Prince Adrien collapsed onto his bed just before midnight, sweat still clinging to his back from drills. Rowan's punishment had ended only moments earlier, and his muscles hummed with exhaustion. Three days of extra practice felt like a lifetime.
He tugged off his boots and stared at the ceiling, replaying the afternoon in his head. Rowan had said nothing about the disguise, and Adrien had decided not to push his luck. Better to sleep. Better to breathe.
But when he stood to close the windows, something froze him in place.
Outside, across the silent courtyard, a lone figure sat on the garden steps. Cloak around her shoulders. Hair spilling forward like a soft curtain. Shoulders drawn tight, as if holding something heavy.
Anastasia.
Adrien didn't think. He just moved. The exhaustion bled away as he changed out of palace clothes and into Kit's worn tunic, tugging the cap low over his fake hair. Boots laced in haste. Door thrown open without a sound.
He took the servants' corridor, sprinting through dim halls, slipping past silent guards. The palace was a maze at night, but he knew the paths by now. He had memorized them as Kit, not as prince.
When he reached the courtyard arch, he slowed. His breath was loud; her head was bowed. He stepped closer.
"Anastasia—"
She flinched and looked up. Her eyes widened. Shock washed over her face so clear it almost hurt to see.
He moved toward her, heart pounding in his throat. He had imagined this moment—her seeing him again, smiling, teasing, or calling him trouble. Not this quiet trembling version of her.
"Where have you been?" he asked, too quickly. "Are you alright? Why are you out here? It's cold. Did something happen? Did someone—"
She cut him off with one sentence whispered like breaking glass.
"I like you."
Adrien froze.
The air in his lungs vanished. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Then the tears came. Not loud ones. Not dramatic ones. Just steady and unstoppable, sliding down her cheeks and catching at her jaw.
He had never seen her cry before.
Not Anastasia.
Not the girl who could laugh after dropping a stack of papers or argue her way through anything.
His chest tightened painfully.
He reached out but stopped halfway, unsure where to touch.
"Hey. Hey, look at me. Why are you crying? What happened? Tell me."
She shook her head, unable to speak, breath hitching. He sat beside her without asking, keeping close enough for warmth but not close enough to frighten her.
Time slowed.
The night air was cold. The moon watched without comment. When her crying softened into sniffles, he tried again.
"Anastasia," he said quietly. "Please. Say something."
She wiped at her face with her sleeve, eyes red.
"I thought you were gone," she whispered.
"Everyone said you were dismissed. That you'd left the palace. That you got in trouble because of me."
"That's not—"
"I looked for you everywhere," she rushed on. "I asked the maids. The stable boys. The cooks. I asked Rowan."
Her voice cracked. "I was so scared you left without saying anything."
Adrien's throat tightened. He hadn't known. Rowan had kept the disguise sealed to protect him, not realizing how deep the ache of it reached.
"Anastasia," he murmured, gentler now, "I never planned to leave. And if I did, I wouldn't go without telling you."
She drew a shaky breath and stared at her hands. "I regret everything," she whispered.
"Not talking more. Not being nicer. Not listening. Not… not saying how I felt."
Adrien's pulse stumbled.
"How you felt?" he asked.
She looked up, eyes still shining. "I like you. I really do. And I didn't say it. Not once. And when I thought you were gone, it just—hurt."
There it was, the truth laid out plainly between them, without jokes or sidestepping or walls. It was raw and simple and real.
Adrien swallowed hard. Part of him wanted to laugh, not out of humor but relief; the other part wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her until morning. But he stayed still for now, the night quiet around them, waiting for her to breathe again.
She exhaled shakily. "I just needed you to hear it. Even if you never come back."
Adrien leaned closer, voice low. "I did."
"But Why?" The word slipped out before I could tame it. Not accusing. Not incredulous. Just frightened in a way I had no practice hiding.
Anastasia looked at her hands as if they held the script to her confession.
"Because you were kind," she said slowly.
"Not just polite. Kind. You listened. You teased me without cruelty. You saw me even when I was being stubborn or awkward or too loud."
She took a trembling breath.
"And you made me feel like I wasn't just another noblewoman shoved into this palace to wait for orders."
My chest tightened. The palace rarely saw her as anything but useful ornamentation with a pulse.
She swallowed hard. "But it's fine if you don't want an ugly noble lady—"
I cut her off instantly. "Stop."
The word came sharper than intended. I reached for her hand this time, warm and shaking in mine. "Never say that again."
Her eyes flickered up. Moonlight turned the wetness on her lashes into silver.
I should have chosen silence. Silence was safer. A prince's world is built on choices others make for him: treaties disguised as marriages, alliances sewn with silk gloves and sharpened smiles.
I could already hear Rowan's voice warning me about consequence, about duty. I could already hear my father's advisors calculating her worth or lack of it.
But none of them had sat sleepless in a room missing a girl who laughed at the wrong moments and never softened her truth to please anyone. None of them knew what it felt like to be seen without a title.
I let out a breath that shook loose the last of my hesitation. "I'm supposed to choose the kingdom first," I admitted.
"I know that. But you're the only choice I've made for myself."
Her breath caught, eyes widening. I felt the heat rise in my ears and forced the rest out before fear dragged it back into my chest.
"Anastasia… I choose you. If you'll have me. The idiot who kept pretending to be a free just to talk to you."
For a moment she didn't move and panic curled through me like smoke. Then she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around my shoulders with a force that stole the air from me.
I held her back just as fiercely.
Time loosened its grip and let us stay there, pressed together beneath the sleeping palace, two hearts beating out the same impossible answer.
The palace had retired into its winter hush. Doors closed. Fires dwindled. Every ticking clock felt like a countdown toward sunrise and consequences.
I walked Anastasia toward the guest's wing through courtyards that still smelled faintly of orange blossom water from the day's tea trays. Our hands kept brushing as if by accident, though neither of us was trying to stop the accidents. The night air had the texture of velvet and risk.
At her door, she whispered goodnight in that soft voice that kept lodging in my ribs. Then she slipped inside and vanished like a candle snuffed. I waited an extra heartbeat, savoring the proof that the entire world wasn't a duty roster.
Crossing back to my wing, my feet started to feel heavy. Happy-heavy. Dread-heavy. Hope-heavy. The sort of weight that lifts you and drags you at the same time.
I closed my chamber door and leaned against it. The latch clicked and the room seemed to exhale with me. I grinned first. A stupid grin. My reflection in the mirror grinned back like a man who had found treasure beneath a kitchen floorboard.
"I choose her,"
I whispered to the empty room, and the words tasted like something new baked from old flour.
Then the second tide hit.
How would I reveal that Kit was not a guard at all, but the prince she thought she'd merely fallen for?
How would I reveal that the prince had fallen for her too, and would rather walk into a battlefield bare-chested than let another girl fill the crown's shadowed chair beside him?
The crown sat in a velvet box on the sideboard, somewhere in the palace coldly certain of its future. The gold gleamed with its usual arrogance. A kingdom's expectation forged into metal.
And suddenly it felt lighter than the promise I'd spoken beneath the stars.
If I told her tomorrow, would she hate the lie?
The disguise?
The foolish punishments and dismissals that had been part of the game?
Would she choose the guard but not the prince?
Or the prince but not the throne that came attached with it?
I flexed my hands. They still smelled of her perfume. And my heart, traitorous and bold, whispered that if she wanted, I could change the world one law at a time.
A king could be king out of love, not habit. The historians would choke on that idea and call it scandalous; I found it thrilling.
Restlessness prickled down my spine. I paced to the window. The garden where she'd been crying earlier was quiet now. Even the fountain seemed to hold its breath. Tomorrow I would have to find Rowan and tell him everything. The court would be a dragon's nest. Mother would frown the kind of frown that rearranged alliances.
But tonight I let myself imagine her beside me on coronation day, not as a chosen prize, but as a chosen partner.
Someone who had liked the guard first.
Someone who had looked for me everywhere at the risk of her pride.

I slid into bed and pressed my face into the cool pillow. Sleep refused to come. Joy made it jittery. Fear made it sharp. And somewhere between those two, the future formed itself like a constellation that hadn't yet been named.
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SIDE NOTE: Congrats finally they confessed each other oh but wait there will be a twist. But that's for later. Enjoy this moment for now 😁😁
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