She took a small, uncertain step closer, her breath mingling with his in the cold air.
"You don't have to say anything," she murmured. "I just… I don't want to be alone right now."
Alex's hand tightened around hers, and without thinking, he leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away.
Her eyes fluttered closed, and the faintest sigh escaped her lips.
Their mouths met—tentative, soft, almost a question. No urgency, no fire, just the delicate press of lips seeking comfort and connection in a world that seemed to be crumbling.
Alex's fingers found the back of her neck, gentle but sure. Historia responded, tilting her head slightly, her other hand resting lightly on his chest, heart pounding under her palm.
The kiss deepened, still careful, as if they were both afraid to break the fragile moment.
When they finally parted, breathless and wide-eyed, Historia rested her forehead against his chest.
"I don't want to be just a queen," she whispered again, voice raw with feeling. "I want to be… me."
Alex brushed a loose strand of hair from her face.
"You are," he said firmly. "And I'll remind you every time you forget."
His hand lingered lightly on her back, as if afraid that holding on too tightly might shatter the fragile moment.
Historia didn't pull away. Her breath hitched just slightly, almost shyly, but she stayed close.
The kiss wasn't fiery or urgent. It was soft, quiet—a tender pause amid the chaos. The kind of kiss that spoke of quiet need, the unspoken comfort two lonely souls gave each other in a world full of secrets and danger.
When they finally pulled apart, her forehead rested gently against his, her breath warm and trembling.
"I—I shouldn't have come," she whispered, voice barely audible, like she was afraid to be too bold. "But... I'm glad I did."
Alex searched for words, but they felt too heavy, too fragile to say aloud. Instead, he kept his hand steady on her back.
"You can stay," he said softly, voice rough with emotion. "You don't have to go back yet."
Mitras, Early 852 — Fifteen Days After the Kiss
Dust floated in the slanted morning light, spilling through the narrow windows of the supply room. Crates of gears, bolts, and black powder jars lined the walls, the air thick with the scent of oil and iron. Alex held a clipboard, charcoal smudging his fingers as he tallied inventory in silence.
Outside, the capital hummed—merchants' calls, clopping hooves, faint drill commands. Inside, it was cold, quiet.
They called him the Queen's Pet now. A nickname that started as a jab but stuck like damp rot.
Alone, Alex leaned against a crate, rubbing his temple.
The corridor was dim, torchlight dancing on stone. A cracked window let in a chill.
Historia approached, her royal cloak trailing, lavender scent faint in the air. Her eyes held a flicker of unease.
"You're summoned," she said softly.
"For the parade?" Alex tried, half-smiling.
She didn't return it. "To observe. They need someone tracking supply projections for foreign talks."
He tilted his head. "Me, specifically?"
"I need you there," she said. "Someone I trust to… see things clearly."
He glanced down. "I'm no diplomat. Those people would rather I disappear."
"I trust you," she said, voice firm. "You see me. That's enough."
They walked in silence. A guard ahead stumbled, his rifle clattering against the wall. He cursed, steadying it with a scowl.
Historia's gaze lingered on Alex, just a moment too long.
The council chamber was heavy with silence, the long table dwarfed by the vaulted ceiling. Historia sat at the head, posture rigid.
Eren slouched to her left, jaw tight. Mikasa sat still, her gaze sharp and unreadable.
Armin fidgeted with his collar. Jean leaned back, arms crossed. Levi stood behind Historia, expression blank. Nile Dok scowled across the table.
Kiyomi Azumabito sat at the far end, her Hizuru attendants poised behind her. Every word she spoke was measured, deliberate.
Alex stood against the wall, clipboard in hand, trying to ignore Mikasa's eyes boring into him.
Kiyomi's voice was smooth. "Paradis stands at a crossroads. Hizuru offers engines, blueprints, knowledge—rail, steam, weapons. In return: limited access to your iceburst stone. For mutual prosperity."
Armin leaned forward. "How limited?"
Her smile was thin. "Enough to secure both our futures."
Then, seamlessly: "But stability requires continuity. Queen Historia's bloodline is… unique."
Silence fell.
Eren's fingers twitched. Mikasa's gaze hardened, flicking briefly to Historia. Historia's hands tightened beneath the table.
"You mean an heir," Armin said flatly.
"For the Founding Titan's lineage, yes," Kiyomi replied. "To ensure stability."
Eren's voice was low. "She's not a tool."
Levi cut in. "Enough."
The air in the council chamber turned brittle.
Kiyomi's words lingered like smoke, clinging to the vaulted ceiling.
"I'll consider it," Historia repeated, her voice taut as wire. "It's my duty."
She didn't look at Eren, or Armin, or even Kiyomi. Her eyes—briefly, deliberately—found Alex.
He stood by the wall, arms crossed over the clipboard, back straight, watching.
And Mikasa.
She didn't look away from him. Didn't blink. Like a wolf that sensed something off in the herd.
Alex caught it in the corner of his eye—the way her hand twitched near the weapon at her belt, the subtle shift of weight like she expected to move. To fight.
It was as if she was waiting for him to become a threat.
The room moved on, the political talk resuming in stiff voices, but her gaze was like a nail in his ribs.
Kiyomi began speaking again, something about shipment schedules, naval escorts, ports on the southern edge of the island.