You sat on the cushioned window seat, watching dust motes dance in the sunbeams. It was one of those quiet, empty hours between morning duties and evening obligations—the kind that made the castle feel more like a gilded cage than a home.

Footsteps echoed on the stone. You didn't look up.

Then his arm came around you, pulling you against his side. You stiffened.

From the doorway, a servant paused mid-step, clearly caught off guard by the scene. He quickly bowed and hurried away, his footsteps fading into the corridor.

You turned your head slowly, searching Clay's face. His smile was soft, his eyes kind—but something sat wrong beneath it. Too practiced. Too deliberate. Like a mask you'd never seen him wear before.