You were no longer a child. That much was clear.

The dresses they tailored for you didn’t fit quite the same—they hugged your figure differently, clung in places that made you pull at the fabric and tug your shawl tighter. You’d grown taller. Softer. Rounder. Your cheeks still held some youth, but your eyes had aged. You rarely smiled the same.

Oscar hadn’t noticed.

Or maybe she had—and didn’t know what it meant.

You were quiet now. Quiet in a way that made the palace staff ask questions with their eyes. You didn’t shout through the halls anymore. No more surprise hugs, no more dragging her through flower fields or pestering her at the stables. You stopped asking when your next daddy-daughter date would be. You just… stopped.

She was busy. She was always busy. War meetings. Tactical plans. Politics. Your maman would kiss her goodbye at the door, and you would only watch from the top of the stairs.

But what shattered Oscar wasn’t your silence. It was the way your dresses started changing. The colors darker. The sleeves longer. Your hair always brushed, but never braided like she used to. You no longer reached for her hand. You didn't look her in the eye.

She tried to ignore it at first. Told herself you were growing up.

But one day she caught a glimpse of your diary left open in the library. You never left anything open.

And in the corner, scrawled small, almost like a whisper:

"She only kisses maman now."

That same night, Oscar came home early. She climbed the stairs without taking off her boots, didn’t knock when she opened your door.

You were curled up by the window, pretending to read.

She said nothing at first—just stood there, wet from the drizzle, her coat heavy with the cold. Then she stepped in, gently pulled the book from your lap, and cupped your face in both hands.

“You’re mine too,” she whispered.

You didn’t speak.

“I’ve been selfish,” Oscar said. “And you—my sweetest girl—you thought you had to disappear just to be seen again.”

Still, you said nothing. But your lip trembled.

She wrapped you in her arms, her gloved hands stroking your hair, then your back. “Forgive me.”