Prince Adrien shut the door to his chambers and exhaled, leaning back against the wood like someone who'd narrowly escaped a duel-except the obstacle wasn't swords, but conversation.
Not even difficult conversation. Just... Anastasia.
He crossed the room, tugging off his gloves, each movement slower than usual. Being in disguise should have set him on edge-responsibility, secrecy, duty-but instead he felt oddly light, like the rules loosened around him.
He poured a glass of water, stared at it, and set it down untouched.
"She doesn't talk like she's supposed to," he muttered to no one. "She talks like she expects the world to argue back."
And she made him laugh. Real laugh. Not the small polite one he used with dukes who told long stories about horses.
He sat on the edge of the bed. The cloak pooled beside him like evidence.
It wasn't just the relief in her voice or the jokes or the opinionated chatter about biscuits and bureaucracy.
It was the way she asked if Cinderella was happy.
Not if the prince was charmed. Not if the match was strategic. Not if the kingdom approved.
Just: Is she happy?
Simple. Human. Earnest.
Adrien carded a hand through his hair and muttered, "This is inconvenient."
Duty was clear. Responsibilities was chosen. The entire court was already planning political arrangements and diplomatic implications.
But Anastasia...
She made him feel like a person instead of a symbol.
And he wasn't accustomed to that sensation. Not even sure he was allowed to have it.
A knock sounded, two taps-light, familiar, unapologetically nosy.
Adrien sighed. "Come in."
Rowan entered with the confidence of someone who had never been denied entry in his life. He took one glance at the discarded cloak, another at the prince's expression, and raised a single eyebrow that carried the weight of interrogation.
"You look thoughtful," Rowan said.
"That is not a crime."
"It's suspicious."
Adrien glared. "Thinking is not suspicious."
"For you," Rowan countered, "it often precedes poor decisions."
Adrien groaned. "I spoke with Anastasia."
Rowan's second eyebrow joined the first. "Ah."
"That is all you have to say?"
"For now. Depends on tone."
Adrien threw himself back onto the mattress. "She was happy. It-" he struggled for a word "-suited her."
Rowan nodded slowly. "And you felt... satisfied? With the outcome?"
"Yes," Adrien shot back too quickly.
Rowan smirked-just a little. "If satisfaction were merely duty, you wouldn't look like someone who discovered a new species of bird."
Adrien sat up. "I am not comparing her to a bird."
"Good. She does not deserve that."
Adrien gave up. Rowan's smirk deepened, but he didn't push-loyalty meant knowing when to let silence speak.
Instead, he removed his gloves, leaned against the door, and said quietly, "You did the right thing. For them. For her."
Adrien nodded, the admission slipping through his defenses. "I know."
Later that afternoon, Cinderella crossed the palace gardens carrying a scroll of newly drafted invitations in trusted by her stepmother. Her steps were quick, buoyed by something hopeful and bright.
She found Adrien on the terrace, staring into the distance-not brooding exactly, just... far away.
"Thinking?" she asked.
He blinked, as if pulled back from another world. "Trying not to."
She laughed softly. "That rarely works."
Cinderella set down the scroll and studied him with a perceptiveness few dared to use on royalty.
"You look lighter," she said.
"Lighter?"
"Yes. As if someone relieved you of a weight you didn't name."
Adrien's pulse flickered. "I suppose I listened today. Perhaps that helps."
"To whom?"
"A lady with many opinions," he admitted.
Cinderella smiled-genuinely pleased rather than jealous or threatened. "Opinions are good. Opinions mean she's alive."
"She was very alive," Adrien murmured before he could stop himself.
Cinderella laughed, sitting beside him. "I'm glad."
"You are?"
"Of course. Happy people make better choices. And nicer monarchs."
Adrien blinked at her. "Is that a proverb?"
"It is now."
She nudged him once. "Whatever she said, it helped. I hear it in your voice."
Adrien looked away-but not in denial.
Simply because the truth felt closer than comfortable.
He chatted with her a little then went back to her unofficial wife named duty.
That night, in his study, Adrien found himself scribbling notes that were not state business:
Cinderella - gentle, thoughtful, fair.
Moves like a poem. Speaks carefully. Makes him feel responsible and steady.
Anastasia - bold, irreverent, opinionated.
Moves like she might break into laughter mid-step. Speaks like the world is negotiable. Makes him feel human. Unfiltered.
He stared at the ink until it blurred.
Cinderella made sense. Stories made sense. Nobles made sense.
Anastasia did not make sense. She was not written in the script.
And yet-
The memory that kept replaying was not Cinderella in the ballroom.
It was Anastasia in the corridor, talking about biscuits and villains and redemption with a ribbon in her hair and sunlight on her cheek.
And the way his name-not his title-had seemed one sentence away from spilling out of her mouth.
Rowan, passing by, saw the expression and muttered, "Ah. Disaster."
Adrien didn't disagree.
* * *
It was like a decade since they sat and spent together. Just sisters. So a little get together during breakfast.
The three young women sat on low stools in the side courtyard, their Royal teacups balanced on their knees.

To everyone's surprise, the atmosphere was... nice. Calm. Even chatty.
Cinderella poured tea for Anastasia and Drizella, trying not to spill. Drizella immediately slurped hers so fast she burned her tongue and made a noise like a kettle about to explode.
"Hot! Hot-why is tea so hot? Why hasn't someone invented lukewarm tea?" Drizella protested dramatically.
Anastasia rolled her eyes. "Because lukewarm tea is what happens when you forget your cup for too long, you gremlin."
Drizella stuck her tongue out - carefully this time, as it still hurt - and Cinderella giggled behind her hand.
Conversations started bouncing around, not about balls or shoes or princes for once, all about deeply serious matters:
like how fresh the morning bread tasted, how one of the palace maids swore the main steward snored like a dying goose, and how Drizella claimed she had caught a glimpse of Rowan having a full conversation with a horse.
It was unclear if Rowan was responding or merely enduring.
For a moment, it felt like what sisterhood should have been long ago - unpolished, ridiculous, but warm.
When the laughter settled, Anastasia casually leaned back, stirring her tea in a way that was entirely not casual.
"So," she began lightly, "how's... palace life treating you?"
Cinderella blinked. "Fine."
Anastasia nodded as though she expected more. "Mm-hmm. I see. And how's... helpfully assisting with duties and whatnot?"
"Also... fine?" Cinderella said, confused but trying to cooperate.
Anastasia narrowed her eyes, trying again with stealth so lacking it was almost admirable. "And how's that prince of yours doing? Busy? Not busy? Training to be a proper king or whatever?"
Cinderella nearly choked on her tea. "He- what? He's not- there's no- I haven't."
Drizella, who finally caught on, gasped loudly. "You're NOT secretly becoming queen behind our backs?"
Cinderella spluttered. "There is no marriage talk!"
Anastasia tapped her finger on her knee, pretending to be deep and worldly. "Mm. Interesting. Bold choice. Very modern."
Cinderella put her cup down and crossed her arms. "Nothing of that sort is happening. At all."
The sisters stared at her for a moment.
Then Drizella, in the most solemn voice possible, said, "Waste."
They burst into giggles again - even Cinderella, though hers came with mild pink cheek embarrassment.
It was like a little catch up between friends. They faced so many things together and it just deepened their relationship if nothing else.
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SIDE NOTE: Queen will make her official debut in the next chapter. I hope you all are as excited as I am.😉
If you like my story then give it a star and share it with your friends, this will help me to keep motivated and write new stories.