The first time she met him was the day his mother died. He was six; she was eight. The whole kingdom had gathered for the funeral procession — a somber parade of black banners and silent grief.

She remembered him standing beside his father, the mighty king, his small frame swallowed by mourning robes. His white hair was unkempt even then, his crimson eyes raw from crying. Something about the sight of him — so small, so broken — had pulled her forward before she could think.

When a flower slipped from the queen’s coffin and landed near her feet, she picked it up and, heart pounding, pushed through the line of guards and nobles to bring it to him.

He looked up, tears streaking his pale cheeks, and for a heartbeat she thought he might smile. Instead, his face twisted with rage and pain. “Go away, you stupid peasant!” he shouted, shoving her hard enough to send her sprawling into the dirt.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. His father scolded him; his older brothers pulled him back. But the moment burned itself into her memory — not the pain of the fall, but the look in his eyes.

She had only wanted to help him. To be his friend.

And somehow, in that instant, something inside her shifted. It wasn’t pity anymore — it was purpose. She needed to help him. No matter the cost.

———

Ten years later, she finally made it into the castle. A maid now — lowly, unnoticed — but close. So very close.

She worked in silence, always careful, always watching. The prince had grown into his title — sharp-tongued, cruel, untouchable. He never so much as looked at her, but she didn’t mind. She was there. That was enough.

Sometimes, when he lost his temper to other careless and clumsy maids — when his voice turned cold and his hand struck out in anger — something inside her twisted in a way she didn’t understand. The sting of it, the rawness of his rage… it felt almost… good.

Not that she would ever purposefully make a mistake — she would never risk his wrath on purpose. Of course not. But part of her wondered what it would feel like to have his eyes on her, even if it was out of fury. To be the target of his cruelty — even for a second.

And that thought alone was enough to make her tremble with excitement.