Living in the royal wing turned out to be far worse than Mira expected.
Not because of the luxury.
Not because of the guards.
Not even because of the oppressive silence.
It was because of routine.
She learned Adrian's routine by accident.
He woke early.
Too early.
Always dressed perfectly, even when no one was watching.
He drank tea, not coffee, and read reports like they personally offended him.
She discovered this the third morning when she stumbled into the shared corridor in oversized clothes, half-awake and irritated, only to nearly collide with him again.
"Do you ever sleep?" she asked groggily.
Adrian blinked, clearly not expecting her. "I do."
"When?"
"Between responsibilities."
She rubbed her eyes. "That's not a real answer."
He glanced at her, really glanced, and looked away quickly.
"You should be resting," he said.
"You should stop acting like my schedule manager."
A pause.
"…fair," he admitted.
They started running into each other more after that.
At breakfast.
In the corridor.
Near the gardens.
Always brief.
Always charged.
Always pretending it didn't mean anything.
The academy noticed immediately.
By the second day, rumors had evolved from scandal to speculation.
"Did you see them walking together?"
"They share a wing."
"Do you think it's real?"
"He looks different."
"She hasn't backed down once."
Mira heard it all.
She ignored most of it.
But what she couldn't ignore was the way people stopped confronting her directly. They didn't glare as openly anymore. They didn't whisper quite as loudly.
Because the prince was nearby.
And that bothered her.
She cornered him about it that evening.
"You don't have to hover," she said sharply as they stood near the windows overlooking the courtyard.
"I'm not," Adrian replied calmly.
"You are."
"I'm ensuring security."
"For me."
"Yes."
She crossed her arms. "I don't need your shadow."
He turned to face her fully. "This isn't about control."
"Then what is it about?"
His jaw tightened. "Responsibility."
She scoffed. "There it is. The royal excuse."
"It's not an excuse," he said quietly. "It's the truth."
They stared at each other, tension humming between them like a live wire.
Then, unexpectedly, he sighed.
"I don't know how to do this," he admitted.
Mira blinked. "Do what?"
"Care," he said simply. "Without commanding."
Her breath caught.
That honesty disarmed her more than any order ever could.
"Then don't command," she said softly. "Just… be."
He considered that.
"I'll try."
And somehow, that felt bigger than a promise.
That night, Mira couldn't sleep.
The bed was too big.
The silence too loud.
Her thoughts too crowded.
She wandered out onto the balcony, hugging her arms against the cool air.
She wasn't surprised to see Adrian already there on the opposite side, staring out at the same stars.
"You too?" she asked.
"Yes."
They stood like that, separated by distance, connected by restlessness.
"Do you regret it?" she asked.
"The vote?"
"Everything."
He didn't answer right away.
"No," he said finally. "But I'm afraid."
She turned to him. "Of me?"
He shook his head. "Of what happens if I stop pretending this doesn't matter."
Her heart thudded painfully.
She forced a laugh. "Good thing we're both great at pretending."
He looked at her then, eyes unreadable.
"You're terrible at it," he said.
She smiled faintly. "So are you."
A quiet settled between them, not heavy, not awkward.
Intimate.
Too intimate.
She stepped back first.
"This is getting dangerous," she said.
"Yes," he agreed.
But neither of them moved to end it.
Because danger, it turned out, felt a lot like truth.