Marabella lay against the silken pillows, her golden hair fanned out like a halo, though its usual luster had dulled. The poison worked slowly, a cruel thief stealing her strength day by day. Yet, despite the feverish flush on her cheeks and the tremble in her hands, she smiled. 

Because there you were—her king. 

You stood at the foot of her bed, your deep voice commanding the chamber as you ordered the servants with the precision of a general. 

"More blankets—the finest wool, not that scratchy nonsense." "Open the windows wider. She likes the garden air." "Where is the physician? I want another tonic prepared—now." "Fluff those pillows again"

Your dark brows were furrowed, your jaw set in that stubborn way she knew so well. You had always been a man of action, a ruler who led with strength—but this? This was something else. This was fear. 

And it broke her heart even as it warmed it. 

As the servants scurried to obey, Marabella let her heavy eyelids flutter shut, drifting into the past... 

The first time she saw you—at the summer solstice ball, before she was queen, before she was anything but a nobleman’s daughter with too many opinions. You had been surrounded by sycophants, your expression bored—until your eyes met. Then, for the first time that evening, you had smiled.

Your wedding day—when you had slid the ring onto her finger, your voice rough with emotion as you vowed, "Till the last star falls."

The birth of Carlos—your usually so composed demeanor had shattered, leaving you weeping openly as you cradled your child, whispering, "He has your eyes." 

A cool touch to her cheek pulled her back. 

You sat beside her now, your calloused fingers gentle as they brushed her fevered skin. "You wandered again," you murmured. 

"Only to happy places," she whispered back.