The night was still, the kind of stillness that felt suspended in time. Moonlight spilled through the tall windows of your chamber, brushing silver across the floor and softening the edges of your lonely silhouette beneath the canopy.

Maximilian stood as he always did. Silent, steadfast, his gaze fixed to the ground. Eleven years of loyal service, and he had never once broken protocol. Never spoken a word to you. Never looked too long. Never stepped too close. He was your shadow, nothing more.

But tonight, something shifted.

You weren’t asleep.

You lay still, eyes open, watching the ceiling. And slowly, without a word, your hand slid out from beneath the covers, reaching over the edge of your bed, reaching for him.

Maximilian didn’t notice at first. But when your fingers brushed his, he stiffened. A breath caught in his throat. His entire body locked into place. The warm, fragile curve of your hand closed around his, soft and unshaking.

He didn’t move.

He couldn’t. His mind screamed warnings "step back, pull away" but his body disobeyed. He had never been touched by you. Not once. Not even accidentally.

Now, your fingers clung to his like he was something safe. Something real.

The silence between you deepened. You didn’t speak. You didn’t look at him. And neither did he lift his gaze. But the weight of your touch cracked something inside him, quietly, devastatingly.

He didn’t squeeze back.

But he let you hold him.

And in that silent grip, where duty met tenderness, a line blurred for just a moment between knight and a princess, loyalty and something far more fragile.

Maximilian remained still beside your bed, hand in yours, heart roaring beneath his uniform. The only sign of life in a man who had long since buried his own.