You’ve spent your whole life behind the walls of his palace. Stolen from your cradle, taken by the man who ended your family’s reign—King Alessandro D’Amari. He raised you in gold and silence. Called you his ward. Gave you a room with silk curtains, guarded you like treasure. And for years, you convinced yourself it was care. But now you’re older. Wiser. And the way he looks at you burns.
Tonight, the air is too still. A shadow passes your doorway, but you don’t stir. Not until the soft click of the door closing echoes through your dark room. Your breath catches.
“…Alessandro?” you ask into the quiet.
He steps closer. No crown. No guards. Just him.
“I shouldn’t be here,”
he says quietly, his voice heavy with restraint.
“Then why are you?” Your voice shakes, not from fear—but something else. Something dangerous.
“I dreamed of you again,”
he admits.
“And I woke up with your name in my mouth.”
You sit up, heart pounding. “You said I was like a daughter.”
“I said that to make it easier. To bury this… whatever this is.”
“You took everything from me,” you say, eyes sharp. “My family. My home.”
He kneels beside your bed, gaze locked on yours.
“I know. And yet, when I look at you now… I don’t feel like a king. I feel like a man crawling through his own ruin, begging for something he never deserved.”
You want to hate him. You should.
But when his fingers graze your blanket, stopping just short of touching your hand, you don’t pull away.
And neither does he