”

“I mean, do you?” you replied before realising how bold that sounded.

She stopped and shot you a look sharp enough to cut glass. Then, with a huff, she turned and kept walking.

You followed, a little embarrassed but unable to wipe the smile from your face. The two of you reached a pond where ducks floated lazily and fish darted beneath the surface. Gwen sat down gracefully on a stone bench, her dress pooling around her feet.

“This is beautiful,” you said softly, sitting beside her on the stone bench. Gwen didn’t move, though her head turned slightly toward you, her brows lifting with that familiar look of disbelief she so often gave you—half amusement, half confusion. “I wish I had some peas to feed the ducks,” you added, gazing at the pond where a family of ducks drifted lazily under the sunlight.

“Peas?” she repeated, her voice dripping with bewilderment. The word seemed almost foreign to her, as if no one had ever dared mention something so ordinary in her presence.

“Yeah,” you said with a small grin, completely unfazed by her tone. “Bread’s bad for ducks, you know. Corn or peas are better. That’s what they should eat.” You spoke so casually it almost sounded like you were talking to an old friend rather than a royal. “Here, I guess they just eat whatever they find—bugs, plants, maybe even small fish. But back home, people always brought bags of breadcrumbs to the park pond and I felt bad. It’s silly, I know, but feeding the ducks…” You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “It’s one of those small things that just makes life feel… lighter, you know? Watching them waddle around, fight over food, dive for crumbs—it’s all so ridiculous, but somehow it makes me happy.”

You laughed under your breath again, your voice fading into the quiet hum of the garden. “I think those little silly things are the best ones to hold onto. Maybe I’m just too—”

“Simple?” she interrupted, her tone sharp, but not unkind.

You met her gaze and smiled faintly. “I guess, yeah. Simple. But I don’t think that’s bad.” You leaned forward slightly, looking at the ducks again. “The ducks are simple, the fish too. Even my dad—he was a simple man. Worked hard, didn’t ask for much. But he was good. Kind. Honest. And that counts for something, doesn’t it? Maybe life doesn’t have to be full of grand things to be worth something.”

For a moment, the only sound was the soft ripple of the water and the faint rustle of leaves above. Gwen stayed quiet, her expression unreadable. She sat with her hands resting lightly on her lap, her posture still regal but her eyes—those deep, sharp brown eyes—had softened. She wasn’t looking at you now, but at the pond, following the ducks’ gentle movement across the surface.

The sunlight caught her hair, turning it to strands of honey and chestnut, and for once she didn’t seem to be performing or commanding or pretending to be above it all. Her usual air of superiority slipped just a little. You could almost see the thought crossing her mind, that maybe there was some quiet truth in what you said—something she’d never stopped long enough to consider.

A small sigh escaped her lips, barely audible. She shifted slightly on the bench, her clothes brushing against yours, but she didn’t move away. The corner of her mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but not disdain either—just something in between, something curious and human.

You didn’t speak again. You just sat there beside her, watching the ducks glide through the water, the sunlight flickering like gold on the ripples. It felt peaceful, as if the entire world had stopped to listen.

And though she’d never admit it, you could tell by the way Gwen’s shoulders relaxed, by how her gaze softened with each passing minute, that maybe—just maybe—she was beginning to understand what you meant.

“Maybe we should go back,” you suggested quietly. The breeze had turned cold, sharp enough to raise goosebumps on your arms, but you didn’t want to admit it out loud. Gwen didn’t answer at first, just gave a small nod and rose gracefully from the bench. You looked up at her from where you sat, your breath catching for a moment. Standing there, framed by the pale sky and the shimmering pond, she looked impossibly regal. There was something in her that made the world around her seem smaller, dimmer, like everything existed just to make her stand out.

She glanced down at you, and the look she gave could have frozen fire. Still, you couldn’t look away. She was beautiful—more than beautiful. There weren’t enough words for it. Groovy maybe. Her beauty wasn’t delicate; it was fierce, impossible to ignore. Your gaze lingered on the small beauty mark on her cheek. It was elegant, perfectly placed, as if the gods themselves had decided to mark her as theirs. Lucky was the man who’d ever had the chance to kiss it.

The thought startled you. What were you doing thinking like that? You were a nobody, a peasant who had stumbled into this world by pure luck, not someone worthy of such thoughts. You weren’t the hero who’d saved her from danger, nor a royal, nor anyone important. Just a servant. A shadow passing through her story. Kissing a princess wasn’t for you, and it never would be.

“You’re going to get up or what?” she demanded suddenly, breaking through your thoughts.

You blinked and scrambled to your feet. “Sorry, I was just daydreaming.”

“Well, you better not do it when I’m around,” she said, turning sharply and starting to walk back toward the palace.

You nodded, falling into step behind her, your eyes fixed on the hem of her gown swaying with each step. It was only your second day in the palace, and already your mind was drifting where it shouldn’t. But who could blame you? Men like Peter had spent their whole lives dreaming about her, losing their heads over her beauty, her voice, her presence. She was the kind of woman who could make anyone forget their place.

You told yourself to stop thinking that way, that it was foolish, dangerous even. But the more you tried not to, the more those thoughts crept back in—the curve of her smile, the way her voice cut through the air, the way her eyes caught the light. You could’ve sworn that even if she used you as her mop, you wouldn’t mind. It wasn’t just admiration anymore; it was something deeper, something you didn’t dare name.

As you followed her through the garden gates, the palace looming closer, you caught yourself sighing. You didn’t know if it was exhaustion or longing, but whatever it was, it wasn’t something you could control anymore.

Chapter Text

A few more days passed, and the castle had fallen into a certain rhythm. The mornings were quieter than ever, and today was no exception. You woke up earlier than usual, before the sun had fully risen, the sky still painted in pale tones of blue and grey. Perhaps it was for the best; lately, your dreams had been turning into something you didn’t quite want to admit. Fantasies about the princess, of her golden hair and her sharp, commanding voice softened into something else, something that made you feel guilty the moment you opened your eyes. It wasn’t proper, and you knew it. You weren’t meant to think that way about her. She was your superior, your duty, your princess. And you were nothing more than her attendant.

The air that morning was cold, sharp enough to sting your cheeks as you walked through the corridors, but it was a pleasant kind of cold. The kind that woke you up gently, made you breathe deeper, reminded you that you were alive. The servants who were already awake were moving slowly, still drowsy, their steps dragging slightly as they went about their work. You heard the muffled clinking of dishes from the kitchen, the low hum of a maid yawning, the creak of wood as someone opened the pantry door.

You slipped inside and took a seat by one of the long wooden tables. The air was filled with the smell of freshly baked bread and something faintly sweet — maybe porridge or honey. One of the maids sat across from you, her head resting on her hand, a small, tired smile tugging at her lips. You’d seen her before; she was the one who changed the princess’s sheets every few days. She was kind in her own way, though you’d never spoken much beyond polite exchanges. When the princess was around, she hardly dared to look your way. But now, without Gwen’s presence, she seemed more at ease.

You ate quietly for a while, spoon scraping gently against the wooden bowl. Then, almost out of nowhere, she spoke.

“You seem fine with the princess,” she said, her tone casual, though curiosity flickered behind her sleepy eyes.

“I guess so, yeah.” You shrugged, unsure what she wanted you to say.

“How? I mean… No one likes her. How can you?”

You hesitated, chewing slowly before answering. “She’s groovy.”

The maid blinked, clearly baffled by your choice of words. That was all? Surely there was more to it than that.

“Nothing else?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

You froze for a second. You couldn’t possibly tell her the truth — that you thought the princess was the most breathtaking person you had ever seen, that every time she so much as looked at you, something in your chest tightened, something that felt equal parts admiration and something you dared not name. So you said the first thing that came to mind.

“She’s nice to me.”

The maid snorted softly. “Nice? No way. She’s not nice.”

“But she is,” you insisted, feeling oddly defensive.

“No,” she said with quiet conviction, “she’s mean, and she always wants things her way —her way only.”

“Don’t we all?” you countered, your tone softer than you intended.

The maid gave you a look of disbelief. Maybe she thought you were mad. Maybe you were. Because deep down, you knew she was right. Gwen could be difficult, demanding, even cruel at times. But that didn’t seem to matter to you. The others only saw her arrogance, but you saw something else —a strange fragility buried beneath her sharpness, something restless behind her eyes.

You didn’t say anything more. The conversation faded into silence, leaving only the crackle of the hearth and the soft shuffle of feet on the stone floor.

Once you finished breakfast, you excused yourself and made your way through the corridors toward the princess’s chambers. The halls were still dimly lit, the early morning light barely filtering through the tall windows. When you reached her room, you opened the door quietly, careful not to wake her just yet.

The room smelled faintly of roses and linen. You moved to the windows first, pushing them open to let in the morning air. It was cold but refreshing, and the faint sounds of the garden below drifted in — birds chirping, the rustle of leaves, the distant splash of the pond’s fountain.

You turned your attention to the princess’s wardrobe. Her gowns were neatly arranged, their silks and velvets catching the pale morning light. You ran your hand over a few of them, feeling the fine texture of the fabric between your fingers. There were dresses of deep crimson, soft lavender, ocean blue, and one particularly lovely one of pale gold, the color of sunlight. You hesitated for a moment before pulling it out, holding it up against the light. It seemed to shimmer faintly, as if woven from the very dawn itself.

You moved around the room quietly, arranging her shoes, folding a few scattered scarves, tidying the vanity. The princess was a messy sleeper — you’d found that out quickly. She left books on the floor, ribbons draped over the chair, and jewelry tangled like a little nest of gold on the dresser. You took your time setting things in order.

Gwen finally stirred not long after, a soft sigh escaping her lips. You turned just in time to see her sit up, her hair spilling down her shoulders like liquid gold. She blinked a few times, her gaze drifting lazily around the room until it landed on you.

“Morning,” you said softly, offering a small smile.

She didn’t answer right away, only studied you for a moment. Something in her expression softened slightly, almost imperceptibly. Maybe it was because, for once, you looked genuinely cheerful.

“You’re up early,” she finally said, her voice still rough with sleep.

“Couldn’t sleep much,” you admitted, moving closer with a brush in hand. “Might as well be useful.”

She hummed lightly and sat down in front of the mirror, allowing you to stand behind her. You began brushing her hair, slow and careful strokes through the soft strands. Her hair gleamed under the light, golden and impossibly smooth. You didn’t know whether it was the brush or your hands trembling slightly, but you felt each touch linger longer than it should have.

After a moment of silence, you spoke. “My princess, may I ask something?”

Her reflection met yours in the mirror, her expression unreadable. “Go ahead.”

“Why didn’t you marry Peter Tork? He saved you from the evil herald, and he’s a cute guy.”

She smiled faintly, though it wasn’t a happy smile. “I just didn’t want to.”

“Fair enough,” you said with a light shrug.

Her lips curved slightly, this time with something closer to amusement. “Why? Do you want to marry him or something?”

You blinked, taken aback, then let out a quiet laugh. “Not at all. He’s not my type.”

“Oh? And what is your type, then?”

You hesitated, focusing on the brush instead of her eyes. “I wouldn’t say I have one,” you said, thinking about what to answer next. “Still, I’ve got at least one suitor. Davy. He’s funny, in his own way, but I wouldn’t marry him. I’d rather be with Mike —but he’s such a loser.” You laughed softly, imagining the two of them together, your laughter echoing gently in the room. “They’re good friends, though. Can’t imagine any of them as a husband.”

Gwen’s gaze stayed fixed on you through the mirror. “Do you have suitors?” you asked.

“Some, yes,” she said simply.

“I hope they don’t turn out to be a fiasco like the herald.”

“I have no interest in them now.”

“Why’s that?”

“They’re not good enough,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact, as if it were the simplest truth in the world.

“I see,” you murmured, a small smile creeping onto your lips. For some reason, the thought filled you with a quiet relief. You didn’t dare think of why, but it settled in your chest like warmth after a long chill.

She caught your expression in the mirror but said nothing. Instead, she turned her head slightly, her golden hair brushing against your wrist. The silence stretched between you again —not uncomfortable, but charged, fragile, almost sacred.

You continued brushing her hair, your thoughts drifting. You wondered what it would be like to touch her without duty, to see her laugh without restraint, to hear her speak your name not as a command but as something softer. And then, as quickly as the thought came, you buried it deep. You were her lady-in-waiting, her helper, her nothing.

The morning light had grown stronger now, filling the room with warmth. You placed the brush down, smoothing the last strands of her hair with your hand.

“There,” you whispered. “Perfect.”

She turned to look at you directly, her eyes meeting yours for a long, quiet moment. “You’re getting good at this,” she said.

“Practice,” you replied, trying to sound casual, though your heart was beating faster than it should.

She stood, the golden gown still draped over her bed, waiting for her to wear it. And as you helped her into it, fastening the back carefully, your fingers brushed against the bare skin of her shoulder for the briefest second. It was nothing — accidental, fleeting — but it lingered in your mind long after.

The princess was radiant. She always was. But today, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you were the only one who truly saw her.

“What do you want to do today, my princess?” you asked, your voice quiet but hopeful, as you tied the last ribbon of her golden gown. The morning light coming from the window painted her silhouette in soft tones of honey and ivory, her figure standing tall yet graceful before the mirror. She didn’t answer at once. Gwen never did. She always paused, as if she liked to make people wait, to remind them who she was, as if the world was a stage and she would not speak until the silence itself bowed before her.

She lifted her chin slightly, her gaze meeting yours through the mirror. “I’m not sure,” she said finally. “What do you suggest?”

That question alone made your heart flutter in a ridiculous way. She didn’t usually ask for your opinion on anything. Most of the time, she ordered; she didn’t ask. But now she had, and the warmth that came with it made your tongue stumble over itself.

“I… Don’t know. Maybe a walk through the gardens again? The weather’s nice today.”

She turned her head a little, studying you. “We did that yesterday.”

“Well, yes, but… it’s better than staying inside all day.” You tried to smile. “You could paint again. Or maybe read. Or—”

“Read?” she interrupted, arching an eyebrow. “And waste my morning on dusty pages? No.”

You swallowed your laughter, biting your tongue to keep it polite. Gwen had the strange ability to make everything sound simultaneously charming and irritating.

“Then what do you feel like doing?”

She stood silently for a moment, then looked toward the open window. The soft breeze carried the faint scent of lilies from the garden, and her hair moved slightly with it. “I want to ride.”

You blinked. “Ride?”

“Yes,” she said, turning back to face you. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to the stables. I want to see my horse.”

You hesitated. The last time she had ridden, according to what the maids had whispered, she had nearly thrown a fit when the horse disobeyed her commands. “Are you sure? The ground might still be damp from last night’s rain.”

“I don’t care.”

You nodded. “As you wish, my princess.”

She smirked faintly, pleased, and turned away. You followed her as she left the room, her golden dress swaying softly with each step.

The corridors of the palace were quieter than usual. Morning duties kept most servants busy elsewhere. Only the occasional echo of footsteps broke the silence as the two of you descended the wide staircase and crossed the great hall. Outside, the sunlight was bright, almost blinding, yet cool air balanced it perfectly.

The stables were on the edge of the gardens, near the orchard where apple trees bent under the weight of ripening fruit. You could smell hay and the faint earthy scent of horses before you even saw the building.

Gwen walked ahead of you, her chin high, her expression sharp and proud, but there was something in her eyes that softened as soon as she stepped inside.

Her horse, a white mare named Lyria, neighed quietly at the sight of her. Gwen’s face changed then —it was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you caught it. The way her lips curved, the way her posture relaxed slightly.

“Hello, girl,” she murmured, her voice dropping to a gentle tone you’d never heard her use with anyone else. She ran her hand along the horse’s neck, her fingers brushing through the soft mane. Lyria nuzzled her shoulder affectionately.

You watched her, your hands clasped together, unsure whether to interrupt. She looked different when she wasn’t performing for anyone —no arrogance, no coldness. Just… Gwen.

“Do you ride too?” she asked suddenly, not turning to look at you.

“Me? Not really.” You smiled a little. “I’ve never had the chance.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Never?”

“Peasants don’t have horses, my princess. Not unless they work in the fields.”

That earned you a faint laugh. “You should learn. It’s not that difficult.”

“Easy for you to say,” you murmured, but she heard it, and she gave you that half-smile again —the kind that wasn’t mocking but still felt like she knew something you didn’t.

“I’ll teach you,” she said suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. I’ll teach you. Come here.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You want me to ride your horse?”

“Not mine,” she said simply, nodding toward a smaller brown horse in the next stall. “That one.”

“I don’t think—”

“Do you always argue?” she interrupted, crossing her arms.

You sighed. “No, my princess.”

“Good. Then come on.”

You approached hesitantly, your steps slow, the ground beneath your shoes crunching softly against stray straw. The horse turned its head toward you, snorting lightly. You reached out a hand, unsure, and it sniffed your fingers before nudging you with its nose. Gwen watched closely, her eyes flickering between the horse and you.

“See? He likes you,” she said.

“I think he’s hungry,” you replied, earning a faint chuckle from her.

For a while, she showed you how to hold the reins properly, how to mount, how to guide without pulling too hard. Her instructions were sharp but not cruel, her tone firm yet oddly patient. You couldn’t help noticing how confident she looked in the sunlight —her posture straight, her hands steady, her hair glowing as she spoke.

When you finally climbed onto the horse, you felt your heart racing. Gwen stood close enough that you could smell the faint perfume of roses clinging to her gown.

“Now, keep your back straight,” she said, her hand briefly brushing your arm to correct your position. “Relax your grip. You’re not strangling it.”

You nodded quickly, trying not to focus on how warm her touch had been.

After a few minutes, you managed to make the horse move forward at a slow pace. Gwen walked beside you, occasionally correcting your movements or offering small nods of approval.

“You’re not terrible,” she said after a while.

“High praise, coming from you,” you said, and she smirked.

“You’re learning fast. Maybe there’s hope for you after all.”

By the time you dismounted, your legs were trembling slightly, but you felt a strange thrill running through you. You hadn’t done anything grand, nothing remarkable —but the fact that she’d taught you, that she’d smiled, that she’d spoken to you like an equal, even for a short while, made your chest feel lighter.

She stroked Lyria’s mane again before turning to you. “You should come here more often. It suits you.”

You tilted your head. “What does?”

“The air. The open space. You look… Less miserable when you’re outside.”

You laughed quietly. “Thank you, I think.”

For a moment, she looked at you as though she wanted to say something else, but then she turned away. “Come on. Let’s walk a bit.”

You followed her out of the stables and into the gardens. The morning had turned bright, the grass glistening with dew. The air smelled of flowers and damp earth, and somewhere nearby, you could hear the distant murmur of the pond.

Gwen walked in silence, her gaze sweeping over the hedges and trees. You matched her pace, unsure whether to speak or stay quiet. After a few minutes, she said, “You’re different from the others.”

You blinked. “Different how?”

“You talk to me like I’m a person.”

You frowned slightly. “You are a person.”

“Not to them,” she said softly, looking straight ahead. 

You didn’t know exactly what to say, it was strange, she was strange. There was a fragile kind of melancholy behind her words, something that didn’t quite fit her sharp posture or the proud tone she always used when speaking to others. You wanted to ask more —to ask who “them” was, or why she sounded so certain of her own isolation— but something in the way she kept her eyes ahead told you that silence was safer.

You both continued walking until the pond came into view, the same one you had visited before, though now it looked somehow different. The water shimmered more brightly under the noon light, and the reflections of the trees rippled across its surface, breaking into soft fragments of green and gold. The air was warm, humming faintly with the sound of crickets hidden in the tall grass. You could smell the damp earth, the faint sweetness of lilies, and the musk of moss growing at the edge of the stones.

Gwen approached the water with slow, deliberate steps, the hem of her gown brushing lightly against the grass. She paused near the edge, staring down at her reflection. For a moment, she didn’t look like a princess at all —not the Gwen who ordered, who frowned, who made every servant in the palace tremble. She looked… almost lonely.

You stopped a few steps behind her, unsure whether to interrupt. The breeze lifted a strand of her hair and carried it gently across her cheek.

“It’s quiet here,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” you replied. “That’s what makes it so nice.”

She turned slightly, just enough for you to see the faintest trace of a smile ghosting her lips. “You like the quiet?”

“I do. At Micky’s inn, it was never quiet. There was always someone talking, or laughing, or fighting. Silence wasn’t really a thing there.”

“Sounds dreadful.”

“It wasn’t,” you said softly, walking closer to her. “It was messy, loud, full of trouble… But it was alive. I liked that.”

Gwen looked back at the pond, the corners of her mouth curving into something unreadable. “You think this place isn’t alive?”

You hesitated. “It’s different. It’s too perfect. Nothing moves unless someone orders it to.”

That made her look at you again, this time fully. Her eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in curiosity. “You don’t like it here, do you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

You wanted to deny it, to say that working in a palace was a dream come true, that it was everything a peasant like you could ever want. But the words wouldn’t come. The truth was that even surrounded by marble floors, velvet curtains, and golden mirrors, you missed the noise, the chaos, the warmth of simple things.

Before you could answer, Gwen knelt by the pond, dipping her hand into the cool water. The movement startled a few fish, sending small ripples across the surface. She let her fingers drift beneath the water for a moment before lifting them again, droplets sliding down her skin. Then she stood, brushing the grass from her dress. “We should go back,” she said, her voice softer now.

You followed her quietly as you made your way back to the palace. The path wound through the gardens, past the hedges shaped like mythical creatures and the marble statues that seemed to watch you as you passed. The sunlight filtered through the branches above, warm against your skin, and for once, walking beside her didn’t feel like work.

By the time you reached the courtyard, the bells from the kitchen tower chimed faintly —the signal for midday meal. Gwen didn’t say anything, but instead of heading straight toward her chambers, she turned toward the dining hall. You hesitated at the door, ready to take your usual post outside or fetch her food like you always did, but she stopped and looked back at you.

“Come in,” she said.

You blinked. “My princess?”

“Sit with me,” she added, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

You stared at her for a second, convinced you must have misheard. Servants didn’t sit with royalty —not for meals, not for anything. “I don’t think that’s—”

“I wasn’t asking,” she interrupted.

You swallowed your hesitation and nodded. “As you wish.”

The dining hall was vast and echoing, sunlight spilling across the long table through high stained-glass windows. The table itself gleamed, polished to perfection, already set with silver plates and crystal goblets. Gwen took her place at the far end, as she always did, and you hesitated before taking a seat a few spaces down, not daring to sit too close.

She watched you with a faint smile. “You can sit closer, you know. I won’t bite.”

You moved one chair nearer, trying not to look too nervous. A servant entered quietly, setting down a tray of roasted chicken, fresh bread, and fruit before bowing and leaving as quickly as he had come. Gwen began to serve herself with casual grace, her movements elegant, practiced. She gestured for you to take some as well.

“I couldn’t possibly—”

“You can,” she said simply, pushing the plate toward you.

You obeyed, though your hands trembled slightly as you took a small piece of bread. The idea of sharing a meal with her felt absurd, almost sacrilegious. You could feel the eyes of the portraits on the walls staring down, judging.

For a while, the only sounds were the faint clatter of cutlery and the quiet hum of the wind through the open windows. Gwen ate with the same elegance she carried everywhere, but she wasn’t silent. After a few moments, she said, “It’s funny.”

“What is?”

“You,” she said. “You sit there like I’ve committed a crime by asking you to eat.”

“It’s just… Unusual,” you admitted. “I’m not used to eating with someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“A princess.”

She looked at you for a moment, then said, “And what am I supposed to do with that? Pretend I’m not?”

You smiled faintly. “You could try.”

That earned you a small laugh, light and genuine —a sound so rare from her that it made your chest tighten.

“I think you forget your place sometimes,” she said, but there was no venom in it.

“Maybe,” you said softly. “But I think you forget yours too.”

Her fork paused mid-air. Then she smiled again, that same half-smile that could mean anything or nothing. “Perhaps that’s why I don’t mind your company.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t. You just ate quietly, though it felt strange to do so under her gaze. The food was good —better than anything you’d had at the inn— but somehow, it was her presence that made it feel rich, almost intoxicating.

When the meal was nearly done, she leaned back in her chair, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her goblet. “Tell me something,” she said. “Something about you.”

You blinked. “About me?”

“Yes. You’re always listening, always following. But you never talk.”

You hesitated. “There’s not much to tell.”

“Everyone has something,” she said, her tone quiet but insistent.

You looked down at your hands. “I grew up in a small village, near the hills. My father was a carpenter, my mother used to make clothes for the people around. I worked at the inn since I was thirteen. Nothing fancy.”

“Nothing fancy,” she repeated, as if tasting the words. “But you sound like you miss it.”

“I do,” you said honestly. “It was simple. We didn’t have much, but there was always something nice or to laugh about. I liked that.”

She studied you, resting her chin on her hand. “Do you ever think about leaving?”

You met her gaze, uncertain whether it was a trick question. “Sometimes. But then I think… If I left, who would brush your hair?”

That made her laugh again, a real laugh this time. It filled the room, soft but bright, and for a moment, you forgot everything else. When the laughter faded, she looked at you with a warmth that hadn’t been there before. “You’re a fool,” she said quietly.

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But you seem to like fools.”

“Perhaps I do,” she murmured, taking another sip of wine, her eyes never leaving yours. Then she set the goblet down with a soft clink and added, “Though if you ever try speaking to me like that in front of anyone else, I’ll have you cleaning the stables for a week.”

You smiled. “Understood, my princess.”

She hummed in response, almost pleased. You’d do anything for her. It wasn’t devotion born from duty anymore; it was something far deeper, far more dangerous. She was maddening and proud, sharp as glass yet beautiful enough to make the pain worth it. Every word she spoke lingered in your head, every glance felt like a spell, and no matter how hard you tried to remind yourself of what you were —just a servant, a nobody— it didn’t matter. She was perfection made flesh, untouchable and radiant, and you’d burn yourself to ashes if it meant keeping her warm for a moment longer.

Chapter Text

You were sure this time, and more than ready. For days, you had been rehearsing the same question in your head, over and over, waiting for the right moment —one where she seemed calm, maybe even kind. And now it was your chance. The princess was sitting by the window, the late afternoon light spilling gently over her golden hair as she sipped her tea, pretending to read a poetry book she clearly didn’t care about. You stood a few steps away, holding her second cup with both hands, your palms slightly sweaty despite the calm atmosphere.

It had been almost two weeks since things had grown softer between you. Gwen was still Gwen —moody, distant, sometimes sharp with her words— but lately, she had let you share her table, her silences, even her rare laughs. You’d had lunch together, tea in the garden, quiet walks through the corridors that had started to feel less like a maze and more like home. You weren’t sure if you’d earned her trust or simply her tolerance, but either way, it felt like something fragile and precious you didn’t want to break.

Still, she hadn’t looked at you for the longest time that day, her eyes lazily following the meaningless words on the page, and the quiet between you had started to drive you insane. You set her teacup down on the table, took a breath, and finally spoke.

“My princess,” you said carefully.

She didn’t answer right away, only lifted her gaze from the book to look at you —not annoyed, not kind, just watching, waiting.

“May I ask you something?”

Gwen gave a slight nod, her expression unreadable. It wasn’t one of her talkative days.

“It’s… A favour, actually.” You bit your lower lip, trying not to sound nervous. “May I go tomorrow to visit my friends downtown?”

That got her attention. The relaxed composure she’d had vanished in an instant. Her eyes narrowed slightly, her shoulders straightened. The shift was small but noticeable, and it made your stomach twist.

“Why?” she asked, her voice quieter than before but laced with something sharper. “Don’t you like it here anymore?”

“What? No! I mean— yes, of course I do,” you said quickly, panicking a bit. “It’s just been a while since I last saw them, and I’d like to still keep in touch. It would only be for a few hours. I could go by myself, you won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Her frown deepened, and you saw the faintest flicker of something like offense flash in her eyes.

“Of course I’ll notice,” she said firmly. “You’re not going.”

You froze. You wanted to say something, to argue, but your voice got caught somewhere between your chest and throat. She must have noticed how your expression fell, because she sighed, leaned back in her chair, and clicked her tongue in mild frustration.

“You’re not going… Alone,” she corrected herself, her tone softening just enough to make you blink.

Which could mean nothing. It was casual. It had to be casual.

But still, your heart leapt.

You couldn’t quite believe it until the next day, when the carriage actually stopped at the edge of your town. Gwen was beside you, wrapped in layers of rich fabric that screamed royalty, her nose scrunched in visible disgust the moment the doors opened. The air smelled of bread and dust, the cobblestones uneven, the laughter from the streets louder than anything in the palace. You felt something loosen in your chest —home.

Gwen, however, looked as if she’d been dropped into hell itself. She didn't like it one bit.

“Does it always smell like this?” she muttered.

“Yes,” you said, smiling to yourself. “That’s how real air smells.”

She gave you a glare sharp enough to cut through bone. “And the noise?”

“People talk, princess. And they shout sometimes.”

She rolled her eyes and adjusted the edge of her cloak. “How dreadful.”

You tried to hide your grin. “You’ll survive.”

She refused to let you go, even when the carriage had already stopped right in front of the inn’s door. You practically had to argue your way out, while she came up with every excuse imaginable for you to stay —anything to keep you by her side. It was ridiculous, really. The princess of the realm surrounded by half a dozen royal guards and still acting as if letting you out of her sight would bring about her doom. She made it sound as though she were worried sick, and maybe she was, though she’d never admit it. You promised her you’d only be gone for a few hours, and that if she felt lonely, she could simply join you inside. The very suggestion made her recoil with a shiver of pure disgust, her expression contorting as if you had invited her to bathe in a swamp. You couldn’t help but laugh, waving her off before slipping away. You could still feel her eyes burning a hole into the back of your neck as you pushed open the door to the inn.

The familiar smell of ale and wood smoke hit you instantly. Micky was behind the bar, juggling tankards and conversation as effortlessly as ever. In the far corner, Mike sat on his usual stool, strumming his guitar with quiet focus, and across from him Davy and Peter were hunched over a table, whispering to each other, far too close for anyone to mistake them for mere friends.

Micky spotted you first. His face lit up with that wild grin of his before he practically leapt over the counter to pull you into a crushing hug. “There you are!” he exclaimed, his voice full of warmth and relief. Mike followed, setting his guitar aside to give you a brief but firm embrace. Then Peter and Davy joined in, all laughter and chatter and the kind of affection that could only exist between people who had lived too much together.

You all sat down at one of the tables. The inn was busier than usual, and Micky, for once, wasn’t drowning in work —apparently, he’d hired someone to help, though you could see the twitch in his hand as he resisted the urge to get up and take orders himself.

“How’s the palace?” he asked, leaning forward with his chin propped on his hand.

“Clean. Huge. Empty. Beautiful,” you replied, each word falling with a strange mixture of pride and exhaustion.

Peter perked up, pretending to sound casual, though his eyes gave him away. “And the princess?”

You almost smirked. Poor Peter had been in love with Gwen for as long as you could remember, even before he’d ever spoken to her. “Well… She’s…”

“The most beautiful chick you’ve ever seen?” Mike interrupted, half-grinning, half-bored.

“Yes, of course,” you said, rolling your eyes, “but she’s also moody and annoying and —you know how she is.”

“Doesn’t she treat you right?” Davy teased, raising an eyebrow. “I can always call that evil herald again to kidnap her if she’s mean to you.”

You laughed, leaning back in your chair. “No need, Davy, babe. She’s not that bad.”

Peter groaned, muttering something about wasted royalty, while Mike strummed a lazy chord. The sound of the guitar mingled with the low hum of the room, the clinking glasses, the faint smell of stew. For the first time in weeks, you felt the strange comfort of belonging.

The hours passed quickly. You talked about old days and old songs, about the kingdom and its gossip, and about how none of them could imagine you, of all people, spending your days at the palace among silks and gold. Micky said he’d rather die than wear a uniform. Mike joked you must be plotting a coup. Davy said you’d probably end up falling in love with Gwen. You laughed at that —too loudly, perhaps— and changed the subject.

By the time you stood up to leave, the afternoon sun had already begun to sink behind the rooftops. The streets outside were still lively, and the air smelled faintly of rain. You promised to visit again soon, though you knew you wouldn’t be able to. Not as long as Gwen kept you so close.

When you reached the carriage, Gwen was waiting exactly where you’d left her, her posture regal but her eyes —her eyes betrayed her. She looked at you as though years had passed, as though she’d been holding her breath the entire time you were gone.

“Finally,” she said, her tone sharp but her voice softer than usual. “We can get out of this hellhole.”

You smiled, climbing in beside her. “Sure. I wasn’t gone that long, though.”

“Long enough,” she muttered, crossing her arms but refusing to meet your gaze.

You tilted your head, amused. “Missed me?”

She scoffed. “You wish.”

You laughed quietly, leaning back against the seat as the carriage began to move. Outside, the town blurred into fields, and the silence that settled between you wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. You could still feel her glance from time to time, quick and almost embarrassed, and you realised she probably had missed you, even if she’d die before admitting it.

It was a long ride back to the palace. The horses’ hooves clattered rhythmically against the road, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet countryside. Half an hour passed without either of you speaking, the only sounds being the creak of the carriage and the faint rustle of Gwen’s dress whenever she shifted her position. You didn’t mind the silence, though. The air inside the carriage felt heavy but calm, and after a few drinks at the inn, you were lighter, bolder, your thoughts loose and drifting. It wasn’t the best state to start a conversation with a princess, but the words left your mouth anyway.

“It’s nice, you know,” you said, your voice low but steady.

She turned her head slightly, one eyebrow raised, her expression unreadable. “What is?”

“The chatter. The noise. Everything there is nice,” you explained, smiling faintly as you remembered the laughter, the smell of food, the clinking glasses. “I mean, I didn’t miss getting catcalled, but… The atmosphere —it’s just great. It makes me smile for no reason.” You hesitated for a moment, the wine still humming through your blood. “You should come in next time.”

Her expression shifted. First came surprise —real, unguarded surprise. Then confusion, like she couldn’t quite decide whether you were joking. But that flicker of emotion disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by the cold, polished look of royalty she wore so well.

“You’re forgetting your place,” she said, her tone sharp enough to cut through the air. “And who you are. I did you a great favour by coming here in the first place. Don’t think for a moment you’re in any position to invite me to some nasty, noisy place like that.”

The words stung, not because they were cruel, but because of how easily they rolled off her tongue, as though warmth was something she could switch off when it suited her. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but the look she gave you silenced you instantly. It wasn’t anger, not exactly —it was distance, a wall built in seconds, and you realised just how wide the gap between you truly was.

You leaned back, looking out of the carriage window, watching the trees blur into streaks of green. The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful this time. It was suffocating, thick with all the things you wanted to say but knew you couldn’t. And though she didn’t look at you again for the rest of the ride, you could feel her presence, heavy and cold, sitting right beside you.

You didn’t understand her, not truly. Gwen was like the sea—gentle and calm one moment, and the next, wild and cruel enough to drown you. She could smile at you over breakfast, let you braid her hair while she hummed softly, and then by evening she’d turn cold, her eyes sharp and distant, as if you were nothing more than a shadow in her way. You tried to make sense of it —tried to find a pattern— but there wasn’t one. She wanted you close, yet not too close. She’d invite you to share her meals, but if your hand brushed hers by accident, she’d flinch as if burned. You spoke when she allowed it, and when you overstepped, even slightly, she’d remind you with a glance that she was still the princess, and you were still just her lady-in-waiting.

You often wondered what she wanted from you. Maybe a friend, though she’d never admit it. Maybe a confidante, someone to listen but not talk. Or maybe she didn’t even know herself. Sometimes, when she thought you weren’t looking, her expression softened —her eyes glassy, almost sad, as if she were silently begging for someone to stay, to see her, to understand her. But the moment your gaze met hers, that softness would vanish, replaced by her usual composure.

That night, sleep wouldn’t come to you. The sheets felt too heavy, the air too still. So you slipped out of your chambers, barefoot and quiet, letting the palace swallow you in silence. The corridors were bathed in moonlight, pale and cold, the tall windows casting long ribbons of silver across the floor. The air smelled faintly of stone and lavender oil from the servants’ cleaning. You’d always liked walking here at night —it felt like the palace breathed differently when everyone else was asleep, less rigid, less watchful.

You trailed your fingers along the wall as you walked, feeling the coolness of the marble beneath your skin. The sound of your own footsteps echoed softly, like whispers. You didn’t really know where you were heading, your body moving on its own until you stopped —and realised you were standing in front of the princess’s door.

Before you could turn away, a voice broke the silence behind you.

“What are you doing here?”

You jumped slightly, turning to see a tall man in armour. He was one of the guards —a broad-shouldered man with a permanent scowl and eyes that never missed a thing. His hand rested near his sword, though not yet gripping it.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“Oh really?” His tone was sceptical. “Then why are you standing by the princess’s door?”

You looked back, startled. You hadn’t even noticed where your wandering had led you. Maybe it was habit. You spent most of your days at her side —it made sense that even your restless mind would find its way here.

“I didn’t mean to,” you said quickly. “I was just walking.”

He studied you for a moment longer, then nodded slowly. “You should head back to your room,” he said. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think you were up to something.”

You murmured a quick apology and tried to make your way back to your room when the door to the princess’s chambers opened slightly, a faint creak cutting through the silence. There she stood —Princess Gwen— bathed in the pale glow of the corridor’s torchlight. Her hair was loose and dishevelled, her silken sleeping gown falling around her shoulders in effortless grace. The sleepy confusion on her face was so painfully human that for a moment, you forgot to breathe.

“What’s happening? Why so much chatter out here? I must get my sleep,” she complained, her voice still husky with drowsiness.

“Your Highness, I—” the guard began, straightening like a startled dog.

But Gwen’s gaze was already fixed on you. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone not angry, just confused, her brow furrowed slightly.

“I… I couldn’t sleep,” you stammered.

“So you come to my door?”

“Your Highness, I was only trying to tell them to go—”

“Oh, shut up, will ya?” she interrupted sharply, and her Texan accent, usually hidden under careful articulation, slipped through completely now that she was tired. “Go away.”

The guard blinked, stunned, but he obeyed instantly, bowing his head before disappearing down the hallway.

The silence that followed was thick, almost awkward. You lowered your gaze, shame heating your face. “I’m sorry, my princess. I’ll go now too.”

You turned slightly, ready to leave, but she stopped you. Her voice, suddenly softer, broke the quiet. “I can’t sleep either.”

You hesitated, glancing back. Her eyes —warm brown and still heavy with sleep— rested on you with a faint hint of something you couldn’t name. Loneliness, perhaps.

“It isn’t that late,” she added quietly. “Maybe a little chat would do me good.”

“Do you want me to bring you some tea that could help you sleep?” you offered, eager to be useful, to fill the air with anything but the sound of your heartbeat.

She shook her head gently. “No. Just a little chat.” She stepped back and motioned with her hand. “Come in.”

You froze. That wasn’t supposed to happen. You shouldn’t have been there at all, especially not at night. Rumours could spread like wildfire in the palace —people always eager to twist things that were perfectly innocent. But her tone left no room for refusal.

You stepped inside cautiously. Her chambers were dimly lit by the moonlight that poured through the tall window, casting a silver sheen on the floor. The scent of lavender drifted faintly from a burning candle on her nightstand. She sat down on the edge of her bed, the soft fabric of her nightgown pooling around her. You didn’t know where to look or what to do with your hands.

You remained standing awkwardly by the door, but Gwen frowned when she noticed. “Come, sit with me,” she said.

“What?” You blinked, unsure if you’d heard her right.

“Sit,” she repeated, gesturing to the bed beside her.

“I couldn’t, my princess. Sitting in your bed is…” You trailed off, embarrassed.

“What?” she interrupted again, tilting her head, impatience flickering in her tone. “It’s just a bed.”

“It’s not just a bed, princess. It’s yours.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not usually this proper. Just sit with me.”

Her words, though simple, carried something that sounded more like a request than a command. After a few hesitant seconds, you gave in. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight, and your heart began to pound furiously in your chest. The air between you felt charged, intimate in a way that made your hands tremble slightly.

For a while, she spoke softly —nothing of importance, just small complaints about the palace, about her maids, about the dullness of court life. Her voice was quieter now, slower, her accent curling at the edges of her words in a way that made every syllable sound warmer, closer.

You found yourself answering her easily, your nervousness fading bit by bit. You told her about your day, about what you’d seen, and eventually, about your evening at the inn.

“Davy and Peter were this close the whole time,” you said, holding up your fingers to demonstrate. “It isn’t that odd for them, I mean… The four of them have this really strange relationship going on.”

Her lips curved into a faint smile. “Do they?” she asked, sounding genuinely curious.

You nodded, grinning. “Yeah. Mike and Micky have this ‘old married couple’ thing going on, always bickering but never apart. And Peter and Davy —well, they’re like two lovebirds that can’t stay away from each other. But honestly, they all share this odd bond. It’s like a strange polycule or something,” you said, laughing softly at your own words before yawning.

Gwen’s smile widened a little as she shifted onto her side, her cheek pressing lightly against her pillow. Her eyes followed every movement you made, still listening intently even as her body began to relax. “That sounds… Sweet,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Having people like that. People who choose each other.”

You tilted your head. “You have people around you, too.”

“People who serve me,” she corrected, her tone gentle but sad. “Not quite the same.”

You hesitated. “You could have that, though. If you wanted.”

She looked at you, her eyes half-lidded but sharp. “Could I?”

You didn’t know how to answer that. Maybe she couldn’t.

The conversation drifted after that —small things, quiet laughter. Her voice got softer and softer until the pauses between her words grew longer. You kept talking, mostly to fill the silence, until you realised she’d stopped replying.

She was asleep.

Her breathing was steady and calm, her lips slightly parted. The moonlight touched her face gently, outlining the soft curve of her cheek, the delicate lines of her mouth. Without her usual armour of posture and poise, she looked different —peaceful, almost fragile.

You sat there for a moment, unable to tear your eyes away. You wanted to remember her exactly like this, unguarded, real.

Finally, with all the care in the world, you stood. The bed creaked softly as you rose, and you froze for a moment, terrified of waking her. But she only shifted slightly, her fingers brushing the fabric where you’d been sitting, as if searching for something in her sleep.

You slipped quietly out of the room, closing the door behind you without a sound. The corridor was colder now, emptier, and you walked fast —almost running— back to your quarters.

When you finally lay in your bed, you found that sleep wouldn’t come. Your heart was still beating too fast, your mind too full. You could still smell the faint trace of lavender and warmth from her room, still hear her voice drifting through your thoughts.

You turned onto your side, staring at the wall, and realised something that made your chest ache. You didn’t just care for her. You loved her. You’d do anything for her, even if she’d never say she wanted you to.

And gods, how you wished that night hadn’t been just casual.

Chapter Text

Your stomach hurt and your head throbbed with a dull, constant ache, the kind that only came from too much thinking and too little rest. You’d spent the whole night twisting in your sheets, staring at the ceiling as the image of the princess filled every corner of your mind. You thought of her voice, her hands, the way her eyes seemed to linger on you longer than they should. You thought about how she might look at you differently now, how she’d notice, how she’d know that you were in love with her. And how she’d hate you for it. The thought alone was enough to make you sick.

She was so far above you, so untouchable, yet she was the only person who made you feel alive. Every glance, every word, every breath she took seemed to belong to another world, and still, you couldn’t stop wishing —selfishly, foolishly— that she were yours. In some strange, pathetic way, she already was. No one else seemed to understand her, no one else dared to love her. But that didn’t make her yours. You were just the servant who waited outside her door and followed her orders. You were her shadow, invisible, replaceable.

You were still lost in that spiral of thoughts when one of the guards called for you. His voice was sharp, unkind, and echoed through the marble corridors like a whip. He said you were needed at the entrance to pick something up for the princess. You nodded and followed him silently. He wasn’t the type to make conversation, and even if he were, you wouldn’t have been able to answer; your throat felt tight, your chest heavier with every step you took down the long, echoing hallways.

By the time you reached the main doors, the morning light was filtering in through the tall glass windows, bright and golden. Waiting there was a man —tall, elegant, and well dressed, with dark hair combed neatly back and a silver pin on his lapel. He smiled when he saw you, a polite, noble kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Are you the one to collect my gift for the princess?” he asked, his voice smooth and courteous.

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yes, sir.”

He introduced himself with the kind of grace that told you he’d done it a thousand times before. “My name is Sir Adrian,” he said, extending his hand. You didn’t dare shake it, just gave a small nod. “Please, see that she receives this with my regards.”

He handed you a bouquet of flowers —soft lilac and pale yellow, tied neatly with a silk ribbon. The scent was light and expensive, the kind of smell that lingered in rooms long after the door closed. For a man like him, it seemed like too simple a gift, yet too perfect to be accidental. You took it, murmured a polite thank you, and watched as he left with that same practiced smile.

The walk back to the princess felt heavier with every step. You couldn’t stop thinking about that man —his posture, his calm, his words. Of course, he was one of her suitors. Someone who could actually stand beside her, someone worthy of her title, her beauty, her world. You were nothing but the messenger, the one who carried another man’s love in your hands.

When you reached the small living room where you’d sat with her moments before, the princess was standing by the window. Her back was turned to you, the morning sun wrapping her in a halo of gold and silver. You could see her reflection faintly on the glass —distant, with her hands clasped loosely in front of her.

You didn’t want her to see you sad, so you forced a smile and called out, almost playfully, “My princess, my princess!”

She turned at once, the faintest smile crossing her face. “My maid, my maid!” she replied with that little spark of amusement she reserved only for you.

You held up the bouquet and gave a small bow. “I have a gift for you, my lady.”

“Do you, now?” Her tone was teasing, her eyes alight with curiosity as she stepped closer. She reached for the flowers, her expression softening as she brought them to her nose and breathed in their scent. “They’re beautiful,” she whispered. For a fleeting moment, you saw something like joy in her face, something fragile and pure. “Where did you get them from?”

You hesitated for a second too long. “One of your suitors came,” you said finally. “A handsome young man —he told me it was a gift for you.”

The change in her expression was instant. Her eyes darkened, her lips pressed into a thin line. The soft, dreamy air around her vanished. Before you could react, she threw the bouquet to the floor. The flowers scattered across the marble tiles, crushed and broken. The faint perfume filled the room, sweet and cloying, like something dying slowly.

You blinked in shock. “Why did you…?”

“Get out of my sight,” she said, her voice sharp as glass.

You stared at her, not believing what you were hearing. “What?”

“I said get out,” she repeated, louder this time, her tone shaking slightly.

You opened your mouth to speak, to explain, to apologise —anything— but she wouldn’t even look at you. You could see her chest rising and falling quickly, her hands trembling ever so slightly. You wanted to tell her that you hadn’t meant to upset her, that you would never, ever bring her anything from someone else if you’d known. But you also knew it wouldn’t matter.

So you did what you always did. You bowed your head and left.

The door shut behind you with a hollow sound that echoed down the corridor. You leaned against the wall for a moment, closing your eyes, feeling your throat burn. You wanted to cry, but you couldn’t even manage that. There was nothing left but the ache in your chest and the faint smell of lilac still clinging to your hands.

You walked aimlessly through the hallways, your mind heavy with confusion and guilt. You didn’t understand her. One moment she was gentle, almost kind, the next she was cold and cruel. But maybe this was what loving her meant —wanting her even when she pushed you away, forgiving her every time she broke your heart.

Maybe it was rude not to tell her right away that the flowers were from a suitor. She had told you before how much she despised them —the endless parade of noblemen who thought their titles and fortunes were enough to buy her affection. You should’ve known better. Still, when you replayed the scene in your head —the brief, dazzling smile she’d given you before asking who the flowers came from— you couldn’t help but wonder.

Did she think they were from you? Did she believe, even for a moment, that you had thought of her in that way, that you had wanted to gift her something? And when she threw them down, her face twisted in disappointment —was she angry that the gift wasn’t from you?

No, it couldn’t be. There was no way. There was no possible way she would ever think of you like that. Whatever that fleeting smile meant, it had to be platonic, a simple joy at receiving something pretty, not something deeper. Because there was no chance, no way, that a princess would ever care for someone like you.

You tried to convince yourself of that as you wandered aimlessly through the corridors, your thoughts tangled and heavy. Servants passed by you, guards muttered to each other as they changed posts, but you barely noticed any of it. You were too caught up in your own head.

What if you did make her something? What if, just once, you could give her a gift that was truly yours? Something simple, from your hands, not from the pockets of a man with titles. What would she say then? Would she smile again, that soft, almost shy smile that made your chest ache?

Before you even realised it, you were already hurrying toward the kitchens.

The cooks had gone to prepare the lunch service elsewhere, so the room was quiet except for the occasional crackle of embers still glowing in the great stone oven. You rolled up your sleeves, grabbed an apron that was too big for you, and got to work.

You couldn’t give her flowers again, not after what had happened. But you could give her something that was yours, something made by your own hands, something warm and sweet and real.

You decided on the cake your grandmother used to make when you were a child. It was a simple thing: almonds, eggs, sugar, and a touch of orange zest. You could still remember the smell of it filling your childhood kitchen, the soft crunch of the first bite.

You found the ingredients scattered across the pantry shelves, measuring them carefully. Two hundred grams of ground almonds, two hundred grams of sugar, four eggs, the zest of one bright orange you found resting in a wooden bowl. You worked quietly, rhythmically, cracking the eggs, separating the yolks from the whites, beating them until your arm ached. The smell of citrus began to spread as you mixed the zest with sugar, the aroma warm and bright against the chill of the morning.

You folded the almonds in slowly, the mixture thick and golden, heavy with sweetness. The oven was already hot when you poured the batter into a small round tin, smoothing it with the back of a spoon. It wasn’t perfect —nothing you made ever was— but it was honest. You watched it bake, the top turning golden brown, a faint crust forming on the edges while the inside stayed soft. The scent filled the kitchen, reminding you of home, of safety, of love.

When it was done, you waited just long enough for it to cool slightly before carefully lifting it onto a small porcelain plate. It was still warm, and that warmth spread through your palms as you carried it to a tray. You added a fork and a spoon —so she could choose what she preferred— and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. It was small, simple, nothing fit for a royal, but it came from your heart, and that had to count for something.

You whispered to yourself, almost as a prayer, “I really hope she likes it.”

The walk to her chambers was a torment. Your hands trembled slightly as you balanced the tray, the scent of the cake drifting up with every careful step. When you reached her door, you hesitated, your heart thudding so loudly you were sure she’d hear it even through the wood. Then you knocked, softly at first, then again.

There was no answer, so you pushed the door open just a little, peeking in.

The room was bathed in soft light, the curtains half drawn. Gwen sat on an armchair near the window, her figure outlined against the grey-blue sky. Her posture was still and heavy, her chin resting on her hand, her eyes far away. She looked small in that moment, quiet, lost in some thought that seemed to weigh on her.

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you, and set the tray down gently on the small table beside her. “My princess,” you said softly, “I have something for you.”

She didn’t turn. Didn’t even seem to hear you. Her gaze stayed fixed on the gardens below, her expression unreadable.

“I know I disappointed you,” you went on, your voice trembling slightly. “And I’m so deeply sorry for that. But please, let me try again. This time it’s something made from the very bottom of my heart.”

The words felt easier to say when she wasn’t looking at you. They slipped out before you could stop them.

She finally turned her head. Her eyes met yours, and you saw it at once —her lashes wet, the corners of her eyes tinged red. Whether it was from exhaustion or from crying, you didn’t dare ask. The sight alone twisted something inside you.

“It’s… it’s a cake my grandmother used to make for me,” you said, fumbling for the right words. “I thought maybe you’d like it. Or at least…” You shrugged helplessly, smiling a little. “I don’t know.”

She blinked slowly, her voice quiet and hesitant. “Did you bake it?”

“Yes,” you said, trying not to sound too proud. “I did.”

Gwen rose from her chair, the soft rustle of her gown the only sound in the room. She stepped close to you, close enough for you to smell the faint trace of her perfume. Her eyes moved over your face, then down to your hands, still dusted faintly with flour.

“It shows,” she murmured, lifting her hand. Her thumb brushed against your cheek, and you froze, your breath catching in your throat. “You need to learn how to clean yourself after baking something.”

You tried to laugh, but your voice came out barely as a whisper. “I’ll… I’ll try to remember that, my princess.”

Her thumb lingered for a second longer than it should have, her touch soft, uncertain, as if she wasn’t sure she should be doing it at all. When she finally pulled her hand away, you missed it immediately.

“Sit,” she said simply, motioning toward the chair across from hers.

You obeyed, though your hands still shook as she reached for the fork and took the first bite of the cake. She chewed slowly, her gaze locked on the window again.

Then, finally, she smiled. It was faint but real, a curve of her lips that made the air between you feel warmer.

“It’s good,” she said softly.”It's really good.”

You could’ve cried from relief. “Really?”

She nodded, swallowing another bite.

“Don’t you try it?” she asked, her tone light, almost teasing.

You shook your head slightly, caught off guard. “I… No, it’s for you.”

“I can share.”

Her voice was soft but firm enough to leave no room for refusal, as always. You hesitated for a moment, glancing at the spoon resting beside the plate. She tilted her head slightly, waiting. Finally, you picked it up, cutting a small piece from the side of the cake, and brought it to your lips. The taste was familiar —warm, sweet, slightly grainy from the almonds— and for a fleeting moment, you felt like a child again in your grandmother’s kitchen.

Gwen watched you with quiet amusement, one corner of her mouth lifting in something dangerously close to a smile. Then, after a long pause, she said something you never expected to hear.

“I apologise.”

You froze, spoon still halfway between your fingers and the plate. “What for?”

“I shouldn’t have reacted that way,” she said simply. Her voice wasn’t cold or regal, just… human. You blinked at her, unsure if you’d heard correctly.

Your heart jumped, skipping a beat, because this was the first time you’d ever heard the princess utter an apology. Gwen didn’t apologise to anyone. Not to her attendants, not to the servants, not to the guards —not even to her father, from what you’d seen. Yet now, here she was, her head bowed slightly, her voice tinged with something that sounded a lot like regret.

“Princess, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” she interrupted softly. She still wasn’t looking at you, her gaze fixed instead on the plate in front of her. Her fork traced the edge of the cake absentmindedly, pinching at the crumbs. “I just… maybe it’s silly, right? Thinking someone would give me something. Someone who wasn’t trying to have my hand in marriage before even knowing who I am.”

There was a small tremor in her voice, so faint you almost missed it. But it was there, clear enough to make your chest tighten.

You frowned, unable to stop the sadness creeping onto your face. “I understand,” you said quietly. “I should’ve told you beforehand who the bouquet was from. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said quickly, finally lifting her gaze to meet yours. Her eyes were softer now, warmer somehow, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks for this.”

You couldn’t stop your own smile from forming, even as your heart raced. The way she looked at you —gentle, unguarded— made you forget for a second where you were, who she was, who you were. You wanted to say something clever, something that would keep that smile on her face a little longer.

“Well,” you began, trying to sound nonchalant, “I suppose it’s good that I didn’t burn down the kitchen, then.”

She let out a soft huff of laughter, shaking her head. “You nearly did, didn’t you?”

“Almost,” you admitted with a grin. “I think the oven started to smoke a bit, but it’s fine. I told it to behave.”

Her laugh grew louder this time, the sound bright and genuine. “You told the oven to behave?”

“I did! You’d be surprised, princess, it listens when I’m serious enough.”

She laughed again, and the sound filled the room like music. You didn’t realise how much you missed hearing her laugh until that very moment. Her eyes crinkled slightly, her shoulders relaxed, and for once, she didn’t look like a princess locked in a golden cage. She looked alive, almost carefree.

“Maybe you should tell me to behave, then,” she said, still smiling.

You blinked, unsure if she was joking or testing you. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, really?” She leaned slightly forward, resting her elbow on the table, her chin on her hand. “You tell the oven what to do but not your princess?”

“I have a better survival instinct than that,” you replied, your tone playful.

She bit back another smile, shaking her head in amusement. “You’re brave when you shouldn’t be, and a coward when you could be bold.”

“Guess I just pick my moments carefully.”

“Do you, now?”

“Yes,” you said softly, “and I think this was one of the good ones.”

She looked at you then, truly looked at you, and the silence that followed was heavier than anything either of you had said. Her eyes softened again, her lips parted just slightly as if she was about to say something, but instead, she looked down at the cake and picked up her fork again.

“I'm glad you took the job,” she murmured, almost to herself, but you caught it anyway. Her voice was quiet, almost lost in the still air of her chambers, yet it warmed something inside you that you didn’t even know needed warmth.

“I'm glad too,” you said, trying to sound casual but letting your usual cheekiness leak through as you gave her a wink. Playful, teasing, hiding how much her words actually meant.

“Too bold again,” she said with a small laugh, the kind that felt like honey, rare and soft and sweet.

“I don't know how to behave, my princess, I'm just a country girl!” You clutched at your chest dramatically, widening your eyes in mock despair and forcing your voice into an exaggerated tone of misery. “I was born in the mud and raised by chickens!”

She laughed again, really laughed this time, covering her mouth with one hand, trying not to. It was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. “You have no solution,” she said, shaking her head, the candlelight catching in her hair. “What am I going to do with you?”

You grinned. “Oh, princess, if you don’t like me —if you ever become angry at me again, I might just… I might just die! How could I lose such a friend as you?” You threw your hands up in mock desperation, half-joking, half-hoping she’d call you something more than a servant.

Her smile faded just slightly. “Friend?”

The word lingered in the air between you like smoke. You froze, your mouth open but empty of words. Her tone wasn’t mocking, not cold, just… Uncertain. As if she was testing how it felt to say it aloud.

The silence that followed felt endless, heavy with everything neither of you dared to say. You could hear the crackle of the candle, the distant whisper of the wind outside the window, and your heart beating so fast you thought she could hear it too.

You swallowed hard, the air suddenly too thick. “I… I'm sorry,” you said softly, looking down at your hands. “That was… Presumptuous of me.”

For a moment, she said nothing. You could feel her gaze on you, burning through the quiet. Then, gently, she spoke.

“I'm… Glad we're friends.”

It was quiet, hesitant, but real. Her voice trembled slightly, as if she wasn’t used to saying something so human, so simple.

You looked up at her, and she was smiling —not the polite royal smile she gave to courtiers, not the sharp one she used when she wanted to hide something, but a small, warm, genuine smile.

You felt your heart leap so violently you almost thought you might faint. You wanted to laugh, to cry, to throw your arms around her and thank her, but instead, you forced yourself to keep the same playful tone, though your cheeks burned.

“Well then,” you said, voice trembling just enough to betray you, “I’ll do my best to be a worthy friend, my princess.”

Her smile deepened just a little. “You already are.”

You could have died right there, and it would’ve been the happiest death imaginable.

“You shouldn’t have said that, though,” you said, trying to sound serious but with that mischievous tone you couldn’t quite hide. “I'm very much annoying, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” she said without missing a beat, her voice calm and regal but with a hint of laughter beneath it.

You gasped theatrically, pressing a hand to your chest. “How dare you!”

She let out another laugh, that soft, almost musical laugh that made everything inside you melt. “I'm a princess,” she said, lifting her chin just slightly in mock pride. “Of course I dare.”

You feigned defeat, sighing dramatically. “Okay, princess, I get it now… You hate me, you want me dead, I’m just—” You tried to keep the act going, pretending to sound pitiful, but you couldn’t help the laughter that burst through in the middle of your line, ruining the performance completely.

She laughed too, shaking her head. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly charming, maybe,” you said, raising an eyebrow with a grin.

“Hopelessly something, that’s for sure,” she replied, though her smile gave her away.

You both ended up laughing again, the tension that had filled the room before now completely gone. You talked for what felt like hours, about nothing and everything —small things, silly things, things that didn’t matter but somehow did. Every time she laughed, you felt your chest tighten in that strange, dizzy way you were learning to fear.

The candles burned low, and the moonlight stretched long and pale across the floor. For once, the palace didn’t feel cold or distant or made of stone; it felt like a home, fragile and fleeting, built out of shared laughter and quiet glances.

Chapter Text

A few days had passed, and you two were still talking like friends. You’d thought it would be something brief, a passing moment of kindness that would fade as soon as she grew tired of your company, but no —she was now softer, warmer, more at ease around you. She smiled more, she teased you sometimes, she even asked for your opinion about things you never imagined she would care to know. You felt more than honoured, almost unworthy of such closeness.

Still, it wasn’t good for your soft, yearning heart. Every smile she offered you, every fleeting look, every gentle touch of her hand or brush of her dress as she passed —it all made you lose your breath. You became addicted to her laugh, to her voice saying your name, to her eyes lighting up the moment she saw you. She thought of you as just a friend, but you longed for so much more. You wished to be with her in ways words couldn’t express, to hold her, to kiss her lips, to fall asleep beside her every night. She was the one rose that’s left in your heart.

You opened the door to her chambers without knocking; you’d grown bolder lately, mostly because she now let you do as you pleased. Gwen turned to look at you, her face brightening instantly with a smile that could have stopped your heart.

“My princess, I know what we can do today,” you said, almost bouncing with excitement.

“Really?” she asked, one eyebrow lifting with curiosity.

“Yes!” you nodded quickly. “Yesterday, when I went back to pick some things from my house, I remembered something.”

Her expression changed slightly, a hint of surprise and perhaps annoyance flickering in her eyes. “You went back to your house?”

You froze for a moment, biting your lip before answering. “Apologies, princess. I should have told you, I know, but it was very early in the morning and you hadn’t woken up yet, so I thought I could make some use of my time.”

“Before I woke up? That’s quite early,” she said, tilting her head, still a little puzzled.

“I haven’t been sleeping well lately,” you admitted quietly. You didn’t tell her that the reason you hadn’t slept was because you spent every night thinking about her —about her smile, her voice, the way her presence lingered even after she was gone. “Doesn’t matter,” you added quickly, brushing it off with a wave of your hand. “What matters is what we’re going to do today.”

She still looked somewhat confused, maybe even worried, but the brightness in your face made her let you continue. “Alright then, tell me,” she said.

“Right,” you began, the excitement returning to your voice. “When I was little, I used to go to this beautiful place with my father. It was all green and peaceful, with small animals roaming about, trees full of plums and apples, and a lake surrounded by willow trees so big and elegant they looked like curtains of leaves touching the water. It’s magical, really. I think we should go.”

Her eyes widened, her lips parting in a smile that mirrored your excitement. “That sounds wonderful,” she murmured.

“What I don’t know,” you continued, a touch of worry returning to your tone, “is how we’re going to get there. I doubt the guards would ever let us go alone…”

“We can take the horses,” she said simply, as if it were the most obvious solution. She didn’t even question the idea of leaving the palace with you alone, avoiding the guards entirely.

“No way,” you replied, your excitement faltering for a second. “Princess, I’m not that good at riding to make such a long trip. I’ll fall off before we reach the gates.”

“You can ride with me, then.”

You blinked, unsure if you had heard her right. “Wait. You mean… you mean the two of us? On your horse?”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” you echoed, almost choking on your words. She was going to kill you one day, and you were certain you would die with a smile on your face.

“By the way,” you added quickly, trying to recover some sense of control, “if you haven’t noticed by my clothes and the obvious heat, it’s hot outside today, so I’d recommend you a change of clothes.”

She turned slowly toward you, pretending to be offended, though her lips were already curling up into a teasing smile. “Yes, I’ve noticed your ugly clothes and—”

“Ugly!?” you interrupted, placing a hand over your chest in exaggerated disbelief. “These are not ugly!”

She laughed then, her voice light and melodic, echoing through the room like something sacred. “They are absolutely hideous,” she said, biting back another laugh.

“Excuse me, princess, but I’ll have you know this dress is a masterpiece of practicality and style. It’s got pockets,” you said proudly, slipping your hands into them as if that proved your point.

Gwen tilted her head, amused. “Ah, yes, how could I have missed that detail? Pockets. A true symbol of elegance.”

“You’re mocking me,” you said, squinting at her playfully.

“Perhaps,” she admitted with a small grin. “But really, if you’re going to take me to this magical lake of yours, the least you could do is wear something that doesn’t look like it’s been through a storm.”

“I’ll have you know this dress survived worse than a storm,” you muttered, earning another soft laugh from her.

“Oh, I’m sure it did,” she teased, turning toward her wardrobe. “Now, since you’re so full of opinions, why don’t you help me pick something suitable for a little adventure?”

You blinked, caught off guard again. “You want me to choose?”

“You’re my lady-in-waiting, aren’t you?” she said, throwing you a look over her shoulder. “That’s what you’re here for.”

You sighed, pretending to be resigned, though your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure she could hear it. “As you command, my princess.”

Her wardrobe was full of dresses far too beautiful for anything as simple as a day out by a lake —silks and satins, gold threads, delicate lace. You sifted through them, frowning a little, until you found a light blue gown, softer and looser than the rest. “This one,” you said, holding it up. “It’s simple, light, and you’ll look perfect in it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Perfect?”

You felt the blood rush to your face. “I mean— comfortable. You’ll look comfortable.”

Her smile deepened. “Right.”

She changed her clothes, asking for your help to tighten the dress. Your hands trembled slightly as you pulled at the laces, careful not to touch more of her skin than necessary. The faint scent of her perfume —something floral and delicate— filled the space between you, making your heart beat faster. When you were done, she turned around gracefully, the fabric now fitting her figure perfectly.

“Well?” she asked, clearly amused by your expression.

You blinked, trying to compose yourself. “You look…”

“Yes?” she prompted, stepping closer.

“Comfortable,” you said again, your voice almost cracking.

She gave you a look that said she didn’t believe you one bit, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she smiled and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Let’s go before you find another reason to delay this.”

“I’m not delaying anything,” you said quickly, following her as she made her way to the stables.

“Of course you aren’t,” she replied with a smirk, not even glancing back.

And as you walked behind her, watching the way the light danced on her hair and how effortlessly she carried herself, you thought that maybe —just maybe— you were right where you wanted to be, even if she’d called your clothes ugly.

Riding a horse with her was great as well as horrible, you were so close to her that it was almost unbearable. Her blonde hair brushed against your face every time the wind shifted, carrying her scent with it —soft, clean, and maddeningly familiar. You could feel her warmth through the thin layers of fabric that separated you, and every now and then, when the horse stumbled slightly or she adjusted her posture, your chest would press against her back, sending a shiver down your spine. Her heartbeat was steady, calm, and so close that you almost thought it could drown out your own.

All you had to do was give her some indications, leaning forward to point out the way or whispering near her ear when the road split in two. Every time you did, she tensed ever so slightly, but never pulled away. Instead, she tilted her head just enough to hear you better, her voice coming out low when she asked, “This way?” or “Are you sure?”

You were never sure. You could barely think straight with her this close.

The road stretched ahead through the fields, the sunlight pouring down in warm waves. Birds flew low, their shadows crossing the path, and in the distance, the faint glimmer of water marked where the lake must have been. You tried to focus on that —on the ride, on the sound of hooves hitting the dirt— but your thoughts kept circling back to her.

After a while, she spoke, her voice calm but curious. “You really used to come here as a child?”

“Yes,” you said, almost whispering, afraid of breaking the fragile peace around you. “My father brought me a few times. He used to say this place felt alive, like it was breathing.”

“That’s poetic,” she murmured. “Did he teach you to think like that?”

You smiled faintly. “No. He just worked with his hands, never had time for poetry. I think I got that part from my mother.”

Gwen hummed softly, not saying anything else. The silence returned, but it was a comfortable one now —filled with the rhythm of the horse, the wind, and the faint sound of your shared breathing.

When the trees began to grow denser, the air cooler, she slowed down and turned her head slightly, her cheek brushing against yours by accident. You froze, and she didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she did —because her tone was suddenly quieter when she spoke. “I see why you liked this place.”

You looked ahead. The lake shimmered before you, surrounded by willow trees whose long branches swayed gently above the water. It looked untouched, as if time had stopped there.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, and for once, there was no trace of royal distance in her voice.

You climbed off the horse first and offered her your hand. She hesitated for a moment before taking it, her fingers soft but steady against yours.

“Careful,” you said.

“Don’t treat me like porcelain,” she replied, half smiling. “I’m not as fragile as you think.”

You smiled too, but didn’t let go of her hand right away. Neither did she. The air between you felt charged —something unspoken lingering there.

You were walking through the trees toward the lake, the air warm and filled with the faint hum of summer insects. Every so often you stopped by the low branches of a plum tree, plucking one of the ripe fruits and tossing it lightly in your hand before offering it to Gwen, who kept refusing with a soft laugh. Her excuses varied —sometimes she wasn’t hungry, sometimes she said the juice would stain her dress— but the sparkle in her eyes made you think she just liked saying no to you. Still, you kept trying, and she kept refusing, and it became its own quiet game between you.

The forest was calm, filled only with the crunch of leaves beneath your boots and the soft murmur of your voices. You talked about how beautiful the place was, about how peaceful it felt to walk somewhere without guards, servants, or duties waiting at the end of the path. Sometimes the conversation drifted into silence, but it was never uncomfortable. 

When you finally reached the lake, the trees opened into a stretch of light and reflection. The water shimmered under the sun, small ripples chasing one another across the surface as if stirred by invisible hands. You both sat down on the grass near the edge, your knees almost touching, watching the ripples move across the surface, the ducks gliding lazily between patches of reeds. The sunlight danced over everything, flickering through the leaves and touching the water with flashes of gold. You could feel the warmth on your arms, hear the steady rhythm of the lake against the shore, and for a heartbeat you wished you could stay like this forever —frozen in that quiet, simple peace.

Gwen’s hand brushed against yours as she adjusted her position, a small, almost accidental touch, but it sent a wave of warmth through you anyway. You didn’t move away. She didn’t either.

“What did you used to do here?” she asked after a while, her voice calm but carrying that curious lilt she couldn’t quite hide.

You smiled faintly. “Swim, mostly. Sometimes I’d sit right here and pretend I was thinking about something deep and important. But really, I was just waiting for the ducks to come close enough to feed them.”

She laughed quietly, that soft, unguarded laugh that made your chest tighten. “That sounds about right.”

“Yeah, I guess it does.” You nodded, brushing your hands against your knees as you stood up. The grass clung to your clothes and you pretended not to care, stepping toward the edge of the lake. You crouched, picked up a smooth, flat stone, and with all the confidence in the world, sent it flying across the surface. It skipped twice —barely— and then sank with a disappointing plop.

Gwen snorted. “You’re terrible at that.”

“Excuse me?” You turned to her with mock outrage, one hand on your hip.

“You heard me,” she said, her tone light but her smile smug. She bent down, picked a perfect stone, and tossed it without hesitation. It skimmed gracefully across the surface —one, two, three, four, maybe even five times— before disappearing beneath the ripples.

You blinked. “You’ve been practicing.”

She shrugged, her eyes glinting. “Maybe I’m just naturally better than you.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Oh, is that so, your highness?”

“It is,” she declared, sitting back with a little flick of her wrist, every inch the smug princess she claimed to be.

For the next few minutes, the two of you fell into a kind of playful rhythm. You’d throw, she’d throw, both of you pretending to keep score, though neither of you actually did. It wasn’t about who was winning —it was about the laughter, the teasing, the exaggerated groans every time one of your stones betrayed you and dropped like a lump straight into the water. The sun was still high, glinting off the lake, and for a moment the whole world felt simple, like nothing else mattered but this ridiculous competition.

You kicked off your shoes and set them aside on the grass. Then, with a grin, you stepped into the shallow water, feeling the soft mud curl between your toes. 

“What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” you said, Gwen raised an eyebrow at you. “I’m getting more comfortable to beat you at this great game.”

“Oh, are you now?” she said, watching you with that teasing little smirk that made your stomach twist.

“Yes! Watch this!” you announced, picking up another stone. You took your stance as if you were about to perform some grand act of heroism, pulled back your arm dramatically, and launched it. The stone hit the water once and instantly drowned. “Well,” you said, looking at the expanding ripples, “there goes my dignity.”

Gwen laughed, actually laughed, and it was the kind of sound that made you want to throw another dozen stones just to hear it again. “You’re hopeless,” she said, shaking her head, strands of her golden hair falling over her face.

You grinned, splashing some water in her direction. “You say that like it’s news.”

She gasped as a few drops hit her dress. “You didn’t just do that.”

“I did,” you said proudly, already taking a step back in anticipation.

Gwen’s eyes narrowed with playful menace. “You’re going to regret that.”

Before you could answer, she scooped a handful of water and flung it at you, catching you square in the chest. You shouted, half laughing, half pretending to be offended. “Princess! That’s treason!”

“Then call the guards,” she said, her voice light with mischief.

You lunged toward her, pretending to defend your honor, but she darted back with a squeal, her laughter echoing across the water. The two of you ended up running in circles near the edge, splashing at each other like children, the air filled with laughter, sunlight, and the smell of lake water and wild grass. Her dress was damp at the bottom, her hair sticking to her neck, and your clothes were beyond saving —but none of it mattered.

Finally, you both collapsed on the grass, breathless and grinning, droplets of water still glimmering on your skin. She was lying on her side, propped on her elbow, looking at you with that same mix of amusement and warmth that always made your heart trip over itself.

“You’re ridiculous,” she murmured.

“You started it,” you said between breaths.

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

She rolled her eyes, then smiled softly, her gaze drifting toward the lake again. The laughter faded into something quieter, something heavier but not unpleasant. The world seemed to pause around you —the ducks gliding across the water, the wind moving through the reeds, the sunlight turning everything golden.

You watched her as she stared at the horizon, her expression thoughtful, her hair catching the light like spun gold. You wanted to say something, anything, but your throat tightened. So you said nothing.

A while passed as you both kept chattering playfully, your laughter weaving through the soft rustle of leaves and the sound of water lapping at the lake’s edge. The air between you was light, full of smiles and teasing words, as if the world had shrunk to just the two of you and the quiet stretch of green around the lake. At some point, the conversation drifted back to the fruit you’d picked earlier —again. You didn’t even remember how it started, but you were already grinning as you held up a small plum.

“Oh, look at me, I’m Princess Gwen,” you said in an exaggerated, high-pitched tone, pretending to fix imaginary curls of royal hair. “And I’m sooo pretty and sooo great that I would never, ever, ever eat any fruit the peasant I have for maid and friend offers me, because it’s sooo disgusting.”

Gwen gasped, scandalised but laughing. “I don’t talk like that!”

“Oh, yes you do,” you replied, mimicking her posh tone again just to annoy her.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway,” she said, crossing her arms but failing to hide her grin. “You still called me pretty.”

“Wah, wah,” you mocked, bursting into laughter as you gave her a light nudge. “Come on, they’re good! You’re missing out.”

“If you end up with a stomach ache, I’ll replace you immediately,” she said, pretending to sound stern.

“No, you won’t.”

“I will,” she insisted, raising her chin dramatically. “And I’ll start feeding bread to the ducks again instead of peas!”

You gasped in mock horror. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Gwen laughed so hard she nearly dropped the fruit she now took from you. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she reached out and flicked your forehead with one finger. “Don’t be silly, or I’ll replace you and send you back to that filthy inn,” she said, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed the affection behind the words.

You placed a hand over your heart as if mortally wounded. “How cruel you are, your highness,” you said dramatically, staggering backward a step. “If I lose this job, how will I survive alone in the streets at night?”

She smirked. “You suddenly don’t have a house?”

“No!” you exclaimed, laughing so hard you almost cried. “It will be destroyed the moment you fire me!”

“Ah… What a shame,” she said, pretending to sound thoughtful but clearly holding back another laugh.

“You’re so mean!” you cried, shoving her shoulder lightly again, but your grin ruined any hint of offence.

She shook her head, still smiling, and looked out at the horizon. The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the lake in hues of gold and rose. The shadows of the willows stretched long across the grass, and for a moment the laughter faded into something softer, quieter.

“Maybe we should go back,” she said after a pause, her voice gentler now. “It’s getting late.”

You followed her gaze, watching the last ripples of sunlight shimmer on the water. “I guess,” you said, though a part of you didn’t want the day to end.

For a second, she looked at you again, the fading light reflecting in her eyes. She smiled —not her usual teasing grin, but something small and warm that made your chest ache. Then she turned away, gathering her skirt as she started walking back toward the path.

You lingered a heartbeat longer, looking out at the place where you’d laughed and played, the scent of fruit and lake air still clinging to your clothes. Then you followed her, your footsteps quiet behind hers, thinking how even the simplest moments with her were the kind you wished could last forever.

Back in the castle, the moment the two of you stepped through the gates, chaos broke loose. Guards rushed forward, their boots echoing through the marble corridors as they surrounded you both. Their words overlapped in a flurry of questions —where had you been, why were you alone, who gave permission, had something happened? Gwen, still glowing faintly from the day’s sunlight, didn’t even flinch. She simply lifted her chin and waved a dismissive hand, her voice calm yet commanding as she said, “Enough. Go back to your posts, all of you.”

They hesitated, glancing between you and the princess, uncertain whether to obey. You were still catching your breath, trying to come up with a sensible explanation, but Gwen didn’t let them question you. Instead, she reached for your hand, her fingers sliding against yours, warm and soft, and without another word she pulled you into a run down the hallway.

Your heart jumped at the sudden touch. Her hand was small, delicate, yet strong enough to drag you along with surprising ease. You could still feel traces of grass and dust on her skin from sitting by the lake, but to you it felt perfect —real and human in a way you hadn’t known she could be. You wanted to hold on forever, even as you stumbled behind her, laughing breathlessly as the two of you turned a corner and finally lost sight of the guards.

When she finally stopped, both of you were panting, her golden hair slightly messy, a few strands of her bangs sticking to her forehead. She looked at you, cheeks flushed and eyes bright from the run, and laughed softly. “They’ll talk about this for days,” she said between breaths.

“I don’t care,” you managed to say, still smiling.

“I know,” she replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips before she let go of your hand. The loss of warmth stung immediately.

Later, you prepared her bath, filling the tub with steaming water and perfumed oil until the room filled with soft curls of fragrant mist. Gwen thanked you quietly and dismissed you, and you left as quickly as you could, though your thoughts were anything but calm. You hurried to your own room, filling the tub with cold water and stepping in before it had even finished. The icy shock of it burned against your skin, but it didn’t help. It didn’t stop your mind from returning to her —the image of her untying her gown, the delicate curve of her shoulders, her bare skin sinking into warm water.

You cursed under your breath, splashing more cold water onto your face as if you could drown the thoughts away. It was shameful, filthy even, the way your mind wandered. She was your princess. She trusted you. And yet, every time she smiled, every time she touched your hand or looked your way, your heart betrayed you. She was too perfect. Too radiant. You’d do anything for her, and that thought alone terrified you.

By the time dinner came, you had composed yourself again, though you avoided her eyes for most of the meal. Gwen was quieter than usual, her laughter softer, her movements slower. The day had clearly drained her, but she still smiled now and then —those small, tender smiles that made your chest tighten. When she looked at you across the table, her expression seemed lighter, content. And in that moment, even the silence felt warm.

After dinner, you offered to walk her to her chambers. The castle had grown quiet by then, the torches dim and flickering, the corridors washed in golden shadows. Gwen walked beside you, her steps slow, her voice low and tired as she spoke of the lake, the horses, and how long it had been since she’d done something like that. When you reached her door, she turned to you. The light from the corridor fell softly on her face, making her look almost ethereal. “Thank you for today,” she said with a tired smile. “It was the most fun I’ve had in years.”

You felt the warmth rise in your chest again, fighting to keep your tone casual. “I can say the same for me.”

For a moment, it looked like she was going to say goodnight. Her hand reached for the doorknob, then stopped halfway. She hesitated, her lips parting as she seemed to think it over. Then she looked back at you, eyes a little uncertain. “Do you want to come in and chat for a bit?”

The question nearly stopped your heart. For a second, you thought you’d imagined it. You wanted to say yes, of course you did. To talk, to laugh, to just stay near her for a little longer. But the thought of sitting beside her, close enough to touch, close enough to hear her breathing —it was too much. You were sure your heart wouldn’t survive it. So you forced a small smile and shook your head. “Nah, I think I’ll head to my room. I’m a bit tired, and I wouldn’t want to keep you awake.”

Her smile faded just a little, replaced by something softer, almost disappointed. She leaned against the doorframe, eyes flicking over you as though searching for a reason to change your mind. Then, quietly, she said, “Sleep here, then. I don’t mind…”

You froze. Her words hung in the air, echoing in your mind as you tried to process them. You must have misheard her —there was no way she had just said that. But when you looked at her, she was still watching you with that same hesitant expression, her lips slightly parted, her voice barely a whisper. It wasn’t a command. It was a request.

For a few seconds, you couldn’t move. Your pulse pounded in your ears, your mind spinning with thoughts you didn’t dare voice. It would be wrong, you told yourself. Dangerous. Stupid. But then you saw her eyes —lonely, tired, almost pleading— and all your resistance melted away.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice. “Okay…” you said at last.

Her shoulders eased, the smallest, almost invisible sigh of relief escaping her. She stepped aside to let you in, and as you crossed the threshold, you could feel your heart racing so fast you thought it might burst.

She laid in bed, half-covered by a cascade of white sheets, her hair spilling like gold over the pillow, catching the faint blue of the moonlight seeping through the window. The glow made her look almost unreal —too soft, too delicate to belong to the same world as you. Her profile was carved in perfect stillness, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, the curve of her neck, the beauty mark just below her cheekbone— all of it seemed designed to make you ache. Even the way her sideburns framed her face made her look like something divine, something forbidden.

You couldn’t look away, standing there by the door, fingers gripping the wood behind you, afraid that if you moved, you’d do something reckless —something shameful.

Your chest felt tight, your throat dry. The sight of her lying there so gracefully, completely at peace, made you feel both unworthy and desperate. You wanted her so badly it hurt, but wanting her was exactly what made you feel filthy. You weren’t supposed to think of her like that —your princess, your superior, someone whose world was far above your own.

You shut your eyes, biting the inside of your cheek to calm yourself, whispering under your breath, “Fuck, I’m hopeless… I’m going to die from this…”

Her voice cut through your thoughts, soft but clear. “What did you say?”

You froze. Your heart nearly stopped. When you turned, she was looking at you from the bed, her head slightly tilted, her expression curious but unreadable.

“Nothing, my princess…” you managed to say, forcing a small, nervous smile.

You couldn’t take a step forward. You couldn’t let yourself. That bed, that space beside her —it wasn’t yours to claim. It was for someone else, someone worthy, someone she could love openly. You were just the help, the maid she’d grown fond of, a peasant who’d stumbled into a dream she didn’t belong in.

But then she moved slightly, shifting on the bed so that the sheets rustled softly. Her eyes didn’t leave yours. Her voice came low, quiet, almost commanding, but with something else beneath it —something fragile. “Then come here.”

You obeyed without hesitation. Her voice, her tone, her presence —everything about her was too commanding, too soft, too impossible to deny. The world outside her words ceased to exist. You crossed the short distance to the bed, heart racing wildly, feeling like each breath might give you away. When you finally laid beside her, the mattress dipped slightly under your weight, and your pulse jumped as if the ground itself had shifted.

For a moment, you stayed completely still, frozen in the dark, aware of every inch of space between your bodies and every sound of her quiet breathing. The faint scent of her perfume —lavender, maybe, or something sweeter— clung to the sheets and filled your lungs until it was dizzying. You could feel the warmth radiating from her even if you weren’t touching, and it was unbearable in the most exquisite way.

You listened to her voice —soft murmurs, words that didn’t register. You couldn’t understand anything she said because your head was pounding, your chest tight. You were in her bed. You were lying next to her. Every thought tangled and burned. The mere idea that your hand could accidentally brush her arm or that you might shift in your sleep and touch her shoulder made your body ache with fear and longing.

What if you took too much space? What if your breathing annoyed her? What if she regretted letting you stay? You couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways you could ruin this, all the ways you weren’t supposed to be there.

“You’re too quiet,” she said suddenly, her voice low but clear in the stillness.

It took you several seconds to find your voice. “I’m sorry, I’m just… tired.” It wasn’t a complete lie —you were tired— but not from the day. You were tired from thinking, from yearning, from fighting the urge to fall apart every time she looked at you. Mostly, you were terrified that if you said too much, your voice would betray everything you felt.

“We can sleep if you want,” she murmured.

You swallowed hard and nodded, though she couldn’t see you in the dark. The two of you shifted, slowly, carefully, finding a rhythm to share the bed without touching too much. You could hear the soft rustle of the sheets as she moved closer, could feel her warmth spreading beside you.

The room was almost entirely dark, save for the sliver of moonlight spilling through the window. It painted everything silver and quiet, the kind of light that seemed to belong only to dreams. You could barely see her, just the outline of her face —her cheekbones, her jaw, her lips curved in the faintest shadow of a smile. She looked unreal, like something carved from light and silence. You didn’t know she was watching you too. Her eyes, open and calm, traced your profile through the dim light.

You held your breath when you felt it —her fingers brushing your cheek. At first it was so gentle you thought you imagined it, a ghost of a touch. But then it came again, slow, deliberate. Her fingertips glided across your skin, trailing down the side of your face, grazing your jaw, pausing at your lips. Your body went still. You didn’t dare move. You didn’t dare breathe.

She was touching you. The pads of her fingers traced the shape of your mouth, light as a whisper, almost reverent.

You wanted to speak, to ask what she was doing, to tell her to stop before your heart gave out —or maybe to beg her never to stop. But the words got lost somewhere between your chest and your lips. All that came out was a shaky breath, too loud in the silence.

You turned your head just slightly, enough that your nose brushed against her hand. You felt her fingers tense, then relax, before she withdrew them slowly, the warmth of her touch lingering on your skin long after she pulled away.

She shifted again, turning onto her side, her back now facing you. You could see the curve of her shoulder in the moonlight, the way her hair spilled across the pillow. You wanted to reach out, to tuck it behind her ear, to whisper her name just to see if she’d answer. But you stayed still, terrified that if you moved, the fragile spell would break.

The minutes stretched endlessly. You listened to the sound of her breathing, steady and soft, trying to match your own to hers. You closed your eyes and willed yourself to sleep, but your body refused. Your mind replayed every second — her voice, her touch, the way her fingers lingered on your lips.

When you were sure she had fallen asleep, you finally let out a heavy breath and rubbed your eyes, your gaze falling on the ceiling above. “Fuck…” you whispered under your breath, the word barely audible in the quiet of the room. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” The words slipped out like a desperate chant, a useless attempt to quiet your thoughts. You shouldn’t have been there. You shouldn’t have ever accepted this job. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be lying in the same bed as her, heart racing, completely and hopelessly in love with someone you could never have. “I have to quit…” you muttered, your voice breaking a little as your chest tightened. “What am I even saying? I can’t quit. I wouldn’t survive a single day without seeing her again.” You caught yourself, realizing how ridiculous that sounded, and sighed. “Alright, that’s a bit dramatic,” you murmured softly, then added with a bitter chuckle, “but now I understand Peter… How could anyone work near her and not lose their mind?” You frowned, pressing your palms to your face. “How do I even keep doing this now…”

“You’re helpless,” a sleepy voice murmured beside you.

You froze. Your entire body went stiff, and only your head turned slowly toward her. Her eyes were half open, her expression calm, unreadable in the dim light. “What…” you breathed out, your heart nearly stopping.

“A helpless fool,” she added, her tone faintly amused, as if she were smiling.

You prayed she was just talking in her sleep. It was the only explanation that wouldn’t make your heart crumble completely. “Yeah, I am…” you muttered anyway, your voice weak and trembling. You couldn’t stand it anymore. You sat up, elbows on your knees, your head buried in your hands, half your body still tangled in the white sheets.

And then, as if fate wanted to torture you further, Gwen sat up too. She drew her knees to her chest, resting her chin atop them, her long hair falling gently over her shoulder. You could barely see her in the pale moonlight, but you felt her eyes on you. “You shouldn’t talk while someone else is in the bed,” she said softly, “not unless you want to wake them.”

“I’m… I’m sorry, my princess,” you stammered, forcing yourself to look up even though you couldn’t meet her gaze properly. The light wasn’t enough to see her eyes, but you felt the weight of them anyway, like they could see right through you.

“You should go back to sleep,” she said.

“I… I don’t think I can. Not here. Not with you.” Your throat tightened as you spoke. She’d heard everything by now —your muttering, your pathetic confessions. There was nothing left to hide.

“Why not?” Her voice was calm, almost teasing.

“Come on… As if it isn’t obvious,” you said quietly, defeated. “I just…”

“I know,” she interrupted gently. “But why does it matter now?”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “Because I’m disgusting. Because you must feel dirty just being next to me.”

To your surprise, she chuckled —soft, amused, and warm. You couldn’t understand why. “If this conversation had started earlier…” she began, then stopped herself, hesitating for a long moment. “Never mind. It’s past midnight. We should sleep.” She turned, lying back down, facing the ceiling as if nothing had happened.

“What?” you asked, still frozen in place. You lay down too, turning toward her. “What do you mean?” She stayed silent, pretending to ignore you, though it was obvious she was still awake. Her breathing wasn’t the calm rhythm of sleep, and you could almost feel her thoughts moving beside you. “My princess,” you whispered, “what do you mean?”

She softly laughed again, then reached out and brushed her fingers against your cheek, tender and slow. “Go to sleep,” she whispered.

You swallowed hard, barely managing to breathe. “You’re going to be the death of me…”

“We’ll talk about this in the morning,” she said quietly.

But you knew you wouldn’t sleep a single second that night.

Chapter Text

The first thing that pulled you out of sleep was the dim sunlight, spilling through the tall windows like liquid gold. It touched everything —the curtains, the marble floor, and most of all her. Gwen’s hair shimmered under it, strands of pure gold tangled against the pillow, and for a moment, you thought you were still dreaming.

You blinked slowly, the world still hazy with sleep, until you realised the soft weight against your side wasn’t part of the bedding —it was her. Gwen’s arm was draped loosely across your torso, her hand resting against your stomach as if she’d fallen asleep reaching for you. Her face was so close you could feel her breathing, slow and steady, warm against your cheek. Every exhale made your skin prickle.

You didn’t dare move. You didn’t even breathe for a second. Her touch was so gentle, so casual, yet it felt like it could set your entire body on fire. You tried to calm yourself, convincing your mind to shut up, to stop imagining things. You told yourself that it meant nothing, that maybe she’d just turned in her sleep and found you there by accident. You tried to close your eyes again, pretending you could drift back into that peaceful nothingness. But how could you, with your heart beating like a drum inside your chest? The warmth of her body pressed against your side only made it worse, every inch of you alert and trembling. You told yourself to relax, that moving would wake her, that the best you could do was stay still.

So you did. You lay there, frozen, your thoughts a mess, your face burning, your pulse echoing in your ears. The silence in the room was so fragile you were afraid even your heartbeat would break it.

She murmured something softly in her sleep, her breath brushing against your jaw. You couldn’t tell what she said, but the sound alone almost made you lose it. You shut your eyes tightly, trying not to laugh, not to panic, not to do anything that could ruin the fragile magic of that morning.

She moved away at last, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she stretched slightly under the covers. Her eyelids fluttered open, her gaze hazy with sleep. You couldn’t look away. The sound she made —a quiet, tired moan— nearly made you forget how to breathe. Your stomach twisted with nerves. You knew this morning would come, that at some point she’d wake up and the weight of everything that happened last night —or almost happened— would fall back onto you. If she wanted to talk about it, if she remembered, you weren’t ready. Not even close.

“Morning,” she murmured, her voice hoarse and low, the kind of voice that only exists in that fragile moment between sleep and waking.

“Good morning, my princess,” you replied, forcing the words out as naturally as you could. The same thing you told her every morning, the same tone, the same restraint. You wanted things to feel normal again, even though nothing about this felt normal.

She rubbed her eyes lazily, the motion so human and unguarded that for a moment she didn’t seem like a princess at all. Then she adjusted the sheets, propping herself up slightly to look at you. There was something in her gaze —soft, searching, maybe even amused. It was clear she was waiting for you to say something, and that silence was unbearable.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Her brow arched faintly. “What for?”

“Last night,” you said, your voice trembling a little.

She let out a muffled sound that could’ve been a laugh, then buried her face halfway into the pillow. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” you said, because what else could you possibly say?

She turned her head slightly, her lips curved into a small smile. “And so deeply helpless.”

“I know…” It came out quieter, almost like a confession.

She shifted then, lifting herself on one elbow to look at you properly. The sunlight caught her hair, turning it into threads of gold. You froze under her gaze, your heart hammering so loud it might as well have been echoing in the room.

“Did you really think,” she began softly, her tone teasing yet deliberate, “that someone like you could get away with something like that?”

You swallowed, your throat dry. “Something like what?”

Her smile grew a little, just enough to make you nervous. “A filthy, stubborn, good-for-nothing peasant falling in love with someone like me?” Her voice was playful, but there was something underneath —something sharp and real. Her accent slipped through stronger now, her morning rasp making every word heavier, slower.

Each word stung and thrilled you at once. The mockery didn’t even matter; her voice, her expression, the fact that she was even acknowledging it was too much. You could feel your face heating up as she leaned closer, her hair falling forward, framing her face.

“Did you really think someone like you could end up lying in the same bed as a princess?” she whispered, her tone somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

You couldn’t answer. The words caught in your throat, trapped behind the sound of your own heartbeat. All you could do was stare, breath unsteady, your thoughts dissolving under her gaze. And for a fleeting moment, you thought she might kiss you —or laugh at you— or both.

“Come on,” she said, her voice suddenly lower, commanding. “Answer me.”

Her tone snapped you out of your trance. Your throat felt tight, your heart pounding so hard you were sure she could hear it. “I… I’m… I always knew I wasn’t worthy of your love,” you managed to whisper, staring at the sheets instead of her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

She laughed —a quiet, breathy sound that made your stomach twist. You couldn’t tell if it was mockery or amusement, maybe both. “Aren’t you, now?”

You shook your head, unable to stop the words from tumbling out. “No… You… You said it yourself, I’m a good-for-nothing peasant. Just a maid.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. You could feel her gaze fixed on you, the tension thick enough to make you want to disappear. When you finally dared to look up, she was already leaning closer. Her hair fell over her shoulder, brushing your arm, and you felt your entire body freeze.

“So bold for everything but love,” she murmured, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Aren’t you a funny little thing?”

“What…?” you breathed, barely audible.

“You want to be close to me all the time,” she said, voice low and unhurried, “but the moment you’re…” She leaned in, her breath brushing against your ear. “…Too close.” You flinched, not because you wanted to move away, but because your body couldn’t take it. The warmth of her breath on your skin, the sound of her voice right there —every nerve inside you was burning. When she drew back again, your chest rose and fell too quickly, like you’d just run for your life. “You back down,” she finished, her words sharper now, almost like a challenge.

“I…” you stammered, your mouth dry, your brain barely keeping up with what was happening. “I actually don’t know where this is going and I’m so nervous and scared right now, I’m sorry, princess.” The words came out rushed, clumsy, almost childish, but they were honest.

She tilted her head slightly, studying you with an unreadable expression. Her eyes softened for a second, but her tone didn’t lose its weight. “You’re nervous,” she repeated, the corners of her mouth twitching. “You should be.”

Your pulse quickened. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. Everything about her —the way she carried herself, the way she spoke— demanded your full attention. She had you trapped with nothing but her voice and the faintest smirk.

“I just—” you began, but she interrupted you with a quiet hum, the kind that made it clear you were speaking out of turn.

“You’re trembling,” she noted, almost teasing. “Why is that?”

“I don’t know…” you said weakly, though you did. You knew perfectly well —it was her, always her. Her nearness, her confidence, the faint trace of amusement in her tone that made your heart twist between shame and yearning.

She smiled again, and this time it was softer, almost fond, though it still made your breath catch. “You say you’re scared,” she said slowly, “but you’re still here.”

You swallowed hard, unsure how to answer. She was right. You were scared —terrified, even— but the thought of leaving, of stepping away from her, was unbearable.

Her fingers brushed your chin, tilting your face slightly upward until you had no choice but to meet her eyes. “You talk about being unworthy, about being just a maid,” she murmured, her tone quieter now. “But here you are, in my bed, trembling because I’m too close.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. You were caught between apology and confession, between shame and the desire that was slowly killing you.

She held your gaze for another moment before letting go, her fingers sliding away with a slow, deliberate grace. “Tell me something, then,” she said softly. “If I told you to come closer… Would you?”

You didn’t know if it was a trap or an invitation. Maybe it was both. The air between you felt electric, heavy with all the words you couldn’t say, all the things you both knew and refused to admit. And still, despite every warning screaming in your head, your voice came out barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

She smiled faintly, her hand coming up to rest against your cheek, the warmth of her palm making you forget how to breathe. Her thumb brushed over your lips, pressing gently until they parted just enough. The air between you thickened. “Always so obedient…” she whispered, almost fondly, though there was a clear edge of command in her tone.

You stayed still, unable to move, afraid that even breathing too hard would break whatever fragile spell held you together. It wasn’t fear that froze you —it was the weight of her control, the way her presence filled every inch of the space around you. You could feel your pulse pounding under her touch, your heart begging for something you couldn’t name.

Then, without another word, she leaned down and replaced her thumb with her lips. It wasn’t rough or rushed; it was deliberate, almost testing. The kiss barely lasted a second, soft and fleeting, but it felt like the world had stopped entirely.

You reacted before you could think, instinct taking over. You leaned forward, chasing the warmth that had already gone, desperate to find her lips again, but she stopped you easily —her hand on your chest, pushing you gently back down against the sheets. The small, knowing smile on her face made your breath catch.

“Beg,” she said quietly.

You blinked, dazed, your voice caught somewhere between confusion and longing. “Huh?”

Her eyes didn’t waver, her tone calm, certain. “If you want it —beg for it.”

Your mind was blank, full of her and nothing else. You felt dizzy, helpless beneath that gaze, your chest rising and falling too fast. “Please,” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

Her hand lingered where it had pushed you back, the warmth of it spreading through you, grounding and disarming all at once. She tilted her head slightly, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Come on,” she murmured. “You can do better than that.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers unconsciously curling into the sheets as you tried to steady your voice. The way she looked at you —half teasing, half gentle— made it impossible to tell if she wanted to test you or comfort you. 

“My princess, please… I need you.”

Her smile deepened, that quiet, triumphant curve that always made your chest tighten. She leaned in, closing the distance until her lips found yours once more. The kiss was soft, slow, the kind that carried more relief than hunger. It felt like slipping into warm water after being out in the cold too long —safe, inevitable, something you could’ve stayed in forever if time allowed.

When she finally drew back, her breath brushed your skin, and before either of you could speak you reached for her again, unable to stop yourself. Another kiss, then another, shorter, lighter, laughter breaking through between them until you were both smiling against each other’s lips. You caught her face in your hands, fingers cradling her jaw as if afraid she might disappear, and kept pressing tiny kisses wherever you could reach —her cheeks, her nose, the corner of her mouth— each one earning a soft laugh from her.

At last she pulled back, laughing properly this time, her eyes bright and breath unsteady. You were still smiling when you whispered, “I needed that.”

“I could tell,” she said, still half-laughing, and the sound of it made your chest ache in the best possible way.

You both stood there, lost in each other’s eyes, as the world around you seemed to blur and fade away. The silence between you wasn’t awkward —it was heavy, alive, charged with the realisation of what had just happened. You had kissed her. Not once, but several times. You could still feel the ghost of her lips on yours, still taste the faint trace of her warmth lingering. Your heart was racing like it was trying to escape your chest, your breath uneven, and your cheeks burning as if they’d caught fire. You had no idea what to do next.

“Tell me,” she said at last, her voice soft but deliberate, that teasing little smile curving her lips. “What is it that you feel for me?”

You froze, swallowing hard. Her eyes were so steady on you, so patient, that for a moment you couldn’t breathe. You bit your lip, trying to collect the mess of thoughts swirling inside you, and finally managed to whisper, “What don’t I feel about you…” You gave a nervous laugh, glancing down before meeting her gaze again. “First off, you’re groovy and drop-dead gorgeous… I love every part of you —your voice, your eyes, your… Fuck —your laugh, your smile. That beauty mark on your cheek? It’s adorable.” 

Her expression softened, her teasing replaced by something gentler, something you couldn’t quite name. You felt braver then, speaking with more ease. “And you’re different, my princess. You want things your way, you’re demanding, and I like that. You always know what you want, and that’s… It’s powerful. But once I started to really know you —past all that— I realised you’re amazing. You’re funny, clever, sharp, you’ve got this fire in you that no one else has. You make me feel like I’m standing in the sun.”

For a moment she didn’t answer. She just looked at you, her lips parting slightly as if she couldn’t quite believe the words. “You really love me,” she said at last, her tone almost disbelieving, her eyes glimmering with something softer than before. “For who I am. Not just my looks.”

“I do,” you said simply, because there was nothing else to say. It was the truth, plain and raw.

She let out a small laugh and shook her head, her hair brushing her shoulders. “You…” she said, still smiling, “for a peasant as bold and reckless as you are with someone like me…”

“Oh, come on!” you protested, nudging her playfully, trying to hide how red you were.

She laughed again, that melodic, heart-melting sound that made you feel both dizzy and grounded all at once. “You’re amazing, truly,” she said, her tone softer this time.

“Oh, I know,” you teased back, putting on a grin to mask your trembling nerves. “I’ve got an incredibly charming personality and stunning looks. People can’t resist me.”

She rolled her eyes, though she was smiling, and leaned closer, her hand reaching for your cheek. “You do,” she whispered, her words brushing your skin like a secret.

Then she kissed you again —slow, sure, and full of warmth— and all the air you’d been holding escaped your lungs in a trembling sigh. You felt yourself melt into it, into her, into the quiet joy of knowing that, for once, she wasn’t pulling away.

The kiss grew deeper, heavier, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. Her tongue slipped past your parted lips, slow and deliberate, tasting you, claiming you in a way that made your pulse tremble. Her hand found your waist and gripped tightly, anchoring you beneath her as she shifted slightly, her body pressing closer, just enough to make your breath hitch. Every move she made was certain, intentional. She didn’t ask for control —she took it— and you let her, gladly. You were there to follow, to obey, to give her whatever she wanted.

When she finally pulled away, the sudden distance felt like a wound. But before you could even breathe properly again, she leaned in to kiss the bridge of your nose —tender, almost playful. “You said last night,” she murmured, her breath brushing your skin, “that you didn’t understand why I don’t feel dirty just being next to you.” Her tone darkened as her fingers traced your jaw, then pressed gently against your lips before slipping into your mouth, parting it slowly. “Should I?” she whispered, raising an eyebrow, her voice laced with something sharp and dangerous. “Are you another one of those filthy people who want me so badly they can’t stand it?”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding so loud it drowned your thoughts. Her voice had changed —it was no longer teasing, but commanding, her words slicing through you with that intoxicating authority you adored. “Answer me,” she demanded, her tone low and deliberate. You could only nod, your embarrassment burning through your skin.

She smiled then, small and wicked. “Then show me,” she said softly. “Show me your devotion. Show me what you are.”

It wasn’t cruelty —it was power, and you worshipped it. Your entire body responded to her voice, to her control, to the way she looked down at you like she owned you completely. You followed her wordlessly, kissed when she told you to, touched where she guided you, and let her undress you piece by piece. She led, and you obeyed, your entire world narrowing to her breath, her hands, her voice whispering commands that made your head spin.

You praised her between gasps —her voice, her beauty, her warmth, her everything. The way she moved, the way she looked at you —it felt divine, almost sacred, like something you weren’t meant to touch but couldn’t stay away from. She was perfection, and you were nothing but someone lucky enough to be in her presence.

Neither of you should have been awake, but there you were, tangled together in the quiet morning, your heart still trembling with disbelief. You lay back on the bed, your body weak and humming, your face pressed into the pillow as you smiled without meaning to. Her body rested lightly on top of yours, her breath brushing against your ear as she whispered something too soft to catch, pressing slow, lazy kisses along your skin.

You closed your eyes, a laugh caught somewhere between exhaustion and joy. None of it felt real. You were supposed to be nothing but a servant —a nobody, a worker in Mickey’s household— and now you were here, wrapped in the arms of Princess Gwen herself. It sounded impossible, a story that could never be told out loud. But the warmth of her skin, the weight of her touch, the sound of her heartbeat —it was all real. More real than anything had ever been.

“Now what?” you said, still catching your breath, the room quiet except for the soft rustle of sheets.

She turned her head toward you, one eyebrow raised, her voice low and amused. “What do you mean?”

“Yeah, now what?” you repeated, running a hand through your hair. “What are we? What aren’t we?”

She smiled faintly, that little smirk that always made you weak. “Well,” she began with deliberate slowness, “you still work for me.”

You laughed, a little too nervously. “I know, I know, but… I don’t know… Shouldn’t we be something?”

“Is it that important?” she asked, voice soft but teasing. She moved closer until her shoulder brushed yours. “Why don’t you just enjoy the moment? Naming these things ruins them.” Her hand came up to your cheek, caressing it with that same effortless gentleness that had undone you since the beginning.

You sighed, smiling despite yourself. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” she said, and chuckled quietly, her laughter spilling through the quiet like sunlight.

You rolled your eyes, groaning with a grin as you shifted slowly, sitting up on the bed. The morning air was cool against your bare skin, and you stretched, yawning. “Well,” you said reluctantly, “as much as I hate to admit it… I still work for you. Sadly, that means I have to get up and —ugh— have breakfast.”

“That’s right,” she said, turning on her side, resting her head in her hand as she watched you.

“Oh, come on! You’re not going to tell me to stay in bed a little longer?” you asked, feigning offense.

“No,” she laughed, the sound light and warm.

You gasped in mock betrayal. “So you don’t actually like me. You just hate me so much you want me dead, starving, and miserable. I see how it is.”

“Exactly,” she said, pretending to be serious, but her grin betrayed her.

“Shame on you, princess. Shame on you,” you said, pointing at her dramatically before getting off the bed. She laughed again, covering herself lazily with the sheets, her hair messy and glowing in the morning light.

You looked at her one last time, smiling like an idiot before realising the time. “Shit,” you muttered, rushing to grab your clothes. “They’re going to notice I’m not there yet”

“Maybe if you run fast enough, they won’t,” Gwen teased.

“Run? In this castle? I’ll look suspicious as hell!” you said, hopping as you tried to pull your skirt on. “Oh, this is bad —this is so bad— what if someone saw me leaving your room?”

“Then tell them I summoned you,” she said calmly, resting her chin on her hand, completely unbothered.

“Yeah, because that’s definitely going to make it better,” you said, your voice rising with panic. “They’ll think something’s wrong or— or—”

“Or that their princess simply enjoys your company,” she interrupted with a sly smile.

You stared at her, half-dressed, half-scandalised, half in love, and completely doomed. “You’re evil.”

“I’ve been told that before.”

You groaned, running a hand down your face, then grabbed your boots and jacket. “Fine. I’ll go. But if I get fired for being late because of this—”

“Because of me,” she corrected.

“—because of you, I’ll haunt you.”

“Deal,” she said, smiling into the pillow.

You opened the door quietly, peeking into the corridor, making sure no one was around. The coast was clear. You slipped out, heart hammering in your chest, the taste of her kiss still lingering on your lips as you hurried barefoot down the hall toward your room.

Once inside, you slammed the door shut behind you, leaning against it with a deep sigh of relief. The room was dim and quiet, your clothes scattered from the day before. You caught sight of yourself in the small mirror by the wall —your hair a complete mess, your neck marked faintly, your shirt wrinkled beyond saving.

“Oh, great,” you muttered. “I look so innocent.”

You threw on a clean shirt, splashed some water on your face from the basin, and tried to breathe normally again. Then, pretending everything was perfectly fine, you stepped out to join the others for breakfast —heart still racing, your body still warm from her touch, and your mind completely unable to think of anything else but Gwen and the way she’d said, enjoy the moment.

You hurried down the hallways, still half-fixing your clothes and trying not to look as suspicious as you felt. By the time you reached the kitchen your pulse was racing, and you dropped onto the bench next to Anne, the only maid you’d actually managed to befriend in that whole castle. The smell of freshly baked bread filled the room, and a few servants gave you a strange look when you sat down —late, dishevelled, and flushed. You tried to smile naturally, like nothing had happened.

“I overslept,” you said quickly before anyone could ask, forcing a laugh. “Can you believe it? Me, of all people.”

Anne tilted her head, giving you a look somewhere between suspicion and amusement. “You look… different.”

You froze with a piece of bread halfway to your mouth. “I… Don’t know what you mean.”

“Your hair’s a mess, your shirt’s tucked in wrong, and you’ve got this—” she gestured vaguely at your face “—look. Like you’ve seen a ghost. Or done something you shouldn’t have.”

Your throat went dry. You were terrible at lying, and the heat rising to your cheeks wasn’t helping.

“What happened to you?” she asked, leaning in a little. “Is it because of the princess?”

For a single awful second, your heart just stopped. You could feel the blood draining from your face, your hands trembling slightly as you gripped your cup.

Then she added, with a roll of her eyes, “She keeps you running all over the palace, doesn’t she? Always sending you on those stupid errands, making you redo everything twice?”

You exhaled sharply, relief flooding through you. “Yeah,” you said quickly, forcing a weak laugh. “Exactly that.”

“I don’t know how you put up with her,” Anne said, shaking her head. “She’s so demanding. So —what’s the word— impossible.”

You looked down at your food, trying not to smile. “Yeah… Impossible.”

“Patience,” she said, pointing her spoon at you. “That’s what you’ve got.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to say another word. The rest of breakfast blurred past in a haze of nervous chatter and forced laughter, your mind somewhere else entirely —back in that golden morning light, back in Gwen’s room.

Once the others had gone about their duties, you slipped away, making your way up the corridor as quietly and quickly as you could. When you reached her door, you didn’t even bother to knock —you just pushed it open.

“How was breakfast?” Gwen asked from the bed, her tone teasing the moment she saw your face.

“I hate you,” you muttered, closing the door behind you.

“No, you don’t,” she said with a grin, stretching lazily under the sheets. Her hair was a mess of soft curls, glowing in the morning light.

You groaned, walking over to her wardrobe. “They’re actually going to end me if they find out I slept with you,” you said, rifling through her dresses to look for something she could wear.

“They won’t,” she said simply, watching you with that maddening calm of hers.

“Yeah, sure. You’re so reassuring.” You pulled out a pale blue gown and held it up. “This one?”

She nodded with a faint smile. “You know my wardrobe better than I do.”

“Occupational hazard,” you said under your breath, bringing the gown over to her. She stood, completely unbothered by your flustered state, and let you help her into it —her movements slow and elegant, every small gesture reminding you of what had happened barely an hour ago.

Once she was dressed, you brushed her hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingers, and helped her fix the few loose curls that framed her face. You dabbed a bit of powder on her cheeks, enough to soften the glow of sleep, then stepped back to admire her.

“There,” you said quietly. “Perfect as always.”

She turned toward you, a faint smile curving her lips. “You make that sound like you had something to do with it.”

“Maybe I did,” you teased, but your heart was still racing as she met your eyes.

“Come on, I need my breakfast, I’m starving,” she said, brushing past you toward the door.

You straightened your clothes and quickly followed, opening it for her as you always did. Walking beside her down the long corridor felt strangely different now; the air seemed heavier, your steps slower, your heart beating far too fast. You kept your hands folded in front of you, eyes down, but that guilty warmth sat heavy in your chest. It felt like everyone knew, even though no one so much as glanced in your direction.

The castle was already alive with the sound of servants at work —soft footsteps, the distant clatter of dishes, the faint echo of chatter bouncing off the marble walls. You’d walked those same halls hundreds of times, but now each corner, each window, each guard post felt like a place you could be caught. The secret you carried burned against your skin, both terrifying and thrilling.

“I don’t get why you never have breakfast with me,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You blinked, thrown off. “What?”

“You have lunch with me, you have dinner with me,” she said, her tone half-complaint, half-amusement. “Why not breakfast?”

You glanced sideways at her, trying to sound casual. “Princess, I wake up much earlier than you. Besides, everyone would think I’m just… You know, a bootlicker if I started doing that.”

She stopped walking for just a second, her lips twitching into a mischievous smile. “Oh, you sure are a licker,” she said, voice low and teasing.

You froze, nearly stumbling over your own feet. “Don’t— don’t do that,” you stammered, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“What?” she asked innocently, but she was laughing, her eyes glinting with that same wicked amusement that made you both want to disappear and stay in her orbit forever.

You sighed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve heard that before,” she said with mock pride as you both continued walking toward the dining room.

The breakfast hall was already set when you arrived. Sunlight spilled through the tall arched windows, gleaming on the polished silverware and white porcelain dishes. Gwen sat at her usual spot, graceful even as she yawned, while you sat next to her, trying to seem composed. The smell of freshly baked bread and spiced tea filled the air, and for a moment you allowed yourself to relax.

“I don’t know what we can do today…” you said quietly, watching her sip her tea.

Her lips curved slightly around the rim of the cup before she lowered it and gave you a thoughtful look. “Do we have to do anything at all?” she asked softly.

You hesitated, caught by the gentle tone in her voice. “I suppose not, but you always want to do something. Ride, walk, visit the gardens —something.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, swirling her tea absently. “Maybe I’m just in the mood to stay in. Read. Talk. Be lazy for once.”

You smiled faintly, relieved to hear her calm. “That sounds… Nice.”

“Good,” she said, setting her cup down with a small clink. “Then you’ll stay with me today.”

You blinked, unsure if she meant it as an order or an invitation. “All day?”

“Is that a problem? You always spend your days with me” she asked, arching an eyebrow, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.

“No,” you said quickly, trying not to sound too eager. “Not a problem.”

“Good,” she said again, picking up a piece of bread and tearing it delicately. “Because I rather like having you around.”

You tried to ignore the rush of warmth that rose to your chest, tried to remind yourself you were still her maid, still just a servant. But when she smiled at you again, soft and genuine this time, you knew there was no pretending anymore. You were hopelessly, entirely hers —and even in that crowded room, you felt as if the whole world had narrowed down to just her voice, her smile, and the secret you both shared behind closed doors.

You both lay on her bed, she rested her head lightly on your chest, her arm draped across you. You could feel her breath against your collarbone, unhurried and calm. Your fingers brushed absently over her shoulder, tracing the patterns on the fabric of her gown. Her warmth pressed against your side, and though you were both perfectly composed, it felt more intimate than anything else —just the soft rhythm of her breathing, the quiet weight of her hand, the gentle silence that needed no words.

“You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed of this,” you said quietly, almost afraid to break the calm.

She smiled without looking up. “I rather do.”

“Do you?” you asked, finding her hand and intertwining your fingers with hers, feeling how perfectly they fit together.

Her gaze lifted to meet yours. “Do you know what it’s like,” she began softly, “to meet someone who actually sees you? Not the crown, not the name, not the expectations —just you. Someone who treats you like you’re human. Who listens. Who’s kind, and good, and somehow still so impossibly beautiful it’s unfair.”

Her voice trailed off, and you didn’t know what to say. You could only smile, small and nervous, feeling your chest tighten with a kind of happiness that almost hurt. “I love you so much,” you said before you could stop yourself. The words left you like a confession and a prayer at once.

She blinked, her lips curving slowly into a tender smile. “I do too.”

“Love yourself? That’s quite self-centred of you,” you teased weakly, and she laughed under her breath.

“Silly,” she murmured, tilting her head to kiss you —soft, quick, barely a brush, but enough to make your heart skip. “I meant I love you too.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, soaking it in, before the fear inevitably crept back. “You know I’m worried, right?” you said quietly. “If someone saw us like this…”

She shifted slightly, raising her head so her eyes met yours again. “Don’t be,” she said, calm and certain, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Play it cool. Every princess has at least one rumour about her being in love with her maid.” Her smile widened, her tone playful but her gaze serious. “Let them whisper. They never get it right anyway.”

You looked at her —really looked at her— and your chest ached in the best possible way. The way she said it made you believe her, even if only for a moment. You brushed a strand of hair from her face, and she leaned into your touch, her eyes half-closed.

You suddenly jumped. “You know what we can do?” you said, excitement lighting up your face.

She blinked, slightly startled, then gave you that amused, half-tired look of hers. “What now?” she asked, though you could already see the smile tugging at her lips.

“We could paint each other!” you exclaimed, your hands gesturing wildly as if the idea had just saved the day. “Or— wait— we could each start a painting, and then swap canvases halfway through and finish what the other started. You know? Like, a mix of our brains!”

She couldn’t help laughing, the sound soft and airy. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head fondly, “but I like it. That actually sounds fun.” She stretched her arms. “We can do both if you want. We’ve got the whole day ahead of us.”

You grinned, heart fluttering as she finally stood up and walked towards the corner where a few canvases were stacked. She brushed some dust off one of them, turning it around to inspect the surface. “These will do,” she said, placing them on the table near the window.

“Wait, we’re actually doing it?” you asked, still half in disbelief as you scrambled to your feet.

“Of course. You wanted to paint, didn’t you?” she teased, looking over her shoulder. “Fetch the brushes before I change my mind.”

You rushed to gather the paints and brushes, nearly tripping over the hem of your skirt in your hurry. She was laughing now, glowing in the morning light.

A while later, both of you sat facing each other across the table, brushes in hand. The silence that settled between you wasn’t awkward —it was warm, comfortable, punctuated only by the scratch of bristles against canvas and the occasional giggle when one of you made a mistake.

You tilted your head, studying her face, her delicate features framed by the loose strands of hair falling over her forehead. “You know, you’re a terrible model,” you teased. “You keep moving.”

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. “And you’re a terrible painter, but I’m not complaining.”

You gasped, pretending to be offended. “Excuse me, I’m a genius artist.”

“Then prove it,” she said, eyes glinting mischievously.

You both laughed, and for a while, it felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist —just colour, laughter, and the quiet joy of being together.

When you finally switched canvases, you looked down at what she’d painted —your face, or at least her attempt at it, with too-bright eyes and a crooked smile. It wasn’t perfect, but it was hers, and you couldn’t stop smiling.

“Yours looks like a ghost,” she teased, glancing at your unfinished portrait of her.

“Well, you haunt me enough, so it’s fitting,” you said, and she laughed again, reaching across the table to smudge a bit of blue paint on your cheek.

“Now you look even more like an artist,” she said, giggling.

You picked up a brush and dipped it in red paint with a wicked grin. “Oh, you shouldn’t have done that, Your Highness.”

She shrieked and ducked, laughing uncontrollably as you both began what was now an all-out paint war —streaks of colour splattering the table, the walls, your clothes, and finally, her lips, when you caught her in your arms again, laughing breathlessly against her mouth.

“You drive me crazy,” you said, smiling at her as the words slipped out before you could stop them. “It’s honestly a relief that we finally… Talked about us, because otherwise, I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself.” You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck and looking down at your lap. “I really wouldn’t know how to quit you.”

“I don’t think you’d have lasted any longer than you already have,” she teased, settling back on the chair with her paintbrush still in hand. She turned back to the canvas, pretending to focus, though the faint white stain on her sleeve betrayed her distraction. Her lips were curved in that subtle, knowing smile that always made you nervous.

You leaned on your elbow, watching her from the side, ignoring your own canvas. “It was painful, you know?” you said softly. “Thinking I could never actually have you.” You gave a short laugh, one that almost sounded like a sigh. “My friend Davy once joked that I could end up falling for you, and I played it off, acted like it was ridiculous —but deep down, I was terrified he might’ve been right.”

She tilted her head slightly, listening but pretending she wasn’t.

“I mean,” you continued, voice lighter now, “I even used to scold Peter for being unemployed because he couldn’t focus on anything but you. And look at me now. Imagine telling them that I couldn’t even sleep because of you.”

“Your poor reputation,” she said with mock sympathy, dipping her brush into the paint again, though her tone was light, amused.

You laughed. “If I ever tell them —and I suppose one day I will— it’ll be a humiliation ritual for me.”

She looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Saying that you love me is humiliating?”

“No! Absolutely not,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “What is humiliating, though, is admitting it after acting like I was so much better than Peter. Like I could never be the kind of fool who falls head over heels for someone he can’t have.”

“Yet here you are,” she said, smirking.

“Yet here I am,” you echoed, smiling despite yourself.

She turned back to her canvas, her brush moving lazily now, as though she wasn’t really paying attention to what she was painting anymore. “And what do you suppose Peter would say if he knew you’ve been sleeping in my bed?” she asked, casual but clearly entertained.

“Oh, he’d probably faint,” you said, laughing. “Then Davy would make some joke about me being a hopeless romantic, and Mickey would say something about betrayal, and I’d have to move to another kingdom.”

“Sounds dramatic,” she murmured, her tone teasing.

“You’d miss me,” you said, trying to sound light but meaning it a bit too much.

She glanced over her shoulder, smiling faintly. “I would,” she admitted, quietly.

You looked at her then —the way her golden hair caught the light, the curve of her neck, the paint on her fingers— and it hit you again, how surreal it all felt. That you were here, beside her, after all the days of hopeless longing, stolen glances and unspoken words.

The air was warm, golden, quiet except for the occasional brushstroke. She hummed under her breath —some soft tune you didn’t recognise —and the sound wrapped around you like silk.

After a while, she whispered, “You really wouldn’t know how to quit me, would you?”

You paused, looking at her. “No,” you said simply. “Not even if I tried.”

She smiled again, her eyes meeting yours, and in that silence —full of warmth and paint and everything unsaid— she leaned in to kiss you once more, light and fleeting, before returning to her canvas as if nothing had happened.

And for the first time, it didn’t feel like a dream anymore.