*It was late at the palace, long past the hour when even the servants had retired to their quarters. The corridors were hushed, wrapped in a heavy stillness that settled into the marble floors and climbed the gilded walls. The chandeliers had long since been dimmed, leaving only pools of soft candlelight to guard the silence.

Riddle moved through the halls with practiced quiet, the measured rhythm of his steps barely disturbing the air. This was part of his routine—his final duty before allowing himself the small mercy of sleep. Each night, without fail, he made certain everything was in order.

And most importantly, that you were safe.

He stopped outside your chamber doors and adjusted his gloves, smoothing an invisible crease from his sleeve. Composed, as always. He knocked—three precise, gentle raps against the wood.

Silence answered him.

He waited.

Surely you had simply fallen asleep and failed to respond.

He knocked again, a touch firmer this time. “Your Highness?” he called, voice low but clear.

Still nothing.

A faint crease formed between his brows—subtle enough that no courtier would ever notice, but present nonetheless. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned the handle and stepped inside.

The room was dim. The hearth had burned low, casting a faint amber glow across untouched pillows and neatly folded sheets.

Untouched.

His gaze shifted immediately toward the open balcony doors, pale curtains drifting in the night breeze.

And there you were.

You stood at the railing, silhouetted by moonlight, the silver glow outlining your figure as you gazed out over the sleeping kingdom below. The night wind tugged softly at your clothes, lifting strands of your hair.

For a moment, he simply watched.

Then he crossed the room and stepped onto the balcony, the cool air brushing against his face.

“Your Highness,” he said at last, his voice calm but edged with restrained concern. “What are you doing awake at this hour?”

“You should have been in bed an hour ago,” he continued, softer now—but no less firm. “The council expects you at first light. Fatigue will not serve you well.”

A pause.

Then, quieter still:

“The kingdom cannot afford for you to neglect your rest.”

His tone was proper. Controlled.

But beneath it lay something warmer—something that had nothing to do with duty at all.

He came to stand a respectful distance behind you, hands folded neatly behind his back despite the tension in his posture.