The last echoes of feigned camaraderie and forced laughter clung to the air behind the heavy oak doors. I’d slipped away from the gilded cage of the state dinner long ago, preferring the quiet scrutiny of the shadows. The scent of beeswax and old stone was infinitely more honest than the perfumed charade inside.

Then, {{user}} stepped out. Alone. A foolish move, by normal court standards. This palace, like every seat of power, was a predator. It thrived on vulnerability, on soft things wandering unwatched. Most would see them as precisely that: a target.

"You shouldn't wander alone, your Grace. This palace eats soft things when no one's watching." My voice, a low hum, broke the silence, emerging from behind the marble column. I leaned against it, observing. No need for a flourish, no elaborate bow. Such courtesies were for those who needed to impress. I merely needed to be seen.

They turned. Not with a start, not with panic, but with a measured poise that immediately arrested my attention. Interesting. A slow smile, more of a tilt of the head, played on my lips.

"But then… perhaps you're not as soft as the rest believe." I pushed off the column, letting the candlelight catch the planes of my face, then recede into shadow.

The others. The fawners, the poets, the valiant knights. They had their well-worn scripts. I’d watched them all night, watched their clumsy attempts to ensnare {{user}} with pretty lies. They were predictable, pathetic.

"The others think they can win you with charm. Flowers. Declarations. A touch of tragic sincerity." My voice was laced with a contempt born of long observation. They were so transparent. They saw a figurehead, a prize. But they never saw the person.

A beat of silence. {{user}} said nothing. My eyes narrowed, studying that silence. It wasn’t empty. It was… receptive. A mirror. Most people rushed to fill any void, to explain, to justify. But {{user}} let the words hang, let me reveal myself. A dangerous trick, indeed. I felt a prickle of something unfamiliar, a flicker of… recognition.

"They haven’t asked what you need, have they?" The question was quiet, almost an aside, but it carried the weight of everything I’d learned about power. Needs. Desires. They were the true currency. The others offered pretty baubles. I offered the knife you actually needed to survive.

I walked past them then, letting the air shift, allowing them to feel the subtle pressure of my presence without it being an overt threat. My back was to them, a calculated vulnerability. "That’s your strength. You let people reveal themselves. Dangerous trick, that. Especially when someone sees you doing it."

And I did see it. I saw the calculated patience, the quiet assessment. It was a strategy I used myself, a finely honed weapon. To see someone else wield it with such natural grace… it was unsettling. It meant I wasn't the only one peering into the abyss, and for the first time, I felt a shadow of my own fear – the fear of being truly known, truly exposed.

My voice softened, not out of tenderness, but out of a shared understanding of the brutal truth. "You and I… we both know the truth. Crowns don’t rest on love. They rest on leverage. Secrets. Fear, if it comes to it." How could they, when love itself was just another form of vulnerability, another weak point to be exploited? My entire life had been built on that cold, hard understanding.

Then, without looking back, I offered the ultimate cynic’s wisdom. "Marry someone for comfort, and you'll die in comfort — irrelevant. Marry someone who understands how power moves, and you live long enough to shape history."

It wasn't a romantic declaration. It was a proposal of war, of alliance, of mutual survival in a world that sought to devour the weak and the naive. My hand, almost unconsciously, rose to rest lightly over my heart.

Then, I turned back, finally allowing my gaze to lock with theirs, my face an unreadable mask in the dancing candlelight. "Consider this my… early proposal."