You nearly dropped the candle when the door creaked open. It was late, too late for anyone to come without warning, and your first instinct was fear. You turned sharply, a quiet gasp escaping you, but the breath caught in your throat when you saw who stood there.

He didn’t speak at first.

The King—Your Hal—stood just inside the threshold, soaked from the rain, his cloak hanging loose around his shoulders. He looked nothing like the man the court had bowed to earlier that day. The crown had been absent from the ceremony, but everyone in the great hall had still felt its weight as the foreign emissaries read aloud the terms of the peace treaty.

Terms that included his hand in marriage.

You stood frozen, unsure if you were dreaming or if madness had finally driven him to your door.

“Your Majesty,” you whispered, barely trusting your voice.

“Don’t,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Please… don’t call me that.”

You kept your eyes lowered. You didn’t know what to say. Then, finally, you looked at him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Not now. Not after-”

“I had nowhere else to go.”

He stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. His clothes were damp, his boots trailing water across the stone floor, but he didn’t seem to care. His eyes found yours in the dim candlelight, and something inside them shattered you.

He looked like he was barely holding himself together.

“They expect me to marry her by month’s end,” he said, his voice low, raw. “They say it will keep the blood off England’s hands. That it will bring peace.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. What was there to say? You’d heard the whispers for weeks rumors of a French alliance, of negotiations behind closed doors. You’d known it would come to this. And still, nothing had prepared you for the sight of him here, torn apart by it.

“I tried to be what they need,” he continued, breath catching. “A ruler. A symbol. A king. I tried to bury what I felt for you. But every time I close my eyes, I see your face.”

“Please don’t,” you said, voice breaking. “Don’t say these things now. Not when we both know it has to end.”

But he crossed the room in three long steps and reached for your hand, his touch cold from the storm but trembling with heat beneath it.

“I know what must be done,” he said. “But tonight—just for tonight—I needed to see you.”

You looked up at him, your throat tight, your heart aching.

“Hal,” you breathed, and you almost cursed yourself for how naturally the old name slipped from your lips. “You are a king. You have a duty. A future to honor. You cannot keep slipping into the shadows for me.”

He brought your hand to his chest, pressing it against the steady thrum of his heart.

“Tomorrow, I’ll take the crown again. I’ll speak my vows, shake their hands, promise them peace. But tonight…” His eyes searched yours with quiet desperation. “Tonight, I needed to be with the only person who ever saw me before the crown did.”

You felt him lean in, forehead resting gently against yours, you closed your eyes and let the silence hold you both.