Alex sat on a rough crate, tallying inventory by candlelight, fingers smudged with charcoal and dirt. His back ached from days hunched over ledgers and crates.
He'd been assigned here nearly a week now, and the quiet of the room was a relief compared to the buzz and whispered suspicion outside.
He heard the door open before he saw who entered—a soft step, careful, deliberate. Historia stepped inside, her eyes tired. No royal airs, no fanfare.
"You're still here," she said quietly, dropping a small bundle of papers on the table.
Alex glanced up. "Yeah. Trying to keep out of trouble."
She gave a faint, humorless smile. "Trouble has a way of finding you here."
Alex nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I can feel it. The MPs don't like me."
She looked away, voice lower. "They think you're a threat. You know that, right?"
He did. Everyone knew. They whispered about "the Queen's pet," about the outsider who didn't belong. Alex felt their eyes whenever he passed.
"Anything new?" he asked.
"Not exactly new," she said, eyes darkening. "but i think they are planning something to get rid of you."
Alex swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. "Let them try"
That night
The corridors were still, the thick stone walls absorbing sound like a sponge. Most of the castle had already slipped into sleep — heavy breathing and occasional creaks the only signs of life.
Alex sat on the edge of his cot, shoulders aching from the day's labor. His fingers itched to put pen to paper, to organize the endless supply ledgers and inventory lists, but exhaustion wrapped around him like a cloak.
His eyes traced the cracked plaster ceiling, the faint moonlight spilling in through the window casting cold light on the worn floorboards.
A hesitant knock shattered the quiet.
Alex's heart jumped in his chest. Visitors at this hour were rare and usually unwelcome.
The door eased open. A shadow slipped inside, careful and silent. The familiar scent of lavender floated in, soft and unmistakable.
"It's you," Alex whispered, stunned.
Historia stepped inside, careful not to disturb the small, cluttered room. Her wool dress was plain and dark, her hair loose and slightly tousled, a subtle contrast to the regal image he was used to.
"I didn't want to wake you," she said, voice low but steady, eyes searching his. "But I needed… someone."
Alex stood up slowly, not wanting to startle her. "I wasn't sleeping much anyway."
She offered a small, tired smile and moved toward the window. "Sometimes the stars are easier to talk to than people."
He followed her gaze out into the night sky — a deep velvet dome dotted with pale, flickering lights. The chill of the stone floor seeped through his thin socks.
"I don't know much about stars," he admitted, rubbing his palms on his trousers.
"Neither do I," she said softly. "But they're constant. Even when everything else feels uncertain."
There was something raw in her voice — a brittle edge beneath the quiet.
Alex's chest tightened. "You look tired."
She glanced back at him. "I'm tired of pretending. Of wearing a crown that feels too heavy. Of smiling when I want to scream."
He didn't reply. Words felt useless.
Instead, he watched her, the way the moonlight softened her sharp features, the quiet strength beneath the weariness.
"How do you do it?" he asked, voice low. "Keep going when everything's against you?"
Historia looked out the window again, fingers tracing a line on the cold glass. "By reminding myself what I'm fighting for. For people like you. For the ones who have no voice."
A pause stretched between them.
Alex's heart hammered in the silence.
"I'm scared," she admitted suddenly, voice barely more than a breath. "Scared of what the MPs will do. Scared that everything will fall apart."
He reached out instinctively, his hand hovering before resting lightly on her wrist. The contact was tentative, but grounding.
"You're not alone," he said quietly.
Her eyes flicked down to their hands, then back to his face, searching.
"I don't have many people I can trust," she confessed, voice cracking. "You're the only one."
The weight of that admission settled between them like a fragile glass orb.
"Why me?" Alex asked, swallowing the bitter taste of doubt. "I'm nobody. Just a stranger caught in this mess."
She shook her head, lips curving into a small, sad smile. "Because you see me. Not as a queen. Not as a symbol. But as Historia."
Her use of her own name caught him off guard.
"I don't want to be just a symbol," she whispered. "I want to be a person. A person who matters."
Alex's throat tightened. "You do matter."
She stepped closer, the space between them shrinking until the warmth of her breath brushed his cheek.
"There's no one else to talk to," she said. "No one else to watch the stars with."
He nodded slowly, heart pounding.
"Will you stay?" she asked, voice low and hesitant.
He swallowed. "Yeah."
They sat side by side on the cot, silence stretching comfortably between them.
Outside, the night deepened. The world felt vast and fragile, but for the first time since arriving, Alex felt the faintest flicker of hope.
The silence stretched, filled only by the faint crackle of the hearth in the next room and the distant sounds of the castle settling for the night.
Alex could feel his heartbeat loud in his ears, the rough scrape of Historia's wool dress as she shifted closer beside him. Her shoulder brushed his, and heat flared up his arm, unexpected and sharp.
He swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the pale light from the window, too nervous to meet her gaze.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The night outside felt immense, endless, but here in the cramped room, the world had shrunk to the narrow space between them.
Then, slow and deliberate, Historia's hand found his — fingers curling around his with surprising strength.
Alex's breath caught.
Her voice was barely a whisper. "I don't know if this is right. Or if it's even allowed."
He finally turned to look at her, searching her face — the vulnerability in her eyes, the faint tremble of her lips.
"Neither do I," he said honestly.