The late morning sun had mellowed into a golden haze that stretched lazily across the castle courtyards. By the time Sophia returned to the prince's study, the weight of their previous conversation still clung to the air like lingering incense.
Her steps were measured, her back straight, but her palms betrayed her calm façade, damp with tension. Alexander had summoned Damien after her startling claim of "slow poisoning," and though the matter had not yet been resolved, their discussion had forged an unexpected, fragile thread of trust.
Now she faced him again. The prince sat in his chair by the window, his expression unreadable, though the steady tap of his fingers against the armrest betrayed an undercurrent of impatience.
Sophia curtsied deeply. "Your Highness."
"Speak." His tone was curt, but his eyes flicked toward her with interest.
She lifted her chin, drawing in a quiet breath. "I will give everything in me to see you restored to health. But for this to succeed, I must ask something of you."
One brow arched, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "And what great demand does my princess consort dare to set before me?"
Sophia did not waver. "Secrecy."
That single word made the room fall utterly still.
Alexander's storm-gray eyes narrowed. "Explain."
Her voice was steady, but her fingers curled subtly in the folds of her gown. "My knowledge, my methods, even my suspicions must remain between us. No one else. Not the healers. Not the butler. Not even the maids. Only Damien, for he already stands as your shadow. Aside from him, it must be just the two of us."
Damien, who stood at his usual post near the wall, stiffened at the inclusion of his name but bowed his head respectfully.
Alexander leaned back, studying her with a gaze sharp enough to slice. Inside, however, his thoughts churned.
Secrecy…? She asks me to cut out even my most trusted household retainers. Such boldness. Such recklessness. Does she not see the danger in this? Or does she see it clearer than I do?
"And why," he asked at last, his voice deceptively smooth, "should I grant this condition?"
Sophia drew closer, each step deliberate, her skirts whispering against the polished floor. "Because the fewer who know, the safer you are. If there truly is foul play, then every servant, every healer, every familiar face could be suspect. Trusting the wrong one could mean your death."
Her words pierced the air with chilling clarity.
For a moment, silence reigned. Even Damien shifted uneasily, his hand resting against the hilt of his sword as though instinct urged him to act.
Alexander exhaled slowly, his gaze locked on her as though to weigh her very soul. At last, he inclined his head. "Very well. But know this, Sophia, if you falter, if your secrecy breeds more harm than good...." His tone sharpened like steel drawn from its sheath. "I will not forgive it."
"I ask no forgiveness," she replied softly. "Only the chance to act."
The prince's eyes lingered on her, stormy and inscrutable, but in his chest flickered something he had not felt in years: the faintest ember of… hope.
That evening, after dinner, Sophia appeared once more at his chambers.
Damien admitted her with a discreet bow, then quietly stepped aside. Alexander was already prepared for bed, clad in a dark silk robe, his chair drawn near the hearth where firelight gilded his sharp features in bronze and gold.
Sophia curtsied, then offered a faint smile. "I would like to show Damien some things tonight. If Your Highness permits."
Alexander raised a brow. "Some things?"
"Exercises," she clarified. Her voice was steady, but her pulse beat furiously in her throat. "Movements that may help you regain strength over time. Damien must learn them, so he can aid you properly."
The prince regarded her in silence, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Inside, however—
Exercises? What sort of consort instructs her knight in matters of medicine? She grows bolder with each passing day. Yet… there is no deceit in her tone. Only resolve.
"Very well," he murmured, gesturing with one hand. "Proceed."
Sophia's composure never faltered as she guided Damien closer, but her heart drummed at the intimacy of what followed. She knelt beside the prince's chair, her fingers brushing his wrist as she demonstrated gentle stretches for the arm. Her touch was light, professional, yet each brush of her skin against his burned with startling intensity.
Alexander's thoughts stumbled.
Her hands… steady, sure… yet she trembles faintly. Does she even realize?
Sophia fought to keep her breath even, forcing her mind into the role of physician, not wife. But the closeness was undeniable, the heat of his skin beneath her palms, the scent of cedar and firewood clinging to him, the awareness of his storm-gray eyes fixed upon her.
"Hold here," she instructed Damien, guiding the knight's hand carefully to support Alexander's arm. "Now, gently—only a small stretch. Never force."
Damien followed her lead, visibly awkward but attentive. Alexander's jaw tightened slightly as the movement pulled at long-unused muscles. Yet instead of flinching, he endured, his eyes never leaving her face.
Why do I not dismiss her? he wondered. This is unnecessary. I could summon ten physicians to perform such tasks. And yet…
Sophia shifted lower, moving to his legs. The hem of her gown brushed against his knee as she adjusted his position. She demonstrated again, her own delicate hands pressing with practiced precision against the stiff muscles of his thigh.
Alexander's chest tightened.
Too close. Far too close. And yet…
Her scent subtle, clean, like lavender after rain drifted to him, stirring thoughts he dared not entertain. He forced his expression into impassivity, though his mind burned with conflict.
She… she knows what she does. Or does she?
Sophia kept her focus sharp, clinging to professionalism like armor. Do not falter, Sophia. This is medicine. This is healing. Nothing more… Yet her body betrayed her, a warmth coiling low in her belly, a tremor threatening her fingers.
At last, she withdrew, instructing Damien on how to replicate the movements daily.
"You will not see results overnight," she explained calmly, though her cheeks carried the faintest flush. "But with persistence, improvement may come."
Damien bowed deeply. "I understand, my lady."
Alexander inclined his head, his expression as unreadable as ever. But inside—
She surprises me again. Not with words this time… but with action.
"Enough for tonight," he said at last, dismissing them both.
Sophia curtsied once more, then withdrew, her composure intact until the heavy chamber doors shut behind her.
That night, two separate chambers bore restless occupants.
Sophia lay in her vast, cold bed, staring at the canopy above. Her heart refused to settle, her body still alive with the ghost of his warmth. She pressed her palm against her chest, whispering to herself.
"Fool. Fool, to feel this… He is not yours. He cannot be yours. Focus, Sophia. Focus."
Yet her thoughts betrayed her, replaying every brush of her fingers against his skin, every flicker of his eyes upon hers. The memory burned hotter than fire.
Across the palace, Alexander sat long after Damien had left him to rest. The flames in his hearth crackled low, shadows dancing over his sharp profile.
His mind refused peace. He turned her every word, every gesture, over and over.
Why do I entertain her madness? Why do I permit her closeness, when prudence demands distance?
And yet her touch lingers still. Her scent clings to me. Her eyes… clear, resolute, unflinching.
A curse rumbled low in his throat as he ran a hand across his face. She unsettles me.
But beneath the turmoil lay something more dangerous. Something neither of them dared to name.
Desire.
The night passed heavy with unsaid words, unacknowledged flames smoldering in the dark.