The morning dawned pale and quiet, as though the sun itself dared not intrude upon the palace walls. Golden light filtered through the embroidered curtains of the breakfast hall, catching in the delicate porcelain cups and silver platters that lined the long table. Everything was set with the same precision as always...bowls of fruits cut into neat slices, warm bread nestled in ornate baskets, pitchers of milk and spiced tea steaming faintly.
And yet, despite the perfection of the setting, the air itself felt fractured.
Sophia sat across from Alexander, her back straight, her hands folded in her lap as though posture alone could keep her from unraveling. She dared not let her gaze linger on him too long, for the memory of last night's mistake was still raw in her mind. The fire of the drug had faded, but the memory of her lips pressed against his...hungry, reckless, and uncontrolled...burned hotter than anything coursing through her blood.
Alexander, for his part, was silent. He did not touch the platter before him, though Damien had arranged it with care. He stared instead at the cup before him, the steam curling upward as though taunting his restraint. His gray eyes, usually sharp and unreadable, seemed dulled this morning, clouded by thoughts that refused to settle.
It was unbearable.
Each scrape of cutlery by the servants, each faint rustle of fabric as they moved about the room, grated against Sophia's nerves. Every sound seemed to amplify the silence between her and Alexander.
She had not slept properly. She had turned over countless times, replaying the kiss, her sudden loss of control, her shameful flight into the washroom. And worse, the look in his eyes afterward. She hadn't been able to decide whether it was shock, disappointment, or something far more dangerous.
When Alexander finally lifted his gaze, just for a moment, their eyes met across the table. Sophia's breath caught. There it was again, that warmth, that unspoken question that lingered in his expression even when his face returned to its usual stoicism. It was too much. Too dangerous.
Sophia drew a steadying breath.
Enough.
She set down her spoon gently, the sound echoing sharper than it should have in the silence.
"Leave us," she said softly, but with authority.
The servants froze, startled. One of the older maids hesitated, her eyes darting toward Alexander for confirmation, but the prince merely gave the barest tilt of his head. One by one, the attendants bowed and withdrew, leaving the vast breakfast hall suddenly cavernous in its quiet.
Sophia waited until the last door clicked shut. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, but she forced her voice to remain calm.
"Your Highness," she began, choosing her words with care, "I have something to share with you."
Alexander straightened slightly in his chair, his sharp eyes locking on hers. "Go on."
Sophia's hands brushed lightly across the edge of the table, her composure firm though her heart still raced. "During my studies in medicine, I worked with herbs not only for treating illnesses, but also for strengthening weakened limbs and improving circulation. Recently I studied about the herbs available in this region and atmosphere that might aid you."
For the first time that morning, Alexander's expression shifted in surprise, curiosity, perhaps even the faintest flicker of hope.
She continued, her voice low and steady. "I've devised a formula. A mixture of specific herbs, combined in a precise ratio, that could, over time, encourage strength to return to your legs. It is not certain. It will take patience. But I believe it can help."
Alexander's breath caught, though his face betrayed little more than the tightening of his jaw. "And you would attempt this yourself?"
"Yes," Sophia replied without hesitation. "I cannot risk drawing attention. The palace walls listen, and not all ears are loyal. I will need the herbs delivered to me in secrecy, away from the usual channels. I ask you, Your Highness, to entrust this matter only to those you deem completely reliable. The fewer who know, the safer it will be."
For a long moment, Alexander was silent. His gaze bore into hers, as though weighing not only her words but her intent. She held his stare, unwavering, though her chest tightened with the weight of his scrutiny.
Finally, he exhaled slowly. "You will have them."
Her lips parted in surprise. She had expected hesitation, perhaps even suspicion. But his reply was resolute, without a trace of doubt.
"You will have them," he repeated firmly. "I will see to it that Damien acquires the herbs you require and delivers them directly to you. No one else will be involved."
Relief flooded Sophia, though she kept her composure. "Thank you, Your Highness."
A faint silence stretched between them, but this time it was not suffocating. It was tentative, a fragile bridge being built.
Alexander finally lifted his cup, taking a measured sip. His voice, when it came, was quieter. "You think always ahead, don't you, Sophia?"
Her cheeks warmed faintly, but she lowered her gaze. "I only wish to do what I can "For you" and "For us", Your Highness."
The words lingered between them, heavier than she had intended. She quickly turned her attention back to the matter at hand.
That afternoon, Sophia requested the household's financial ledgers be brought to her chambers. The chief steward obliged, though his hands trembled slightly as he handed over the heavy volumes bound in leather. Few consorts had ever concerned themselves with such matters. But Sophia was no ordinary consort.
She spread the records across her desk, her keen eyes scanning every line. The entries were neat but full of excess and unnecessary embellishments, inflated costs, vague categories meant to disguise indulgence.
"Gold-threaded embroidery for tablecloths… unnecessary." She drew a firm line through the expense. "Exotic fruits from southern isles when orchards nearby provide plenty. Wasteful."
For hours she examined, cross-referencing purchases, calculating discrepancies, noting where coin had been bled away under the guise of luxury.
But what caught her attention most were the inconsistencies. Items reported as scarce, even missing, yet the records showed they had been purchased in abundance. A pattern emerged with small, deliberate manipulations designed to drain resources while making it appear as though needs had gone unmet.
Sophia's suspicion sharpened.
The following morning, she summoned the responsible maid who had often reported shortages. The woman entered nervously, wringing her hands in her apron.
"You claimed last week that the supply of fine linens had run out," Sophia said coolly, lifting the ledger. "And yet here it states that thirty bolts were purchased not three days prior. Where are they?"
The maid stammered, eyes darting toward the floor. "I—I do not know, my lady. Perhaps… perhaps the stores were misplaced—"
"Misplaced?" Sophia's voice was calm, but her eyes were like steel. "Bolts of linen large enough to clothe half the palace? No. Someone profits from their disappearance. Tell me who."
The woman paled, her lips trembling, but she said nothing.
Sophia dismissed her sharply and summoned the overseer responsible for purchasing. He entered with a mask of confidence, but Sophia was already watching him with narrowed eyes. She remembered the thoughts she had overheard during earlier breakfasts, fleeting fragments of calculation, of greed, of whispered coordination.
"You approved these transactions," Sophia said, sliding the ledger across the table. "Explain the discrepancies."
The man bowed stiffly. "Your Ladyship, such matters are routine. Prices fluctuate, deliveries are sometimes late—"
"Do not insult me," she cut in sharply. "I hear more than you think. And I will not allow deceit to rot the household entrusted to me."
His jaw tightened, his thoughts betraying him in the silence between them: She knows too much. I must be cautious. If the Crown Prince learns—
Sophia's gaze hardened.