She quickly tore open the envelope and read every line as if the world had stopped.

  "Priscila,

  I don't know if you've written to me, but this may be my only letter until I reach my destination.

  My ship was diverted to Spain, and since then things have happened that I can't explain in a single page.

  DON'T TRUST ANYONE.

  We are both in danger. Walk carefully and stay alert.

  Take care, little sister. I don't know if this letter will arrive before or after your birthday, but I congratulate you with all my heart. I hope I can give you your gift soon.

  —Leandro"

  Priscila's hands were shaking. One phrase repeated in her head like a desperate drumbeat:

  “Ship to Spain. Ship to Spain.”

  She looked up in panic and her eyes went straight to Amadeo, who was talking in the distance with other nobles. At that moment, something broke inside her: her intuition screamed that this man was not there to celebrate anything.

  The duke turned in her direction, as if he had felt her gaze, and smiled at her...

  But this time, Priscilla thought that smile was a mask.

  A macabre mask.

  The duke began to walk toward Priscilla with a firm, elegant stride, although now his intentions seemed different: he no longer just wanted to talk. His gaze scrutinized her carefully, and the smile on his face was laden with a confidence that bordered on mockery.

  —Princess, you look frightened. Does my presence make you uncomfortable? — he asked in a drawling voice, where sarcasm slipped through with obvious pleasure.

  Priscila stared at him. His eyes radiated falsehood, and his malicious smile seemed to want to provoke her, as if he knew that something about him caused her rejection. There was something about his manner, his gestures, that made her blood boil. But before she could respond, the queen's voice cut through the air like a bell.

  —Amadeo, would you like to stay at the palace during your weeks in the kingdom? — she asked with that diplomatic warmth she mastered so well.

  The duke turned his head slightly, glancing at Priscilla over his shoulder, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking... and enjoyed the displeasure the idea caused her.

  —Of course, Your Highness. It would be an honor. — he replied with a courtly bow.

  Priscila couldn't take her eyes off him. She was still holding the letter in her hands, still crumpled from the tension. Every word she had read now echoed more strongly in her head. That boy knew something. She had no doubt about that.

  The days passed like torture for Priscila. Her grandmother, with her characteristic refined diplomacy, did everything she could to make Duke Amadeo feel welcome... which meant that Priscila had to accompany her constantly. Every walk, every dinner, every superficial conversation. The princess, out of courtesy and duty, maintained a fake smile and a prudent distance from the visitor, even though every part of her being begged her to avoid him.

  She began to sleep with her door locked. She no longer walked alone through the palace corridors, even within her own domain. Something in the duke's gaze kept her on her guard. That smile, that invasive confidence... it was as if he knew a secret he had not yet revealed.

  One night, while taking refuge in the silent corridors of the palace library, Priscilla searched the shelves for a book of ancient records. The room smelled of old leather and dust, which would normally have been comforting to her. But not that night.

  She sensed a presence before she heard it.

  —Do they let women read here? — said a voice behind her, condescending, almost mocking.

  Priscila turned slightly, showing no surprise, although her pulse was racing.

  —Don't speak so freely here, Amadeo. This is not your kingdom... it is mine. — she replied coldly, turning her gaze back to the books as she leafed through them.

  —I'm just surprised, that's all. — he replied, walking slowly toward her. His voice had that unpleasant cadence of someone who feels invincible. — What are you looking for?

  She didn't answer.

  —Hey, I'm talking to you, woman. — he insisted, raising his arm slightly with the intention of touching her shoulder.

  But Priscilla spun around quickly. She grabbed his arm firmly, stopping him before he could even touch her. Her gaze locked with his, intense, fearless.

  —Don't you dare touch me. — she snapped in a firm voice, almost shouting.

  The guards stationed outside the library entered immediately, alerted by the raised voices.

  —Is everything all right, my lady? — asked one, his hand close to the hilt of his sword.

  —Yes. — said Priscilla, not letting go at first, but then dropping his arm as if releasing a dirty object. — Amadeo, you are here because of my grandmother's kindness. As a result, your presence is insignificant and unwelcome to me.

  —Oh, really? — he asked, tilting his head with a defiant smile.

  —And I recommend. — Priscilla continued, raising her voice with authority, the voice of a princess who knew very well what it meant to rule. — That you behave yourself. There are thousands of guards here who would not hesitate to kill you if you so much as touch a hair on my head without my consent. Keep your hands to yourself.

  Then, without looking away, she added:

  —The Duke is going to retire to his chambers. Please escort him.”

  The guards nodded, and one gently placed a hand on the Duke's back to guide him. Priscilla did not look at him again. She turned back to the books, resuming her search with dignified calm, as if the encounter had not affected her.

  The sound of footsteps receding echoed a little louder than normal in the library, as if the tension left an echo behind. Only when the door closed again and silence reigned did Priscilla slowly exhale. She squeezed the spine of the book in her hands. Her fingers trembled slightly, although her face remained unperturbed.

  It wasn't the first time she had dealt with men like that. But it was the first time one had stayed under her own roof, sheltered by her grandmother's kindness.

  —Cowardly hypocrite... — she whispered to herself.

  She closed the book she was leafing through. She hadn't found anything useful yet, but her search was bigger than that moment. She couldn't afford to falter.

  Ever since she received that letter at the ball, her mind hadn't rested. Priscilla knew that something darker was hiding behind Amadeo's visit. The duke hadn't come alone to establish diplomatic relations or out of courtesy between kingdoms; there was something he knew. Something he wanted to provoke her into revealing.

  Perhaps he knew about her parents' death. Or about Leandro. Or even about herself...

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  She left the library and walked through the almost empty corridors of the palace. At that hour, only the night sentries remained. Her steps felt heavy, but her mind was a sharp whirlwind of thoughts.

  When she reached her chambers, she locked the door. Then she slid a small piece of furniture in front of it. Not because she thought the duke would enter without permission, but because she no longer trusted the “permission” that powerful men arrogated to themselves.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and took out the letter once more. She had reread it so many times that she almost knew it by heart, but she was still looking for new meanings, new clues.

  “Sometimes the truth is closer than you dare to look. Not all enemies wear armor. Some share your table.”

  It was signed with a simple initial: “L.”

  Priscila closed her eyes. She felt the noose tightening, the secrets beginning to squeeze her throat.

  But if her mother had taught her anything before she died, it was that a queen never caves in to fear.

  And Priscila, even before she had the crown, was already preparing to rule.

  That night she barely slept.

  The words of the letter continued to pierce her ears even in her dreams, and the initial “L” had become embedded like a thorn in her chest. Leandro. Could it be him? Would he be so obvious? So devious?

  Dawn arrived with a dense sky, covered by low clouds that seemed to want to crush everything. Priscilla liked that weather: it made the world seem a little more like what she felt inside.

  She dressed discreetly, putting on the same cloak she used to sneak into fencing classes. She left through a back door in the gardens, following the damp cobblestones of the courtyard to an old gazebo. There, the next surprise of the day awaited her... although this time, she was not alone.

  Maximo was there, standing, waiting for her with a crooked smile and a slight gleam in his eyes, as if he knew exactly what kind of night she had had.

  —Good morning, Your Highness. — he said with feigned pomposity, bowing exaggeratedly.

  Priscila smiled wearily.

  —What are you doing here so early?

  —I kidnapped an hour from your Schedule. — he replied, showing her a small pocket watch and then pointing to a corner of the courtyard.

  There, among the bushes and freshly watered flowers, someone had spread out a blanket with cushions, fresh fruit, bread, hot tea, and a small brass candlestick that was still giving off a faint wisp of smoke. The most clandestine breakfast in the kingdom.

  —I didn't want you to share this day with everyone else before you shared it with me.

  She blinked, surprised by the tenderness of the gesture. By the care.

  —It's your birthday, Pris. But it's also a day when everyone tries to meddle in your life. This is your space... with me.

  He sat down first, taking a grape and offering it to her with two fingers. She took it without saying a word and sat down beside him.

  —What's wrong? — he asked softly, as she held her cup of tea with both hands. —Your eyes haven't slept.

  Priscila looked down. She hesitated.

  —Máximo... do you trust me?

  He looked at her, serious for the first time.

  —Since we started talking. Even before you trusted yourself.

  The silence between them was comfortable, but heavy. As if they both knew there was something else, something that couldn't be said yet.

  She slowly turned her head toward him. Máximo had that strange way of looking at her as if he understood her completely, without having to say everything out loud.

  —Sometimes... I feel like I'm losing control of everything. —she admitted, her voice low. — Like everyone is playing with pieces I can't see.

  Máximo held her hand firmly, intertwining his fingers with hers.

  —Then let me be your other piece. I'm not playing with you, Priscila. I never will.

  His words struck deep. She looked at him, and for a moment she felt she could breathe. There were no secrets in his gaze. There was no ambition, no judgment. Only him.

  And just as she was about to say something—or do something she probably wouldn't allow herself to do at another time—one of the maids appeared, running down the path.

  —Your Highness! They're looking for you! Your celebration will begin in less than an hour!

  Priscila closed her eyes with resignation. The moment vanished like steam in the air.

  —I'm coming. — she replied in a firm voice, rising gracefully.

  Máximo also stood up, and before she could walk away, he handed her something.

  A small folded piece of paper, with his unmistakable handwriting.

  “Open it only if you feel lost again.”

  Priscila took it and nodded without speaking.

  Then she turned and walked purposefully toward the palace. The princess was back on the scene. The game was starting again.

  And this time, she was determined not to let anyone else move her pieces.

  Night had already fallen when Priscila returned from the secret garden, her heart still racing from everything she had discovered that afternoon. She slipped through the dark corridors until she reached the greenhouse, believing it would be empty.

  But it wasn't.

  —I thought you'd come. — said Máximo's deep voice, emerging from the shadows.

  She stopped abruptly. He was standing, leaning against the stone wall, his hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed on her.

  —What are you doing here? — she asked, unable to sound as cold as she intended.

  —Waiting for you.

  Priscila frowned, uncomfortable with how easily those words disarmed her.

  —You shouldn't be. It's no longer safe for you to be seen near me.

  He took a step toward her. Then another. The distance between them shortened as if the air itself were pushing them together.

  —I've never cared about what's safe.

  Priscila backed up until her back gently bumped against one of the greenhouse pillars. The dim candlelight reflected the moisture on the glass. Shadows danced around her, as if the whole world had stopped.

  —Maximo... — she murmured, her voice trembling slightly.

  He was already in front of her. So close that she could feel his breath. His eyes sought hers, but they also descended to her mouth, to that weak spot that neither of them dared to touch.

  —Don't look at me like that. — she whispered, trying to look away.

  —Like what?

  —Like... — she paused, swallowing. — Like you're going to kiss me.

  Maximo didn't answer. He just looked at her, and the silence became unbearable. His hand rose slowly and barely brushed the edge of her cheek with his fingers.

  —Maybe I should. — he said in a low voice.

  Priscila didn't move. She couldn't. Her whole mind was screaming that it wasn't the right time, that everything was wrong, that there were spies, secret letters, threats, politics... but her body only heard the trembling of her chest and that subtle touch that ignited her from within.

  —We can't. — she murmured.

  —I know.

  But neither of them moved away.

  Only when their lips were inches apart, only when the heat of the other was already more than evident, did Priscilla close her eyes and rest her forehead against his.

  —If you kiss me now, I'll never be able to forget it.

  —That's the problem, princess. — he whispered, smiling sadly. — Neither will I.

  And then, as if the universe had decided to intervene, footsteps were heard in the hallway.

  They separated instantly. Quickly. Coldly. Obligated.

  But the tension... that remained floating in the air. And neither of them would be the same after that almost-caress.

  The distance evaporated. The world stopped spinning. And without another word, Máximo leaned down and kissed her.

  It wasn't an impulsive kiss, nor a stolen one. It was soft, restrained, almost reverent. As if kissing her were something sacred. Priscila felt something in her chest open up suddenly, as if she had been holding her breath for months.

  Her hands clung to the edge of his jacket, and Máximo's slid carefully around her waist, pulling her a little closer. There was no room for doubt. Not now.

  When they parted, they did so slowly, their foreheads still pressed against each other, still feeling the shared tremor in their bodies.

  —We're lost. — she whispered.

  —No. — he replied, with a half-smile. —We're just... finding each other.

  It was then, only then, that a soft knock was heard on the glass door of the greenhouse.

  The footsteps faded away after a few seconds of silence. They looked at each other with eyes shining from the tension that had just been broken... and let out a shy, almost nervous laugh that eased the tension hanging in the air a little.

  —Almost... — said Máximo, unable to stop himself from smiling.

  —Almost. — Priscila repeated, lowering her gaze slightly, though still with a half-smile lighting up her face.

  The “almost” floated between them with a mixture of sweet frustration and restrained desire. They didn't need to say what that “almost” was, because they both knew. They almost kissed again. They almost forgot about the world. They almost fell completely into what had long seemed inevitable.

  —I can't believe we're... like this. — she confessed, crossing her arms, though more out of self-defense than because of the cold.

  —I can. I always knew we were going to end up here. I just didn't think it would hurt so much not to be able to stay there.

  Priscila looked at him sideways, with that warning expression of hers, but without the harshness of other times.

  —Don't say that. — she whispered.

  —Why not?

  —Because you make it real.

  Maximo took a step closer, but didn't touch her.

  —What if it already is?

  Silence fell over them again, thick and vulnerable. Priscilla sighed. If she stayed there a second longer, if she looked at him again, if she listened to his voice slowly breaking down her defenses... she knew that this time there would be no “almost.”

  —It is... but just because it's real doesn't mean it's posible. — she whispered with a weakness she rarely allowed herself. She wanted this, she wanted it more than she was willing to admit, but she carried the weight of the crown on her shoulders... and the still-open wound of her parents' death.

  —Hey... — said Máximo, approaching slowly, as if he didn't want to break her. He embraced her, surrounding her with a tenderness that contrasted with his strength. — Just don't reject me... put me on hold or something.

  Priscila let out a small, dry, incredulous laugh.

  —Wait? — she repeated, raising an eyebrow, as if the idea seemed ridiculous to her... but something inside her trembled.

  —I would wait until the end of the world for you, Priscila. — said Máximo, and his voice did not tremble. It was full of sincerity, of a passion that almost burned.

  She opened her eyes wide. She could feel her chest tighten, as if those words had opened up a safe space for her in the midst of a sea of uncertainty.

  —Would you? — she whispered, with a vulnerability she never showed anyone else.

  —I promise. — Máximo replied. And this time there was no pause, no hesitation. He leaned in and sealed his promise with a slow, silent, intense kiss. He wasn't trying to convince her, just to make it clear that he was there... and that he wasn't going anywhere.

  In that moment, the world ceased to matter. Duty, pain, the past... everything was erased.