I spent the rest of the day trying to become invisible.
I scrubbed floors in the west wing, polished banisters three floors below his residence, volunteered to clean the wine cellar where the temperature was cold enough to numb my face. Anywhere he wasn't.
But the palace had eyes.
And mouths.
By lunch the gossip had teeth.
"Did you see how His Highness kept looking toward the service door?"
"He never looks at maids. Ever."
"I swear he stopped mid-sentence when that new girl walked past with the linens."
"Something's going on. Mark my words."
I wanted to scream that nothing was going on, that he'd already told me I was nothing, but every whisper-networks don't care about truth.
At 4:17 p.m. a royal footman found me on my knees in the laundry room, sleeves soaked to the elbow.
"Miss Valenti. VIP lounge. Immediately. His Highness requests you."
The blood drained from my face.
Requests.
Not orders. Royals don't request. They command.
I walked the endless corridors like I was going to my execution.
The VIP lounge was on the top floor, glass walls overlooking the capital skyline glittering in the late sun. Alessandro stood alone by the window, hands in his pockets, white shirt open at the throat. He looked like a god deciding which city to burn first.
The door clicked shut behind me. Automatic lock.
I stayed by the entrance, clutching the apron in my fists.
He didn't turn around.
"You've been avoiding me," he said quietly.
I swallowed. "I thought that was what you wanted, Your Highness."
A humorless breath. "Don't call me that when we're alone."
"You said we were nothing. I'm just obeying."
He finally faced me. The setting sun painted gold across the sharp angles of his cheekbones, but his eyes were storm-dark.
"Come here, Lia."
My feet wouldn't move.
He tilted his head. "I'm not going to hurt you."
I laughed, broken. "You already did."
Something flickered across his face, pain or guilt, gone too fast.
He crossed the room in four strides and stopped just short of touching me.
"Starting tomorrow," he said, voice low, velvet over steel, "you will bring me tea every morning at seven. My private study. You will set it down, you will look at me, and you will not run. That is your new assignment."
I stared at him, heart hammering. "Assign someone else."
"No."
"I—I don't want to see you."
His smile was slow, dangerous, and heartbreakingly familiar.
"Your refusal was cute two years ago when you pretended you didn't want me kissing you in that rainstorm. It's still cute now."
He stepped closer. I backed up until the wall met my spine.
"But I'm done pretending I can breathe without you in the same room," he whispered. "So you will come. Every morning. Or I will come find you. And I promise the entire palace will notice that."
I couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. His scent, cedar and smoke and him, wrapped around me like it always had.
"Why are you doing this?" I begged. "You said it meant nothing—"
A muscle jumped in his jaw.
Before he could answer, the door slid open.
Three council members in charcoal suits strode in, led by Lord Cassian, the hawk-faced prime minister who hated anything that smelled of scandal.
Alessandro's entire posture changed in a heartbeat. Shoulders back, chin high, expression carved from ice.
Cassian's gaze flicked to me, lingered too long.
"Your Highness, we weren't expecting… company."
"She was delivering tea," Alessandro said without looking at me. "You may go."
Dismissed. Again.
I curtsied on autopilot and fled toward the door.
Cassian's voice floated after me, oily and sharp.
"Be careful, Your Highness. Familiarity with the staff invites rumors. Especially now, with the engagement announcement so close."
I was already in the hallway, but I heard Alessandro's reply, cold and cutting.
"I don't explain myself to servants. Or to you."
The door closed.
I stood there shaking, tears burning the backs of my eyes.
Ten seconds later the door opened again. Alessandro slipped out alone, shutting it softly behind him.
The ice was gone. His eyes were soft, almost pleading.
He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, touch so gentle it destroyed me.
"Don't ever avoid me again," he whispered. "I can survive the council. I can survive the crown. I can't survive you hiding from me."
His thumb brushed my lower lip, once, like he couldn't help himself.
Then voices echoed at the end of the corridor, heels clicking, perfume arriving before the person.
I turned.
Walking toward us, surrounded by assistants and flashing cameras, was Lady Seraphina Voss, daughter of the richest duke in Eldoria, face on every magazine as "the future queen."
Her diamond engagement ring, the one the whole country had been waiting to see, glittered like a threat.
Her cool blue gaze landed on me, then slid to Alessandro's hand still hovering near my face.
She smiled, perfect, poisonous.
"Darling," she called, voice honey over broken glass, "I've been looking everywhere for you."
Alessandro's hand dropped.
But his eyes stayed on me, wild, desperate, apologetic.
And I finally understood.
The engagement wasn't a rumor; it was a cage.
And I was both the lock and the reason he was breaking.