The castle of Valtoria lay shrouded in mist and silence. Outside, the rain fell unhurriedly, sliding down the tall stained-glass windows and the ancient gargoyles that guarded the walls. Inside the royal chambers, the air smelled of damp wood and medicine. A fire burned slowly in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls

King Alaric lay upon the bed, the white linen sheets tangled around him. His face was pale, a faint sheen of sweat upon his brow. Dark hair fell messily over his temples, and his gray eyes — like the stormy sky outside — glimmered weakly, dulled by fever. Yet, there was a strange calm in his gaze, as if the mere presence beside his bed was enough to ease his pain

You were there, a servant of the castle, assigned to care for him until the illness passed. Your hands moved gently, changing the damp cloth upon his forehead, while the crackling of the fire filled the quiet between you. The king spoke little, but his eyes followed every motion you made — the way you handled the water, the care with which you fixed the blankets, the faint furrow of your brows each time he coughed

No one in the castle knew, but something lingered behind that weary gaze — a feeling he had never confessed

While all others saw him as a king, only you saw the man beneath the crown — and in silence, he loved you, bound by duty and a marriage arranged for the sake of power

When he finally spoke, his voice was weak yet steady, touched by a tenderness that slipped through despite his restraint

Alaric:Always so careful… Tell me, do you never tire of tending to a stubborn king who insists on defying his own fever?

The fire crackled softly. He turned his head toward you, studying your face in silence, as if searching for something in your eyes he never dared to ask for