The heavy door to Alexander's chamber shut softly behind her, the faint click of its latch echoing through the empty corridor. Sophia stood still for a long moment, her hands lingering at her sides, her breath steady but her heart caught in a strange, restless rhythm. Afternoon light still bled through the tall windows of the palace, its golden rays spilling across polished floors and tapestries, yet she felt as though she were walking out of a dream.
Inside that room, Alexander had stood...stood, however briefly, however shakily, by her hand and her guidance. He had endured the searing pressure of weakened limbs, the tremor of balance returning after years of absence, and he had not faltered until the last of his strength gave way. Three minutes. Three minutes where hope took on flesh and form. Three minutes where she had seen him not as the man confined to the wheelchair, but as someone fighting, step by step, to reclaim what the world had stolen.
It should have been simple pride that filled her chest, the professional satisfaction of a physician whose efforts bore fruit. But as she walked down the corridor, her thoughts refused to stay neat, her chest refused to stay calm.
Why does my heart feel so heavy… and so light at the same time?
She quickened her steps, her skirts brushing against the polished stone, her pulse betraying her composure. It was a battle now, one that had nothing to do with corrupted ledgers or treacherous maids, but with herself.
By the time Sophia reached the palace gardens, the afternoon sun was dipping lower, the sky brushed with streaks of pale pink. She stood by a fountain, its water catching the light, its surface rippling like the thoughts churning inside her.
You should not feel this way, she told herself firmly. You are here with a goal. Heal him, restore him, and earn your freedom. That is the bargain you accepted—nothing more.
Yet the image of Alexander's expression as he straightened, jaw clenched against pain, eyes burning with determination...it lingered too vividly. She had touched his shoulder, steadied his arm, felt the heat of his body straining against weakness. It had not been a prince she was helping in that moment, nor merely a patient. It had been Alexander.
Her heart whispered dangerously: And you want more than to see him healed.
Sophia clenched her fists at her sides. No. That path was reckless. If she allowed her heart to steer her, she risked everything she had worked to secure...her plans, her future, her freedom.
What if he shuns you the moment he learns the truth? The thought cut sharp as glass. Her secret, her curse or her gift, depending on the day, was always listening, always catching the stray threads of others' minds. She could not silence it, and though she used it wisely, she knew too well it would make her a monster in the eyes of many. What if you bare your heart to him, only for him to look at you with fear and loathing?
Her stomach twisted. That fear was worse than chains.
And yet, her heart pushed back with equal force: What if he does not? What if he accepts you as you are? What if he has already begun to?
The clash left her restless, pacing the garden paths until shadows stretched long over the gravel.
Sophia returned to her chambers but found no rest there. She sat at her writing desk, quill poised over parchment, attempting to drown her thoughts in orderly lines of ink. Household matters, medicinal notes, accounts of herbs—she forced herself to list them, to structure them, to give her mind work.
But every stroke of the quill betrayed her distraction. Letters blurred, words broke off mid-thought.
You're losing yourself, she scolded silently. You've never been this careless before.
She pressed her palms against her temples, closing her eyes.
And still, she saw him. His trembling hands gripping the armrest. His refusal to collapse until his body gave no choice. The faint, fleeting flicker of something unguarded in his eyes when she steadied him...was it gratitude? Respect? Or something warmer, unspoken?
Her heart dared to call it intimacy.
She set down the quill sharply, almost breaking its tip. "No," she whispered aloud into the quiet room. The sound startled even herself.
You cannot let this happen. You are not a shy maiden who sighs in corridors, waiting to be loved. You are Sophia Hart, a woman from another world, a physician with skill and will enough to carve her own path. Love is a luxury you cannot afford. Not now.
But her heart, bold and reckless, whispered again: And if not now, then when? When the bargain is complete and you are gone from his side? When you no longer see him every day? Will you not regret it then, when it is too late?
Her breath caught. For a moment, the steady mask she wore threatened to crumble.
The summons to dinner came as a relief and a burden alike. Relief, because it gave her something external to anchor her. Burden, because she would have to sit across from him, share the same table, pretend her heart was not a battlefield.
Sophia dressed with care, though she told herself it was only habit. Her gown was deep sapphire, the fabric heavy enough to command respect but soft enough to flatter her figure. She pinned her hair back simply, not wishing to appear as though she had dressed for him. And yet, when she looked in the mirror, she knew the truth, she had.
As she walked toward the dining hall, her steps slowed. The closer she drew, the more fiercely her thoughts warred.
Confess nothing, she ordered herself. Not tonight. Not ever. Protect yourself.
But her heart whispered with disobedient longing: He deserves to know. He deserves to see that someone loves him not out of duty, but out of choice.
Her pulse throbbed in her ears. She pressed a hand briefly against her chest, as though she could still the storm raging inside.
The dining hall glowed with candlelight, shadows flickering across carved pillars and gilded trim. Alexander was already there, seated at the head of the table. Damien stood discreetly behind him, his presence silent but watchful.
Sophia lowered herself into her place with composed grace. Her eyes lifted to meet Alexander's briefly...long enough to exchange the necessary courtesies, short enough to conceal the tumult within.
The meal passed in quiet formality. Conversation was light, restrained...Alexander asked after a report she had submitted, Sophia answered with measured detail, and Damien interjected only when necessary. To any outside observer, it was a dinner of composure, of duty, of noble restraint.
But within Sophia's mind, her gift betrayed her. She heard Alexander's fleeting thoughts, guarded though he was. His focus lingered on her more than once. She looks weary tonight. Yet her gaze… sharper than usual.
The sound of his unspoken voice stirred her heart until she nearly lost her rhythm with her fork. She kept her lashes lowered, her expression calm.
Say nothing, she begged herself. Don't let your heart spill in foolishness here, at a table where silence is safer.
But her heart cried out still: Say it. Say it before the chance is lost.
Hours later, Sophia lay in her chamber, the darkness pressing close. The palace had fallen to silence, broken only by the faint rustle of wind at the windows. She lay on her side, eyes wide open, staring into the shadows.
Her heart would not let her rest.
Every moment of the afternoon replayed, the strength of his grip on her arm, the fire in his gaze, the way he had endured pain for the sake of hope. Every word she had swallowed at dinner pressed now against her throat, demanding release.
She turned onto her back, staring up at the canopy above her bed.
I love him. The thought came with startling clarity. She had skirted around it for hours, resisted it, denied it. But alone in the dark, she could not hide from it. I love him.
Her chest tightened, as though the truth itself hurt.
And yet… I cannot tell him. Not yet.
Her mind hurled arguments at her: her mission, her freedom, her secret gift that might one day turn his trust to ashes. What if he recoiled? What if he saw her not as a woman, not as a healer, but as a monster who stole thoughts not her own?
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, though she would not let them fall.
Better to keep it locked inside. Better to protect him and myself both.
And yet… her heart whispered with merciless insistence: Love is not patient forever. Sooner or later, you will have to choose. Do you give yourself to him, or do you walk away with words unsaid?
Sophia pressed a hand to her lips, silencing even the thought. She closed her eyes tightly, willing herself to sleep, but sleep would not come.