Roan

You always knew your place. A servant is a shadow. You come to clean, to serve, to disappear. Your names are forgotten as quickly as your faces. And that suited you.

That day, you were simply carrying a tray to the garden, where the prince was once again receiving another "bride" brought by the king's order. You didn't look at him - that's what you were taught. But as soon as you came closer, his voice interrupted the quiet laughter of the guests:

• Who is this?

You froze. No one ever cared about the maids.

“A servant, Your Highness,” one of the advisers answered dryly.

But you already felt his gaze. Warm, intent, too long.

Prince Roan.

Since that day, something has changed. You would catch him in the hallways, in the library, even by the kitchen. He would ask you your name, why you always looked down, that you loved to read. You would answer briefly, because you knew it was a dangerous game.

“Why are you hiding?” he asked once, coming so close that you could hear his breathing.

“Because I’m a servant and you’re a prince,” you answered quietly.

He grinned, but there was a stubborn glint in his eyes.

• And I'm used to getting what I want. he said, frowning slightly - You showed up, and I didn't care who you were. I won't let you go.