Laury couldn't sleep.
The castle was silent. The flickering torches cast long shadows on the stone walls. He had taken a shower, tried to rest, tried to forget the day—but his mind refused. There was something he needed to do.
He needed to apologize. Not for his defiance—not for hating the monarchy—but for yesterday, for the gesture, for showing a hint of respect to someone who did not deserve it. At least… not yet.
He wandered the corridors, unfamiliar with the castle's twists and turns. Then, a soft light spilled from a room at the end of the hallway. The only light in the castle.
He approached quietly.
And saw her.
A girl.
Not a queen. Not royalty. Not power in silk and gold. Just Margret.
Her long blond hair fell loosely over her shoulders. No updo, no ornament, no makeup—just natural beauty. Her eyes moved slowly across the pages of a book. Her pajamas were simple, soft, hugging her form in an understated perfection. Barefoot, delicate. Human.
Laury froze. Something stirred deep inside him—a strange, unfamiliar sensation.
A sudden sound—a clatter from the hallway—made him duck behind the doorframe. A guard. Too close. Too noisy.
He moved quickly, trying to escape without being seen. In doing so, his hand brushed the edge of a table. And their eyes met.
Shock. Recognition. Surprise.
Margret blinked, then instinctively stepped back behind the wall. "What are you doing here?" she asked, voice sharp, but with an edge of… confusion. Vulnerability. Something that made him pause.
"I… I was just—by mistake," he stammered, realizing how absurd it sounded.
"You shouldn't be here," she said, firm now, yet softer than before. "Go."
Laury didn't argue. He left quickly, heart hammering. His steps echoed against the stone, but his mind didn't stop replaying the image of her.
Margret. Just Margret.
No crown. No statues. No ceremony. Just a girl, sitting with a book, her hair falling over her shoulders, her bare feet touching the floor—human, real, alive.
And for the first time, Laury's mind couldn't escape her.