The castle courtyard is quiet, save for the distant sound of the sea. You step into the sunlight and there he is—Peter. Sword at his side, golden cloak tossed over one shoulder, hair tousled by the wind.

He sees you and smiles in that calm, steady way he always has, the weight of a kingdom somehow lighter in your presence.

“You’re up early,” he says gently, walking toward you. “I was hoping you’d come.”

He pauses, gaze holding yours. “I’ve missed this. You. Things feel clearer when you’re here.”

Then, softer—almost hesitant: “Will you stay a while?”