The morning sun filtered through the heavy drapes, casting faint golden patterns across the marble floor. Wellesley stirred first. Her senses, sharper than most, told her even before she opened her eyes that Christopher still slept beside her.
His breathing was calm but uneven, his usually well-kept hair now an unruly mess. Slowly, tenderly, she reached out, combing through it with her fingers—half motherly, half mesmerized.
In moments like these, when everything was still, she could almost forget the title that came with him.
As her fingers brushed through his hair again, Christopher's eyes snapped open. His gaze shot to the unfamiliar ceiling, then the thick curtains, then the velvet canopy above the bed. Panic trembled across his lashes.
His hands clutched at his temples as if hoping the pressure might contain the weight pressing in on him.
Sweat pearled along his hairline.
Wellesley leaned up quickly, concern flashing in her voice.
"Your Highness? Are you alright? A headache? Or dizziness? Shall I call the physician?"
But Christopher didn't respond. Her voice echoed as if through water. All he heard was the sound of his own thoughts—grinding, churning, anchoring him to the reality he'd hoped was a dream.
She moved closer, cupped his face gently, forcing him to meet her eyes.
"Your Highness," she said again, quietly but firmly. "Are you okay?"
He blinked, and for the first time since waking, saw her. Her concern wasn't political, nor dutiful. It was personal.
"I'm fine," he said finally, voice hoarse with sleep and regret.
Wellesley didn't press him further. She only nodded, retreating slightly, but her hand lingered for a moment longer than propriety allowed.
She spoke again, softer this time. "Your Highness... you've changed since yesterday. You care. It's not a complaint, only... why now?"
He looked at her with an intensity that made her spine straighten. One hand rose to her cheek, tracing it lightly.
"When you stare into death and come back," he said, voice like smoke, "you learn to cherish what you once ignored. It's that simple."
Her grip on his tunic tightened involuntarily. His words, casually spoken, were barbed. There had been no protection. No warnings. Only survival—and they had failed him.
She looked away, unable to challenge the truth.
After a long pause, she whispered, "We should rise."
But Christopher didn't move. Instead, he pulled her gently back into his arms, resting his chin atop her head.
"Not yet," he murmured. "Just a little longer."
Wellesley sighed. "Your Highness, there is work to be done. You and I both know the pile waiting for us."
"You work too much," he said into her hair.
"You're a minister. You command a department. If you're late, who dares question it? Sleep."
She smiled faintly. "Your Highness... we're both still in uniform. Are you not uncomfortable?"
At this, Christopher opened one eye and peered at her. Her uniform was wrinkled, the edges of her collar slightly misaligned.
"You were uncomfortable? I didn't notice. I'm sorry."
She sat up, brushing down the fabric. "I wasn't. Not really. But it's time to get up, Your Highness."
He remained where he was.
"Why do I need to go anywhere? I'm the prince."
Wellesley didn't wait for him to reason it out. She explained, tone reverting to the sharp clarity of a strategist.
"Your allies among the nobles and ministers—they haven't seen you in days. Their morale is brittle. A word might suffice, but your presence would seal it. Without that, some will turn. And the First Prince is waiting for that moment."
A slow smirk curved Christopher's lips. He didn't even try to hide it.
"If they change sides, we kill them. Isn't that simple enough?"
Wellesley didn't flinch. She only laughed quietly.
"And here I thought you'd changed. I was worried for nothing."
She straightened her sleeves. "Yes, Your Highness, you could kill them. But then who would run this Empire? Even tyrants need staff."
He studied her, amused.
"You speak like someone used to managing fools."
"I am," she replied, without hesitation.
He chuckled, but then his expression shifted.
"Then... I want a bribe. Before I face those fools."
She raised an eyebrow. "You already have everything, Your Highness. What more could you possibly want?"
In one fluid motion, he rolled her beneath him, arms caging her without weight, eyes narrowed with mischief.
"You," he said. "Only you."