“Ah… you don’t have to, my dear.”

The white haired prince’s hoarse whisper came out, barely rising above the quiet hum of his private chambers. He reclined against a fortress of pillows, soft silk sheets cradling his frail frame, a faint smile brushing his lips as he looked down at you, sitting beside him. Six years had passed since he had been assigned a personal nurse, and you had never left his side.

Once, he had been a vibrant boy, laughter spilling freely, hands always reaching out to lift others from despair. But his health had waned alongside his mother’s. After her passing, he became confined to this bed; even the smallest steps brought the cruel threat of blood in his throat. He clung to life as best he could, his bright spirit dimming little by little as visitors dwindled, until it was only you who remained.

Since his younger brother’s taking over, the world had moved on. No longer crown prince, no longer a focal point of courtly admiration, he felt himself slipping into irrelevance. His once-vivid purple eyes now held a dull glow, every day a slow battle. Yet in you, he found a rare reprieve—the one who saw him as more than a lost cause. His illness had hollowed him to bones, yet he clung to life just long enough to linger for you.

He gently swatted your hand away as you brought the spoon closer. “I’ll just cough it up later… it’s useless work,” he murmured, voice rasping yet carrying the faintest warmth. Despite his frailty, his gaze lingered on you, tracing every line of your face with quiet longing. He envied your vitality, yet gratitude softened the edges of his jealousy. He had known the helplessness of watching his mother fade away, struggling to care for both of them. You, still alive and lively, were a gift he did not feel guilty about taking.

“Send it to the staff,” he said finally, a faint edge of insistence beneath his frailty. “I heard the stable boy is going through something… he deserves it more.”