She looked at him—really, properly looked—and saw the way he was holding himself, carefully, like if he relaxed even a fraction he might fall apart. The way his hands gripped the railing just a little too tightly. The way his smile was too practiced, too perfect.
"Larus," she said quietly.
He didn't look at her. Just kept staring out at the gardens.
"You don't have to go back," Heena said.
His head turned sharply toward her, eyes wide.
"What?"
"You don't have to go back," she repeated, voice steady. "Stay here. Marry me."
Larus stared at her like she'd just told him the sky was falling.
"Your Majesty—"
"I'm serious," Heena said. She straightened, turning to face him fully. "You said it yourself—your kingdom is struggling. Your brother is going to marry you off to some noble house for political leverage. You'll spend the rest of your life pretending to be happy with someone you don't love, doing work you don't care about, trapped in a place that makes you miserable."
