The doorbell rings.

And then it rings again.

'If you'd just get me get it!' I bellow into the kitchen from my current laid down position on our sofa.

'Don't you dare move!' Emilio shouts back, 'I'm getting it!'

I groan and throw my head back onto the pillow. I could try reading the magazine on my lap, but I've already read all the good articles and Emilio left the TV remote all the way across the room so I can't get to it.

Emilio comes charging into the room, aiming for the front door. He has his apron around his waist and a frying pan in one hand. He buzzes Asher into the building and then sprints back to finish breakfast, even though he's made it quite clear that I'm on a healthy diet that doesn't include bacon.

He looks ridiculous wearing his frilly apron over his suit, given that he has to leave and he's already running late. Asher strides in, his uniform pristine and stares at me under my duvet on the sofa.

'We're going to be late, you're not even dressed yet.' He says, plonking himself down on top of my feet and grabbing the magazine from my hands.

'Marzia is on strict bed rest today.' Leo says, placing down some food in front of us on the coffee table. He's given Asher a full english and left me with a cup of black coffee and avocado on toast, which he knows I can't stand.

I apologise to everyone who may be offended by this.

I dip my finger in the avocado and call Neighbour over, but even he won't touch it. Instead he just walks away to sit beside the fire, licking his fur clean. When he's not looking, I lean over and wipe my finger on the lining of Asher's suit, and he's too busy watching Emilio dust crumbs off his apron to notice me.

'Oh, why?' Asher says and I can tell he's deflated because he's going to miss a day of school.

I do feel bad about forcing him to stay home because I know after his argument with Cade last night, that he was hoping to talk to him today. The longer he leaves it, the worse it will be, and I can't be the only one who knows it.

'The shrapnel in her back has moved a little closer to her spine. We need it to settle so it doesn't move any further before the doctor can make sure it's alright.' Emilio explains, pulling on his coat, 'She has a hospital appointment at four, could you take her?'

'You don't have to talk about me like I'm a child.' I grumble.

'Oh yeah? You wanna tell Asher how you hurt your back?' Emilio counters.

'I think maybe it's something to do with the metal lodged up in there.' I snap.

'Zia.' Emilio warns and Asher flicks my arm to get me to tell him.

'I was doing yoga.'

'Roly-poly's on the living room sofa do not count as yoga.' Emilio says, pointing at me, 'Asher, no matter what she needs to stay absolutely still until the doctor says it's safe. She's gonna fight you on it, so please don't fold.'

'I won't, she's not going to move from this sofa until four.' Asher promises, slapping my leg with his hand to prove his point.

'Actually, we'll have to leave a little bit earlier to make the appointment, so you can't promise that.' I point out, only to have the back of my head clipped by Emilio's hand, 'It's like royalty means nothing in this house, seriously.'

Asher chuckles at me.

'I'm going to go sit in my bedroom instead, it's boring out here and I don't want to spend the morning making small talk with you.' I say to Asher, 'If you need me, shout as loud as you can. We like to annoy the neighbours.'

'Sit, you mistress of evil.' Emilio says, pushing on my head so I flop back down.

'Small talk it is.' Asher grins, 'How are you finding the weather?'

'Oh,' Emilio reminds himself, turning around on his heel, 'If she starts making noises like a cow giving birth, give her a hot compress, and if she becomes very quiet then put her in the bath. She's in the most pain when she's silent.'

Emilio gives us one last wave before he leaves the house, leaving Asher chuckling at my response to pain. Asher passes me my breakfast and watches I grimly pick at the green mush on the toast. After a few seconds, he hands me his plate instead. When leaning over, he notices the avocado I wiped on his jacket and he tuts and reminds himself to be more careful.

'Speaking of royalty,' Asher says between mouthfuls of my breakfast, 'Tell me about your family.'

'Why?' I say, unattractively dribbling the yolk of the egg all over the plate.

'Because I'm going to meet them all soon.' Asher replies, wiping away my mess with a tissue from the box on our coffee table. Neighbour lifts his head at the noise, but quickly falls back asleep. 'I figure, you could tell me topics to avoid, or things to bring up so they like me.'

'You read what you needed to in the file. You probably know more about them than I do.' I shrug, looking over at him.

'No, I don't want to know their addresses, or their hair colour,' Asher replies, putting down his now-empty plate, 'I want to know your favourite thing about your mum, or your grandfather's best baking recipe,' I pull a face, 'Just, talk to me.'

'My favourite thing about my mum is her address and my grandfather's best recipe is his grey hair.' I say sarcastically and Asher rolls his eyes, walking away from me.

'Fine, be like that.' He huffs, dumping our dishes in the sink and beginning to wash them, rolling up the pristine sleeves of his shirt. Neighbour comes over and rubs his face on Asher's elbow while he cleans.

'Well what do you want me to say?' I laugh at his sulky attitude, 'My family can't cook, we're historically famous for our failures at Christmas dinner, but my dad makes killer hot chocolate. He used to cheer us up with them whenever mum would get mad at us.'

'Do you miss him?' Asher asks, hand towel thrown over his shoulder.

'You have no idea.' I say, before I can stop myself, 'I'm sorry,' I wince. Stepping carefully, I gauge his reaction, 'Do you miss your parents?'

'We're not talking about that.' He cuts in.

'You asked about mine.' I point out.

'Because I'm going to stay with yours, you're never going to meet mine.' He snaps, walking towards me and handing me the TV remote, 'I'm going to do some work in the office, shout if you need me.'

He stays true to his word, and eventually at two in the afternoon, he emerges from the office with ink littering his fingers from where he's tapped his pen, irritated and frustrated. He doesn't have much of a scowl on his face anymore and his eyes have softened again.

'Hey Z, you hungry?' He asks.

By now, the pain has intensified so much that I can't bring myself to say anything. Instead, my lip stays trapped between my teeth and my hands curled into the duvet covers. The TV is playing, but I haven't been paying attention for the past hour.

'Zia?' He asks, waving a hand in my direction, 'Are you quiet because you're mad at me, or because you're in pain?'

He sits down at the end of my makeshift bed and listens to the heavy breathing that I let out every few seconds. He moves a hand to where mine is holding the duvet tightly and smooths my fingers into an outstretched movement. He notes how white my knuckles are, and how my grip has creased the covers.

'Alright,' He soothes, standing up to lean over me, 'We'll sort it, okay? I'll help you.'

He pulls his hands away from mine and walks into the bathroom and within seconds, I can hear the bath running. Asher then walks into Emilio's bedroom and changes into a spare top of his, bringing his own back over to me.

'Sit up a second.' He says, supporting my back, 'I figure a button-up is easier than a pullover, but I don't want to ruin any of Emilio's and all of your school shirts are ridiculously tight.'

'You noticed?' I joke, but then scrunch back over in pain. He laughs but tosses me the shirt anyway.

'Hard to miss, Your Highness.' He chuckles.

He looks over his shoulder, away from me as I pull his shirt over my body. It's so big that it comes down to my mid thigh. Asher folds my clothes onto the coffee table and bends down and puts one hand under my back, and the other supporting my legs.

'You ready?' Asher asks gently, 'Grab around my neck.'

I do as he asks, gripping a little too hard when he pulls me up and a wave of pain overtakes me. He walks as fast as he can, and within seconds, eyes closed, I can feel warm water run over my body. Asher's hands hold me there for a minute, before he sets my back against the porcelain and my legs stretch out.

He lays my head on top of a towel and uses a bobble from my wrist to tie my hair up so I don't get it wet. I open my eyes, but still can't bring myself to say anything.

So he leaves the room. For a few minutes, I think he's left me to it, but then he returns with the strong painkillers that I was prescribed when my back was at its worst, and gives me two, helping me drink the water to swallow them.

'Any better?' He asks after a few minutes, sitting himself down on the floor and leaning against the bath on top of his elbow.

'You're watching me in the bath.' I chuckle, careful not to move my back.

'You're welcome by the way.' He remarks, rolling his eyes, his glasses slightly hazy with the steam from the tub. 'I bet you never thought this would happen.'

'Not in a million years.' I reply, rolling some of the bubbles around on my hands. Asher is swirling the water by my feet with his hands and watching as it ripples around me, 'You're aware that this is weird, right?'

'It's up there as being very unexpected and mildly uncomfortable, yes.' Asher laughs, 'Is it helping at all? How's your back now?'

'Yeah, it's fine.' I shrug, knowing weakness in the eyes of Asher Thorne was something to be avoided at all costs. 'The water will have ruined your shirt.'

'I have plenty left, and that one was too tight anyway, you can keep it. I know that's how you like them.' Asher says, splashing the water slightly. We watch as Neighbour jumps up on the bath's edge, and begins to look closely at the water with wide eyes.

'No Brethren.' I joke, reaching out and letting a droplet of water drip onto his nose from the tips of my fingers. He shakes away the damp and jumps down to curl himself up by the radiator. Asher splashes a little bit of water at me as I mock him, 'This water isn't holy enough for him, clearly.'

'Hey,' Asher says shortly, ignoring me as I continue to make fun of him, 'I have a question.'

'You should've asked it last night, I'm afraid time for questions is over.' Asher doesn't reply, and just turns his attention back to the bubbles. I kick some water at him gently, 'What did you want to ask?'

'Why Raine?' Asher says, and for a moment, I'm confused, 'I mean, why did you choose the name Raine? If you even chose it yourself.'

'My mum's sister, my aunt is called Raine.' I reply, 'I chose it, I guess because it felt like I was taking part of my family with me. I also needed a name that I was used to, otherwise whenever anyone said my name, I wouldn't respond to it.'

'Didn't it hurt though, to hear her name when you missed everyone that much?' Asher asks, dodging as I accidentally kick my leg while I'm moving and splash part of his elbow.

'I guess it did.' I shrug, 'But my aunt Raine is such a strong woman. She struggled a little with alcohol after her husband died from a heart condition he didn't even know he had. He was working out at the gym one day, and died, and they were just talking about starting a family. She overcame so much, and so I guess however much it hurt to hear, it also made me feel strong.'

'So you chose Raine.' Asher says.

'I chose Raine.' I confirm, nodding my head, 'Also Raine Spencer is Princess Diana's stepmother and she's the highest of social royalty in Britain, basically.'

'Of course, you and your love of the monarchy.' Asher chuckles, 'Come on, we've gotta get to your appointment.'

*

'Feeling better?' Asher asks as I waddle awkwardly out of physical therapy.

'A little, the doctor says I don't have to be on bed rest anymore, I just have to be careful.' I wince, and Asher grabs my forearm to help me into the lift, 'Plus I'm always a big fan of morphine.'

'Emilio asked for an update.' He says and waves his phone to show the billions of messages he's received from him checking up on me.

'They said they're going to pass on my notes to Emilio for an appointment for me back home so he'll get the report.' I say, but Asher can see the deflation in my tone. He raises an eyebrow patiently, 'They're going to have to operate again. Soon, they said.'

'Okay, well we can just have an easy night and hopefully you'll feel better in the morning.' Asher says, but watches as I press the button in the lift to go up, instead of down, 'What are you doing? Emilio's expecting us back home.'

'I have someone I need to visit.' I say, leaning against the wall to relieve some of the pain.

'No you don't, we need to go home.' He interrupts, pressing the button to send the elevator back to the bottom of the hospital.

Unfortunately for Asher, lifts only work with the first button pressed, so before he can stop me, I've left the metal container and started towards the west wing. He's by my side in seconds given my slower than usual pace of walking.

'What's in the west wing?' Asher asks, peering over at me.

'It's not what's in the west wing, but who.' I reply, marching forwards to get away from Asher, 'You can wait there, it's not a big waiting room, but there's coffee. I'll only be half an hour.'

'Twenty-four/seven contract, remember.' Asher reminds me, but I stop him before we reach the door.

'Seriously, you can't come in there.' I say, but with the look on Asher's face, I know no matter what I say, I can't change his mind. 'Okay fine, but you can't say anything, you have to promise, no matter what.'

'Fine.' Asher grumbles, gesturing for me to go ahead.

I turn around carefully, knocking gently before I hear the call to be invited in. It's a soft voice and one that I remember, and love dearly. When I enter the room, a warm embrace circles me and a comforting voice calls my name.

'Marzia!' The voice chuckles, 'Leo called earlier, he said you wouldn't be coming to see us today. He said your back was playing up.'

Asher stiffens at the use of my real name and he looks around the room. The woman releases me from the hug and in her place, her fifteen year old daughter with her bright amber curls, tugs her arms around my waist. I can tell Asher isn't best pleased with the physical contact but I squeeze her back anyway.

'Since when have I ever listened to what Emilio has to say?' I chuckle, leaning over to the man in the hospital bed who summoned me, and giving him a tight hug.

'Who is this fine young man you've brought with you, could it be a boyfriend after all this time?' He asks, as soon as I sit down, a chair brought over from underneath the window to rest beside the bed.

'No, he's my bodyguard.' I gesture, as Asher leans himself against the wall to stare at me, obviously questioning my decision to include a stranger in my secret identity. 'Gabriel, this is Asher, Asher this is Gabriel, his wife Charlotte and their daughter Nevaeh.'

'You're taking good care of our princess?' He asks Asher, who stands up a little taller to show respect when he addresses him.

'Your princess, sir?' Asher asks, frowning.

'Well of course,' He booms, so loudly that no doubt a man in a coma on the seventh floor has probably heard him, 'Our Alanian princess, we can't have any fool looking after her. You've got to have your wits about you. The amount of times she's been grounded and still snuck out to see us would surprise you.'

'I don't think anything she does anymore would surprise me, sir. We're really not meant to be here, Emilio's expecting us.' Asher says, 'Marzia, this detour was not planned, we haven't done a risk assessment for it.'

'Quick mum, hide the machine guns.' Nevaeh jokes and her mother nudges her arm. I try to laugh at her, but I can't help but glare at Asher.

To say the boy prides himself on his politeness, he's equally as stupid and needs someone to test his head if he thinks that resembles polite. He's basically just insulted the man lying in the hospital bed. If he carries on, he's going to be the one in the damn hospital bed next, even with my yoga induced injuries (okay, okay, so it might have been roly-poly's).

'Marzia, you shouldn't be here.' Gabriel says in his fatherly voice, 'You have to take care of yourself before an old man like me. Your grandfather pays people to do that already, who's being paid to take care of you?'

'Quite a few people actually, Emilio for one.' I say with as little sarcasm as I can, given the man before me deserves the utmost of my respect.

'Marzia, go home darling.' Charlotte says, resting her hand on my shoulder, 'We're not getting in trouble with Emilio because we let you stay here.' She jokes, knowing full well Emilio thinks so highly of the family, they could probably tell him off.

'I'm not going to be able to come anymore. I go back to Alania for Christmas, then move there permanently.' I blurt out before I can stop myself. Charlotte's hand tightens on my shoulder and Gabriel's forehead creases, his happy mustache frowning, 'I only have one more chance to see you, before I go home.'

'You're going home?' Nevaeh asks, looking up through her curly bangs.

I've always loved Nevaeh and Charlotte, don't get me wrong, but it hurts everytime I visit. Gabriel is always happy and smiley and he's never once blamed me for what happened. But Nevaeh lost her childhood with her family because of me, and Charlotte was reduced to basically a single mother.

I ruined their family, and I didn't even mean to. I wish I could express how much I wished I had never crossed their paths, who knows where they would be now? They have never told me that they blame me, but I can see it in their eyes. I can always see it in their eyes.

'I heard about your grandfather stepping away from the throne.' Gabriel admits, tapping a newspaper beside his bed that he's been doing the crosswords in, 'I'm happy for you, little one. I'm happy you get to go home.'

You don't get to, I think glumly.

'Zia,' He says, using the nickname he usually obtains from using, 'I would be the proudest citizen of Alania, seeing you the ruler of our country.' He pauses for a moment, 'Darling, go home and rest, we'll see you before you move.'

'You can't sit on the throne with a crooked back.' Charlotte smiles, nudging me.

'You want to come to the coronation?' I suggest, even though I know they've never been fussed about fancy parties, 'Free holiday?'

Gabriel laughs out loud, 'Party hard enough for all four of us, how about?'

'Okay,' I concede, 'I'll find a day with Emilio for you all to come for dinner?'

'Of course sweetheart.' Charlotte smiles and flatters down my wig a little at the back where it bunched up from physio, 'Give your grandfather the best from all of us won't you?'

'I will do.' I nod.

As much as I feel guilt around this family, I also feel unbelievable happiness. They remind me of my parents, before everything happened. Before the kidnappings, and the divorce, and the stepdad and... before Christopher.

In the six years I've been visiting, every Thursday without fail, Charlotte and Nevaeh have been here, a smile on their faces. So much has changed. Nevaeh was only nine when I started coming with Emilio. She's the closest thing I've had to a friend here in London, except for the triplets. For a while she had a boyfriend, but eventually he stopped coming altogether, and she spent a few weeks coming over to our apartment with ice cream to cheer herself up.

She's just finishing her GCSE's and she's incredible at art, she draws the things she sees out of the window for her dad, whether it's at the hospital, or from her bedroom. She hangs them over the glass so he can see them instead of the tops of buildings and when it's nighttime, the lampposts reflect the colours to dance onto the floor.

Charlotte has been through two different jobs, she was an accountant to pay the bills, but I did a little anonymous aid, and now she's working at a pottery company, teaching little children how to paint and mould clay. It's therapeutic apparently, Nevaeh loved it when she was younger.

They're the picture perfect family from the fairy tales, if you take away the hospital beds and permanent spinal paralysis.

'Asher, young man.' Gabriel calls Asher to his side, and he willingly walks over, 'Take her home, take care of her. I don't want reports that you're in trouble.' He looks at me, and for a second, sadness takes over his face, 'I can't save you again.'

'Aye aye sir.' I say, saluting him. Even in his hospital gown, he still wears his badge of honor from his knightship from the kingdom of Alania.

The very badge he earned for saving my life the first time.

Asher takes my hand and helps me up, and I hate how weak he seems to think I am. I shrug him away and take my time biding my favourite family goodbye. With a last hug from Gabriel, I leave the room, dragging Asher along behind me.

As soon as we get out of the door, with it closed behind us, I drop his hand and begin to storm away as angrily as I can, given that my back is still causing stiffness to my every movement, morphine isn't that good. Asher walks behind, and it annoys me that he thinks he's letting me stomp away from him.

It's not until we're back in the car and almost home that either of us says anything, and even when we do, it's just Asher telling me that Emilio is waiting for us. I shrug his sentence off and continue looking out of the window, ignoring him.

'I don't get why you're mad at me this time.' He says as he pulls up in front of a traffic light.

'Oh you don't? I should probably call my dad then to let him know that this supposed brilliant agent is a complete idiot.' I sneer, 'You were so rude back there, you know that right? This isn't news to you?'

'I wasn't rude, I was doing my job.' Asher excuses himself, 'You could have given me a little heads up that these people, these random people know your identity. They could tell someone Zia, do you get that? People are always bought.'

'Not this family.' I push, Asher getting very close to a smack.

'What's different about them? Plus the fact that they're not being careful enough - they said your real name before they even knew who I was! I could've been anyone, they could've blown everything!' Asher rants, spinning the car around the corner of our drive a little too harshly, 'That is the furthest thing from sensible. Who says they wouldn't sell you out for a profit?'

'Because they saved my life, you imbecile.' I snap, slamming the car door behind me and storming away inside, not bothering to wait for Asher.

Emilio is laying out the table by the time we enter the apartment and his cheery hello is shut down almost instantly when he sees the look on my face. He puts down the plates and walks up to me quickly. Asher hangs his head behind me, knowing clearly that he's messed up.

'What happened?' Leo asks urgently, 'What did the doctor say?'

'My back isn't the problem, it's the bodyguard.' I say, glaring in his direction. Emilio's forehead relaxes and he breathes a sigh of relief, staring between us. 'I'm going to get changed. You better be gone by the time I come out.' I say towards Asher.

'Marzia, you can't talk to people that way.' Emilio tries to tell me off.

'Well we're in luck, he's not a person, he's an asshole.' I snap before storming away from them.

'Zia-' Emilio begins.

When I'm in my room, I pull away my disguise and my winter wrappings and hang them up on the hook attached to my door. As I do, I can't help but hear whispers coming from the living room. Asher swears, which surprises me.

'... Shit I'm sorry. I didn't remember.'

'I know you didn't, but this is why you need to really know her file back to front, names memorised, everything. They're gonna expect you to know this stuff. And if I'm honest, Marzia needs you to know it too, as much as she tells you she doesn't want you to.' Emilio advises and I rest my head against the door as Asher starts talking again.

'What actually did happen with them then? The file discussed the incident, but only mentioned the family briefly.'

'I'll get you the full report, but in a nutshell? It was when Marzia was kidnapped when she was four from her school. I guess they hoped for some money back for her, but the royal family didn't budge. Gabriel and his family were living in a little apartment at the time and they heard her. He tried to save her life.'

'But why does she still visit them? That was so long ago.'

Asher really does astound me with his idiocy sometimes.

'The kidnappers found him saving her, and attacked him. He was paralysed from the waist down. They moved to London for the best medical care provided by the royal family. They live over in Islington, but they're currently doing surgery on his back to try to help him get a better quality of life. She's visited them every week since they moved here. To say thank you, or to be close to a family, I'm not sure. But they mean an unbelievable amount to her.'

'She's been every week?' Asher asks, in disbelief.

'She's only ever missed it twice. Once when we were on holiday, and the other when everything with Loki happened.' Emilio explains.

'About that...' Asher sighs, and I realise he's about to snitch on me, even when he promised not to.

I burst through the door, causing both of their heads to snap towards me. Asher looks down guiltily, knowing what he almost did. Leo coughs, and takes a step back, trying to pretend they hadn't been having whispered conversations about me.

'I said you can go home.' I say to Asher, waddling to sit at the kitchen table that Emilio seems to have decorated.

'Actually, he's staying.' Emilio replies, 'This is my only night free before you leave, so we're all having Christmas eve dinner together, and we're going to paint the wall. And Marzia, you're going to smile the whole damn time.'

'No, he's not staying. I forbid it.' I say, 'I'm the queen.'

'You're not the queen yet,' Emilio replies, 'Unless you're gonna get your grandmother on the phone to settle this, my word is law.'

'My grandma would agree with me!' I shout as Emilio walks away to light a candle by the fireplace.

'Your grandmother recommended me apparently,' Asher chimes in, beaming, 'I think she'd want me to stay for dinner. She told me I have to come for summer in Alania sometime. She said I'm her favourite agent.'

'My grandmother is a compulsive liar.' I snap.

'So that's where you get it from.' Asher muses.

'I don't lie!' I defend myself, outraged.

'Yeah, sorry Bill Gates, you're right.' He deadpans, reminding me of our conversation on the bus before all of this happened.

'Marzia,' Emilio shoots me a sarcastic look, 'Would it kill you to lighten the mood?'

'Yeah, it might.' I bite back.

Emilio chuckles and skips away into the kitchen where a timer has been beeping for a few seconds. Asher gingerly takes a seat beside me, awkwardly straightening up his cutlery.

I think back to that day on the bus, and even when Asher drove me to school, all before he knew who I was. Last week, I would have said Asher Thorne was my nemesis, but I never understood him. Today, I think I understand Asher more than I ever have, but still his entire rationale is still alien to me.

I know him, I have known him for six years. He holds his manners to the highest degree he can, so if he doesn't think he was rude earlier, maybe he really doesn't see it the way I do. And maybe neither did Gabriel.

'I have an idea.' I say spontaneously, and he almost looks shocked that I'm speaking to him, 'If I'm in danger, it's your forte, I will let you take control. Until then, we're equal, you don't speak down to me-'

'I don't speak down to you-' He interrupts.

'You do. We're equal, you get it? Before that day, we're friends. My life is mine, until I tell you about it, and every question you ask me, I get to ask the exact same. You're employed by my dad, I get it. But every time you ask about my family, I'm going to ask about yours, because that's how friends work, that's equal.' I say.

Asher thinks for a moment, looking down at his plate.

'Okay, friends. No more power play.' Asher confirms, 'But you have to keep me in the loop. If we're going into a room and I'm not allowed to talk, tell me why. If you're stomping off somewhere, just give me a heads up where.'

I nod, realising that everything Asher has been doing to annoy me, I've probably still been doing to him. He's never properly told me before and it takes me a minute to process.

'Hi, I'm Asher Thorne.' He says, suddenly, holding his hand out to me.

'What are you doing?' I laugh as he picks my hand up and shakes it.

'We're starting over, really this time,' He grins, 'I'm Asher Thorne, I'm eighteen years old. I work for the ACS and I go to Thorne Academy. My parents disappeared when I was 7 and I don't know what happened to them. I can't stand mushrooms and my favourite film is Singing in the Rain.'

'Hi, I'm Marzia Castille,' I chuckle, shaking his hand wildly, 'I'm seventeen, I hate Thorne Academy and I'm a princess. My brother died when I was twelve, and I don't know where the other one is. My favourite food is jalapenos, I think people who don't like mushrooms are children and I can't tie shoelaces.'

'You can't tie shoelaces?' He laughs. I shake my head and grin. 'I'm going to fix that.'

Then he stands up and walks to the hallway. I shout after him, but quieten to hear him rooting around in the cupboard, looking for some lace up shoes. Eventually, he comes strolling back in with a pair of red converses that I haven't worn in years.

'I don't even think those fit me anymore.' I laugh. He sits next to me again, pulling one of my legs onto his lap.

'Okay, I'll do this foot, you do that one.' He says, pushing the shoe onto my foot, which surprisingly does still fit, 'The easiest way, making two loops,' I pull the other shoe on and copy his hands, 'Knot those two together, then pull tightly.'

He finishes his, and watches as I fail miserably. I try again, and still cannot do it. He kneels down next to me, and takes both of my hands in his. He guides my hands with the laces between them and for the first time, it doesn't completely fall apart.

Don't get me wrong, they're not tied laces by any means, but maybe they could resemble it if you had misplaced your prescription bifocal glasses.

'I wouldn't even bother Ash, I've been trying to teach her for years.' Emilio chuckles, and I can tell he's less tense than when he left at our new smiling faces. He drops two plates in front of us and then settles himself down with his own.

'His favourite film is Singing in the Rain, Emilio.' I chuckle as Asher helps me push my chair under the table.

'It's a subconscious reminder of you, because of your fake name.' Leo grins as we pull his Christmas cracker and he puts a tissue paper crown on his head, 'He's been in love with you this whole time.'

'Shut up.' I laugh, kicking Emilio's shin under the tablecloth.

To my surprise, Asher doesn't say anything. Instead, he drops his cracker and walks over to the sink and begins to wash his hands. Emilio whips around and exchanges an amused look with me, mouth open in slight disbelief.

'Where was the resistance?' Leo asks and Asher turns around, a dumb look on his face as if he has suddenly forgotten any mention of the previous conversation.

'What?' He asks, clinging onto the towel a little longer than necessary, given his fidgety hands.

'You didn't tell me to shut up, in fact Mr Thorne, you didn't say anything.' Emilio says, dropping his fork on his almost-empty plate.

'I can't exactly tell you to fuck off, you're my boss.' Asher excuses.

'Percy is your boss.' I point out.

'I'll remember that the next time you make me go get you coffee.' He says, running a hand through his hair, 'Just eat your dinner, Your Highness.'

'I won't forget this Thornie-boy.' Emilio chuckles, pointing at him. He ducks his head, chuckling and turns back to his dinner, 'So Zia, what did the doctors say about this operation?'

'They've said it'll be mainly exploratory, but if the metal has moved enough, there's a chance they can remove it.' I tell him, trying not to dribble gravy on the table. Emilio leans over the table to try to steal a pig-in-blanket, but I jab his hand away with my fork.

'Well that's good news isn't it?' Emilio asks, questioning the solemn look on my face.

'Oh come on, when was the last time we heard that?' I mutter, 'They've done a hundred exploratory surgeries with the possibility of getting rid of the shrapnel, and they never have. The recovery process is always painful and not worth it.'

'Well at least we'll know after your appointment in Alania next week. Hopefully you can have the operation after you've moved back and not in London.' Emilio tells me, 'We can just binge Lord of the Rings with your father while you're bed ridden.'

'Thrilled.' I grumble, 'That's something to look forward to.'

'If I were you, I'd much rather recover surrounded by my whole family, being waited on hand and foot, in a palace, than in our apartment where I'll get bored of you very fast.' Emilio jokes, 'Plus if you're recovering, there's no way you can wear corsets for a while.'

'I'd rather not have to recover from anything at all.' I laugh, 'But you're right, it might be worth it to live in sweatpants for a few weeks.'

'How long does it usually take to recover?' Asher asks.

'It depends on how the surgery goes. If they remove the shrapnel then I assume it'll be easier, but I wouldn't know.' I tell him, 'The first few days hurt like hell, but then it's just uncomfortable for a few weeks.'

'Well, I would like to propose a toast,' Emilio says, standing and holding up his glass of red wine. I lift up the flute glass of the fake champagne he insisted on (because apparently morphine and alcohol don't mix, who knew?) and Asher picks up his water because he's boring, 'Here's to a successful trip, a wonderful coronation and Christmas, and to getting you both back to London in one piece, having not seriously mangled each other.'

'Cheers!' Asher and I laugh, clinking our glasses all together in the middle of the table.

'All finished?' Emilio asks us both, and collects our dishes, that he dumps in the sink, most likely for me to finish for him later on, 'Asher, where are you wanting to set up?'

'Oh, I can just work at the table, it's no problem.' Asher shakes his head dismissively, grabbing his satchel from over in the corner.

'You're not joining us?' I ask, grabbing the tin of gold paint to make my way over to the tiara on our wall.

'I'm gonna sit and do some stuff, I've got a lot of paperwork.' Asher says, pulling a large stack of files from his bag, 'Plus I don't have an artistic bone in my body.'

'Sure you do, come here.' I say, picking up his hand dragging him to the wall.

'Seriously Zia, I'll ruin it.' He refuses, trying to remove his hand from mine. Instead, I push a paint brush between his fingers and dip it into the paint, 'I can't do it, really.'

'Do it with me then.' I say, not letting go. He stares at me for a second, before shrugging and letting his hand go limp, 'Thanks, friend.'

He gives me a half smile and stands behind me so that he can let his hand paint while I guide him. I keep my hand fully enclosing his and every time he takes a deep breath, his chest bumps a little into my back. I try not to notice the tingling feeling of him being this close, and so I stare hard at the wall to distract me from the smell of his cologne. It's difficult and fiddly, but after a few attempts, Asher has successfully managed to paint one of the triangles on the tiara, even if it takes us twenty minutes.

'How does it look?' He asks.

'Well, I'd say stick to your day job, but I really don't want you to.' I tease him and he rolls his eyes.

'That's a lie and you know it is.' He grins.

'You're on your own with this one now.' I say handing him the red paint, 'Do you think you can manage the umbrella by yourself?'

'Not even a little bit,' He sighs, taking the paint, 'But I'll try.'

As Asher narrows his eyes and keeps his lower lip trapped tightly between his teeth as he concentrates. I sit cross legged, my back supported by a cushion and start retouching the princess in her castle, then the knight, before moving onto the other fading marks on the walls.

'Zia?' Emilio says, grabbing my shoulder.

I snap away from my painting to look at him. My eyes have to blink to become accustomed to the new darkness from the kitchen, evening having closed in while I was working. Asher is standing with his eyebrows pointed together on his forehead.

'What?' I ask, confused as to why they've bothered me when I wasn't hurting anyone.

'It's time for bed kiddo.' He says, leaning against the edge of the chair and yawning. Asher behind him also looks dead on his feet.

'We haven't had dessert yet.' I point out, confused.

'We had dessert. You weren't paying attention.' Emilio replies, giving me a lopsided look, 'You fazed out again. I told Asher that when you paint you become completely oblivious to anyone else, but thanks for proving my point.'

'What time is it?' I ask, turning my watch to discover it was already almost ten, 'I've been painting for three hours?'

'Yes, but you need to sleep, you need to rest your back.' Emilio says. All of a sudden, his phone lets out a shrill ring and he looks at it quickly, 'It's the details of your transport, I have to get this. Ash, you got her?'

'You need some help, shoelace?' Asher asks, holding out his arm.

'I don't need help to walk three feet to my room.' I roll my eyes but Emilio is already talking on the phone away from anything I have to say.

When I stand however, it becomes apparent that I do need assistance given that my back has seized up while I've been sitting still this whole time. Asher holds an arm out just in case, but doesn't insist that I take it.

By the time we reach my room, Asher has already gone ahead a few steps and passed me my pyjamas which he looks at questioningly. The top is a superman design that was Chris' when he was fifteen, and the bottoms are covered in reindeers. As I move towards the bathroom to change, Asher collapses on the bed, exhausted.

'Your bedroom hurts my eyes.' He moans squinting, rubbing at his eyes from underneath his glasses.

'What's wrong with it?' I ask demandingly, looking around.

I do have to admit, I can kind of see his point. When we first moved, and up until this day, my favourite colour is yellow, and so my walls are the brightest colour of the sun that they can be. When the light is on in the evening, it is a little intense on the eyes.

'It's just so... yellow.' He muses. I shoot him a look and his face softens, 'I'm sorry, I love it. It's very, you.'

I nod my head in amusement at our new friendly peace treaty, and turn the light off, leaving on only a small lamp in the corner and the fairy lights that run over and above my bed, leaving once again for the bathroom across the hall.

I change out of my jeans and into the cosy clothes, before brushing my teeth and hair and taking whatever makeup is left on my face, off. By the time I come back into the warmth of my room, Asher has somehow fallen asleep. Emilio appears behind me, chuckling and slotting his phone into his back pocket.

'Looks like you've got a bunk buddy.' He whispers.

'Absolutely not.' I hiss.

'Do you want to wake him up?' He asks, gesturing. I don't know how he knows I won't, but either way he passes me a throw to cover him and presses a light kiss to the back of my head, 'I'll let his aunt know. Sweet dreams princess.'

'I hate you.' I whine quietly as he shuts the door on us.

It takes me a minute before I move, because the whole situation is tense. I don't want to wake him, because then we'll have to have some awkward conversation about sharing a bed, but if he stays asleep, he's taking up very little of the bed and I'm worried he'll fall off.

After a while, I place the throw over him to make sure all his limbs are covered. Luckily Emilio gave him sweatpants and a baggy shirt so his clothes didn't get paint on them, so he'll be comfy enough. I then crawl to the other side of the bed, and worm my way into the duvet, trying my best not to wake him.

His breathing hitches for a second and I wince, praying to anyone who will listen to keep him asleep. I move to look at him in the light of the moon. I consider doing something evil, like shouting his name to wake him up, but decide against it.

It's peaceful to watch him sleep. It's the only time I've ever seen him without frown lines or knuckles ready to be curled into fists at any second. For the most part, he lays still, but there are brief seconds where he'll jerk his leg, or let out a little noise, but it's never long before he's silent and motionless again.

I feel the compelling urge to do something situation appropriate, like pull the blanket up to his chin, or move his fringe from his face, but I can't reach the blanket, nor do I have the nerve to do so. His hair has been brushing against his eyebrows since he'd leant his head in the position that granted him the rest he needed and it doesn't seem to be bothering him, so instead I just slide the glasses from his face extremely carefully, holding my breath so long I can hear my heartbeat in my head.

I know he's probably dreaming, but I can't picture Asher Thorne with an imagination and I definitely can't design an idea as to what he would see in his subconscious. He never once creases his forehead or shows any sign of hostility, so it leads me to believe that whatever it is running through his head in his dreams, it's happy, and so is Asher.

I try to think of things Asher might find desirable enough to dream of, but the only thing he's ever mentioned to me is a pair of shoes that would match his dress shirt.

It's now that I realise Asher Thorne knows everything there is to know about me. He knows the inner workings to every kidnapping and the blueprints to any place I've ever lived or been held.

He knows how tall I was on every birthday and routine checkup, and he even knows my brother's death in more depth than I do. He knows the play-by-play of my entire life, and yet I know two real things about Asher Thorne.

He lives with his aunt, and his parents went missing when he was a boy. Both of these are public knowledge and I don't credit myself on knowing either one.

It suddenly feels invasive watching him create a world in his imagination under the cover of sleep. He's exposed, something I know Asher hates with an ultimate passion.

I can imagine exactly the sarcastic comment he would make if he knew I was laying here, watching him. Something along the lines of me being a creep, and I would have no defense, so would probably just push him off the bed.

There's something about this boy that has always made him alert. No one is born that way. I've seen from previous examples that he was always on edge. If a car alarm went off a few streets down, his head would always jerk to the nearest window and his fingers would twitch, ready to ball up in his defence.

If a door slammed, guaranteed he would be on his feet faster than one could call out that they were home. I reprimand myself for not noticing he was an agent sooner.

Most people assumed that he stood when they entered a room out of respect and traditional gentlemanly fashion, but I've been around him long enough to notice the fear in his eyes.

Something happened to him. Something broke him. He was not born afraid of his shadow. He is a victim of his childhood, just like I am.

It dawns on me that Asher and I are a lot more alike than I ever gave us credit for. I have the compelling urge to lean over and kiss his forehead. I want to do something to take his mind off whatever it is that is constantly racing around, and keeping him permanently afraid of the dark.

I want to be able to know what scares him, and I want to be able to fix it.

I know what it's like to be afraid all the time, and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy, let alone Asher Thorne.