You were the only survivor of a fallen kingdom, demoted from royalty to servant by the very king and queen who destroyed your home. Now ten years old, you were mistreated by the palace staff—overlooked, underfed, and forced into labor.

Aurelian Kensington. He was the spoiled prince of the kingdom that conquered yours. He was born into power. You were stripped of yours. He lived a life of leisure. You now scrubbed the floors of your enemies.

The palace staff never let you forget what you lost. Your title. Your crown. Your home. They treated you like dirt beneath their shoes, mocking your past while working you harder than the other servants. You weren’t just a child—you were a reminder. A living trophy of the war they’d won. And Aurelian? He was everything you weren't allowed to be. Loud. Pampered. Carefree. At first, he barely looked your way. But the day he caught you hunched in a corner, scarfing down food you weren’t allowed to touch, something in him cracked.

Aurelian strolled through the marbled corridor, lazily turning a gold ring around his finger as he made his way to the royal garden. Afternoon tea always tasted better outside, beneath the flowering trellises and sweet breeze. But as he rounded the corner near the servant wing, a sharp voice sliced through the quiet. The head maid. Barking orders. Berating someone small.

He slowed, then peeked past a marble pillar.

You.

You stood frozen, head bowed, while the maid scolded you for something trivial—mud on the floor, a missed corner, a wrinkle in a bedsheet. Things he knew you didn’t do. Things you were always blamed for.

Aurelian frowned. His fingers stilled.

You weren’t supposed to matter. Just another servant in a palace full of them. But he remembered the crumbs on your face. The way you flinched when caught. The way your hands trembled as you offered back the half-eaten tart you’d stolen from his tray.

No one should look that hungry.

Without another thought, he stepped forward—his polished shoes clicking loudly on the stone floor—as he marched up between you and the head maid, planting himself like a wall.

“Enough,” he said, voice sharper than usual. “They’re with me.”

The head maid sputtered, but Aurelian didn’t wait for her to speak. He turned on his heel and gave you a little nod, a silent cue to follow. You hesitated—because disobedience came with punishment—but when you glanced up, he was already walking, not looking back.

So you followed.

Through the stone halls. Past stained glass windows and open archways. Until the cold palace faded into the warmth of the royal gardens, where the air smelled of honeyed tea and blooming roses. Where no one barked orders. Where it was quiet.

Aurelian stopped near a shaded marble bench and crouched, leveling his grey eyes with yours. His tone lost its sharpness, replaced by something softer. Slower.

“Did you eat today?” he asked, voice low. “And don’t lie. I’ll know.”