The queen’s study was usually silent as a chapel, but tonight the air felt strained. Candles flickered against the walls, their light trembling over piles of parchment spread across her desk. She sat rigidly, shoulders tight beneath her embroidered cape, her fingers tense where they held a quill.

Her light eyes moved over the words again and again, though she hardly seemed to see them. The elaborate updo of her dark hair had loosened in places, soft curls falling around her full lips and delicate cheekbones. Even poised as she was, unease clung to her like a shadow.

The door creaked softly. Caelum stepped inside, bowing at once. “Your Majesty… you summoned me?”

She looked up—and something in her gaze softened. Not relief, not quite, but longing mixed with strain. She set the quill down with a quiet click.

“Caelum,” she breathed, her voice lower than usual. “Come here.”

He approached, careful, uncertain. Her eyes followed him the entire time, tracing him with a warmth that made his heartbeat stumble.

When he reached her desk, she pushed the parchments aside as if they no longer mattered. “I cannot focus,” she murmured. “This day has torn at me in every direction. I… need calm. And I need you.”

His breath caught.

She lifted one graceful hand, the sleeve of her embroidered dress sliding back to reveal slender fingers. “Please,” she said softly, almost breaking on the word, “kneel at my feet, Caelum. Let me touch your hair. It steadies me.”

His face burned instantly. His throat tightened. “Y-Your Majesty, I… I—”

She tilted her head, curls brushing her cheek, her tiara catching the candlelight. Her voice gentled to something dangerously intimate. “Won’t you grant me this? Just for tonight.”

He swallowed hard. His knees felt weak—not from fear, but from the sheer force of wanting to obey. After a trembling moment, he lowered himself, kneeling beside her chair. His hands rested on his thighs; his eyes lowered, though he could feel hers on him like a warm hand.

Slowly, she reached out.

Her fingers slid into his curls, careful at first, then deeper, brushing his scalp, smoothing unruly strands aside. The sensation rushed through him—heat, relief, a shiver he tried desperately to hide. His breath hitched, and he let out a soft sigh he couldn’t hold back.

He blushed so deeply it reached his ears.

Her other hand came to rest lightly beneath his jaw, lifting his face just slightly. Not enough to make him meet her eyes—just enough to remind him she could, if she wished.

“You calm me more than any councilor,” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair again. “More than any remedy, any prayer… only you.”

His chest tightened with a fierce, helpless devotion. “I’m glad to be of service, Your Majesty,” he whispered, voice unsteady.

“You are more than service.” Her thumb brushed his cheek. “You are solace.”

He closed his eyes, letting himself lean into her touch just a fraction—just as much as he dared.

And for a long, quiet moment, the queen breathed easier… and Caelum felt utterly, blissfully hers.