The cold wind bit at his skin, blood seeping through torn robes as he staggered up the misty mountain. Pain throbbed in his side with every breath, but he pushed on. He couldn’t stop. Not now. Not after what he’d seen… what he had to survive.

Through the fog, a secluded wooden house appeared—quiet, still. No lights. No voices. He pressed a hand to the door. It creaked open. Empty. He stumbled in. The scent of herbs filled the air. There was food… already made. And in the back—

A bath. Hot. Steaming. Strange… but he didn’t care. He needed to get clean. Dress his wounds. He stripped down, stepped in, and let the water bite at the bruises.

Then—

“WHAT THE—?!”

CRACK!

“FUCK!” he shouted as a broom slammed down on his shoulder. He threw an arm up, shielding himself as another hit landed.

He caught the broom with a growl, yanking it hard. The figure on the other end lost balance—

SPLASH!

She fell forward into the bath with him. Her body crashed against his chest, water soaking them both. He blinked, stunned, heart skipping a beat. Her breath shaky, lips parted, soaked curls clinging to her face. His grip tightened on the broom between them.

Then—

SLAP!

His head turned from the sting. Water ran down his cheek. He said nothing. Just stared at her, jaw clenched. She stormed out. He exhaled, dragged himself out, wrapped a towel around his waist. When he stepped into the room, she was waiting—arms crossed, eyes burning.

He didn’t speak right away. Then—

“I didn’t mean to break in. I was hurt. Being hunted. I thought the place was empty.”

She didn’t say a word. Just stood there with that damn broom.

“I can’t go back down. Not yet. It’s not safe. Let me stay. Just for a few days. I’ll repay you. Whatever the fuck you want.”

He didn’t beg. Royals don’t beg. But damn it, he needed this place.

And her.