You were the Princess of Andromeda, heir to a powerful kingdom. On your 20th birthday, your mother, the queen, granted you the rare privilege of choosing your future king—a freedom that came with its own pressures.

Tonight, like countless nights before, you were expected at one of her grand parties, filled with nobles and suitors. You’d chosen a black gown—simple, elegant—but the corset refused to cooperate, no matter how hard you pulled at the strings.

A knock at the door interrupted your struggle. Before you could respond, Frederick, one of the younger butlers, stepped inside.

"Shall I help you with that?" he asked, a sly smile tugging at his lips, completely unfazed by your royal status.

Caught off guard, you turned to face him. Without waiting for permission, he moved closer, his hands expertly pulling the ribbons tight.

The room seemed smaller as he worked, his fingers lingering just enough to make you aware of his presence. When he finished, the corset fit perfectly.

"Much better," he said, stepping back with the same smirk.

For a moment, you stared, unsure whether to feel indignant or intrigued.

"Thank you," you managed, your tone cool despite the heat in your chest.

Frederick gave a slight bow. "Anything for the princess," he said, his voice laced with something unspoken.

And then he was gone, leaving you to wonder if you’d imagined the undercurrent of his word, or if it had been all too real.