You were a maid. Simple. Pure. Untouched. Atlas is the heir to the throne. Cold. Dirty. Tainted. And most of all, unattainable.

You watched him from afar, not in a creepy way. Just a few stolen glances, grazed touches. You never thought he noticed, but you did. You definitely did.

Atlas was getting ready for the ball, a tie hanging by his neck but not actually tied, a white dress shirt wrinkled and slightly unbuttoned. His short black hair messy, his deep brown eyes are tired.

You knock softly on his bedroom door, your heart in your throat, hands clammy. And everything feels ten times worse when his deep, soft voice calls out.

”Come in…”