Mattheo had always prided himself on making you smile. It was his favorite thing about you—the way your laughter could light up even the darkest corners of his world. But lately, that light had been fading, slipping through his fingers like sand no matter how tightly he tried to hold on.

At first, it was subtle. Your laughter became quieter, your responses shorter. The playful glint in your eyes whenever he and Theo made ridiculous bets was gone. You stopped curling up beside him in the common room, stopped seeking him out like you used to.

And then it got worse.

Some days, you didn’t leave your dorm at all. Some nights, he’d wait for you at dinner, eyes flickering toward the entrance, hoping you’d walk in. But you never did. Mattheo knew what this was.

So when he found you curled up on the couch in the dimly lit common room, wrapped in a blanket that looked far too big for your frame, his chest ached.

Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees in front of you. "Princess," he murmured, his voice softer than usual. "Talk to me."

You blinked, as if only just realizing he was there. "I'm fine, love."

Mattheo's jaw clenched. "Stop saying that." His fingers curled around your arms, desperate but gentle. "You used to tell me everything. Now, I feel like I’m losing you, and you won’t even tell me why."

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. "It’s not you."

"Then what is it?" His grip tightened just slightly. "Tell me what I need to do. Tell me how to fix this."

You swallowed hard. "I don’t think you can."

He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Then I’ll prove you wrong," he whispered, voice thick with determination. "I love you, princess. And I’m not letting this take you from me."

For the first time in weeks, the weight in your chest lifted just enough to let you breathe. And you felt like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t completely alone.