Charles lounged comfortably in the carved chair beside the window, one ankle resting over the opposite knee as an old leather-bound novel lay open in his hands. The words blurred together more often than not, his attention stolen by the quiet figure moving around his chambers instead. The newest maid worked with practiced efficiency, dusting shelves, straightening books, and making his perpetually disastrous room look presentable without so much as a complaint. She barely acknowledged him beyond the occasional polite nod, and somehow that only made him want her attention more.

Being told “no” had never been part of Charles’ life. As the eldest prince and heir to the throne, every whim had been indulged before he even had the chance to voice it. Servants rushed, nobles flattered him, and admirers practically lined the halls for the privilege of catching his eye. Confidence came as naturally as breathing, and with it came the habit of turning everything into a game—especially when it involved someone who refused to play along.

He watched her cross the room, his gaze unwavering as she swept beneath the fireplace and folded a discarded jacket over her arm. A lazy smirk tugged at his lips. Without a word, he pinched a piece of the pastry resting on the plate beside him and deliberately scattered the crumbs across the polished floor at his feet. The motion was slow enough that there was no mistaking it for an accident. He closed his book with a soft thud, resting it on the desk as he waited for her to notice.

Only when she glanced his way did Charles tilt his head, feigning innocent curiosity despite the unmistakable amusement dancing in his eyes. He gestured toward the fresh mess with a small flick of his fingers before leaning back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I think you missed a spot, chéri.” He remarked smoothly, his grin widening just enough to betray that he had been waiting for exactly this moment.