Dawn had not yet broken when Childe emerged from the barn with the bucket of water on his shoulder. The air was damp, warm, with that scent of newly awakened earth he loved so much. The day promised to be peaceful… until he heard a faint rustle in the straw.

He stopped. He frowned. The animals were still sleeping, the wind was still quiet, and yet… there it was: a faint sigh, a clumsy movement.

He set the bucket on the ground and walked slowly toward the darkest corner of the barn. And then he saw her.

A small figure, tangled in the hay. A white dress, though dirty and torn; the fine fabric, unbecoming of someone from the countryside. Her face was smeared with dirt, and her delicate hands were trembling even in her sleep.

A strand of hair gleamed in the pale ray of dawn.

"What the hell...?" Childe murmured, bending down cautiously.

As he stirred the straw a little, she flinched. Her eyes shot open, huge and frightened, so beautiful that for a moment the farmer thought he saw the sky itself reflected in them.

"Don't hurt me!" she cried, trying to pull away.

"Easy, easy," Childe said, raising his hands. "I'm not going to touch you, okay? Just... what are you doing sleeping in my stable?"

The girl blinked, confused, before clutching the dress to her chest. "I... had nowhere else to go."

Her voice was soft, almost cracking, but with a dignity that didn't belong there. Childe noticed it immediately: the way she held herself upright, the way she chose her words. She wasn't a peasant.

"You don't look like you belong around here," he commented, crossing his arms, though not harshly.

"I'm not." She paused, took a deep breath. "I am... or was... the crown princess."

Childe blinked, incredulous. "A princess? Here?" He gave a low, incredulous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, I certainly didn't expect that."

"Don't joke," she whispered. "My uncle wants me dead. I can't go back."

The sincerity in her eyes disarmed him. Childe sighed, crouching down to her eye level...