The Piper's principal duty is to play every weekday at 9 am for approximately 15 minutes under His Majesty's window when he is in residence at Buckingham Palace. I have just over four hours until I hear the Piper playing and beginning the day of the Royals. The sun hasn't yet begun to rise from its nesting position, the birds are beginning to rise and sing their morning glory song, and the Palace grounds are quiet. It's a favourable time for me, there is no hustle and bustle of the staff, and there's nothing but a sweet serenity, something that I do not come across very often.

"You're late," I beam at Harry as he makes his way towards me, shoving his phone in his pocket and rolling his eyes, "Tsk tsk, you're tardy," I jokingly nudge him.

He lets out a chuckle, "I'm late. There's a first for everything, Princess. I have to report to Matthew by six, in full attire, so we need to get moving," Harry informs me, flicking his head towards the pathway we tend to take.

I nod and commence our jog, "So, why were you late, anyway? You're never late," I curiously examine.

"I had some things to take care of. Forgive me for being late and tired," Harry answers, jogging beside me, commencing to pick up the pace, giving me no choice but to drop the conversation and focus on my breathing.

One of Harry's responsibilities is to ensure that I am physically fit and ready for any possible scenario. This includes being able to run and maintain a steady pace without becoming overwhelmed. While I may not excel at shooting a pistol or taking my training as seriously as I should, I can run proficiently. I am grateful for the early morning runs we share when our schedules align. Occasionally, he is not already awake and working by four in the morning.

The palace is enclosed by 100 acres of grasslands, and each window of the Palace has a scene that is stunning and captivating in various ways. There is nothing better than overlooking the morning wildlife bouncing around the fields while the dawning sun inaugurates to wake up the gardens, and in the evenings there is nothing better than the gold tones pouring in through each windowpane.

I pause to catch my breath and slow my pace, while Harry continues ahead of me. Placing my hands on my hips, I begin to walk, prompting Harry to turn around and wait for me to catch up. He teases me with a smile, commenting on my sudden change in pace. "Giving up already?" he asks with a small smile.

I nod my head and reply, "I didn't want you to push yourself too hard." We continue walking along the gravel path towards the beautiful garden, where soft petals of various colours await us. I smile, leading our way towards my winsome serenity of satin soft petals while an amethyst-purple tint overruns the sunrise sky, begging to clash with orange.

I smirk and toss my hair over my shoulder as I glance over towards Harry with gleaming eyes. His honey-sweet lips which are lilac soft, begin to curve slightly before he flashes me an amiable smile.

The further I wander into the garden, the more I sense the golden hour rays kissing my skin with a flawless, bronzed complexion and my opulent hair glittering in the morning glory of the sun. It feels rejuvenating to belatedly breathe amid scents, the frill of flowers and the scent of the early morning breeze. "Do you want to talk about what's going on or are you going to ignore it?" Harry questions, "Because I don't think you can ignore that you will be ruling a monarch, soon." "I also don't think you can ignore that it changes everything."

"It's too early for me to think about this monstrosity of a monarchy, so can we please not talk about it?" I ask, and Harry shrugs his shoulders. "You know what is fascinating, Harry?" I turn to Harry.

Harry gazes at me with his fulgent, smaragdine-green eyes, "No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me," Harry responds.

I playfully roll my eyes at him, "Charming," I grin, "Have you noticed how flowers can wither away during the winter and still come back to bloom in the spring?"

Harry lifts his shoulders into a shrug, "I guess." He doesn't think too much about it.

"Amazing, isn't it? They can withstand winter's suffocating skies that strangle the fields, and then bloom in the spring like they didn't endure a deathly winter."

"When you put it that way," Harry nods, "It is rather fascinating, my dear. Shall we?" Harry offers me his hand, taking me by surprise as I glance down at his hand longing for mine. His devil-may-care outlook and stellar smile make an appearance, causing me to mischievously grin.

I grant him my hand before taking it upon myself to guide him further into the astonishing gardens I love to get lost in followed by the flower blossoms wavering in the air.

Howling laughter permeates the air while the two of us, clumsily dance our way through the gardens laden with goldenrod-yellow flowers. I welcome the flowers grazing against my every move, their buds swaying in the slight breeze, almost as if they're dancing with us, stem by stem, overflowing the silence between our giggles with their delightful love song.

His eyes are a reminder of what love is, the lambent, jade-green that holds the windows to a loving man's soul. His eyes are a reminder that there is more hidden than what is on the outside.

On the outside, he is potent and somewhat unapproachable due to his career, but on the inside, he is caring, compassionate, winsome and most of all, he has a loving side to him nobody sees.

There are rules for everything within the monarch, from what we wear to when we wear it, to how we travel and what we travel with, along with who we love and how we keep it hidden.

This is modern times, age-old traditions need to be divulged, We are no longer in the 1800s when it was frowned upon to marry a commoner.

With these rules come the traditions associated with marriage. Commoners are frowned upon, still. Even if by some miracle someone could overcome the commoner barrier with the sovereign, there would still be a stringent protocol I would have to follow, well, we would have to follow. For crying out loud, the bride must wear white on her wedding day, a big tradition that I can thank Queen Elara from 1840 for.

For most women, the groom has to get the permission of the father or mother depending on the circumstances, In my instance, the Royal Marriages Act of 1772 requires all royal descendants to seek the sovereign's approval for marriage. The King, also known as my Father, has to approve of my marriage and sign a document called the Instrument of Consent, which makes his blessing official. I call it all bullshit.

My Father is strict on traditions, to my knowledge, he has obeyed almost all age-old traditions and he must make sure the crown is preserved and sojourns within the family. I find it asinine that the monarch has so much dynamism when it comes to love, but what can I do?

I am not yet Queen.

If I had things my way, I wouldn't be taking the crown or I would take the crown only on the terms of not being bound to having a King. But if I don't take the crown, the referendum and the monarch fails, calling for an abolishment.

Now isn't the time to expose my thoughts. Or is it? Fuck, I don't even know anymore.

I want to tell him my thoughts and plans, but I can't. I don't have the courage. Who'd have thought— the soon-to-be Queen has no courage.

Harry and I part ways with our hands and he lets out a sigh, distracting me from my slight thoughts, "I'm afraid I have to start heading back, I have work to do and you have a garden party to attend," Harry shatters my sweet tranquillity and playfulness, reminding me of the duty that calls my name as a sirens call. I want to stay away, but I can't. "Come on," Harry flicks his head.

"You never told me what you had to take care of," I probe gently, curious as to what he had to do in the early hours of the morning.

Harry grows quiet for a moment, "Mhm," he hums, seeming unsure of how to answer my question.

"Because you appear tired like you haven't slept."

"I haven't," Harry nods, "Spent most my night driving up North and back. We need to go."

I frown for a moment, "On royal duty? Everyone stayed in the Palace last night."

Harry shakes his head, "Anna—," he lowers his voice, "I need to get back, let's go."

Reluctantly, I follow Harry back to the palace of hell.

♔♔♔

My father is the Head of State of 16 governments and leader of the Commonwealth of 53 nations, and yet somewhere along the lines, he failed to figure out how to stop the monarchy from ruining my life. Dramatic? Maybe.

My Father inhales a sharp breath, breaking the stillness in my room, "Anastasia, you can't take over the sovereign as you stand. A Queen simply doesn't rule without a King."

My father is mistaken, a Queen can oversee without a King, Unfortunately, he is stuck in old-fashioned ways and isn't too fond of the concept of me governing without a King.

"Queen Elizabeth Ⅰ never got married and did just fine," I mutter, reminding my father of an ancestor who was victorious without a King beside her. "My relationships have nothing to do with my adequacy to rule a kingdom."

My father is not impressed at all with my comment, and his lips purse like he has been chewing a lemon rind, "It's frowned upon," he bitterly comments. He knows that I have a valid point, but just as I am controlled by a monarchy, so is he, and at this point, the monarchy wants to stick to old traditions.

It may be frowned upon, but I refuse to permit barriers to stand in my way. Barriers are meant to be broken in some cases— this is the case for them to be shattered.

"It was also frowned upon for Queens to rule. England was ruled by Kings until the second half of the 16th century when the crown passed to two Queens. These foolish rules need to be revised. I don't want to participate in this royal protocol." ... "I don't want to be Queen, we all know this."

My father arches a sly brow and sighs, "Anastasia–"

My brows bump together in a scowl towards him, endeavouring to defend him for aspiring to overpower me to wed just so I can rule the monarchy the way everyone desires me to. "No."

I am tired of being governed by a monarchy and living up to the expectations of everyone else. I have had expectations bestowed upon me from a young age, it gets tiring and aggravating to live up to them continuously. I want to break free of the chains they hold me down with. "I do not care what they say. I am not going to frolic around with a Prince to obtain a good-standing association with a monarch I do not want to oversee."

"You don't have a choice. This is your legacy, this is your blood," my father steps closer to me, "You will govern this monarchy and you will have a King. If you don't choose, I will do it for you, even if it is just media propaganda."

I shake my head, "I said no. I also do not want to hold the crown. You have known that I don't want it."

I am firm with my decision. I don't care for the media propaganda nor do I care to abide by the rules of parliament who intend to make my ruling an ever-lasting hell.

"Succession to the throne is determined by ancestry and laws put into place by the British government. You have no choice. This is your obligation. You will be Queen Regnant. End of discussion," My father storms out, authorising the door to slam behind him, rattling the walls of the bedroom.

I glance out the window, peering down at the Elysium-green and silk-soft terraces this summer. The staff are scurrying to get everything ready for the garden party meant to open its gates in just a few hours. Against my mother's requests and somewhat complaints, my father refused to reschedule the garden party, insisting that even in a heatwave, the party needed to go on.

I overhear the doorknob of my room rattle before the door rasps open, diverting me from my gaze below. "Your father needs to get that fixed, sounds hideous," my mother shakes her head at the racket of my door, though, the door shouldn't be the foremost priority for what ought to be revised in this household or lineage. What needs to be corrected is the inequity of the damn monarchy and its traditions that should be annulled, but what would I know? After all, I am only the Princess.

"Good afternoon, it's good to see you're on schedule with getting ready," my mother half beams, solely being sarcastic but endeavouring to lighten the mood and keep high spirits.

I don't respond, instead, I offer my mother a contrived smile the best that I can. "Anastasia, your attire is on its way up. You'll be expected to be ready."

I roll my eyes, irritated by the fact regal protocol is only observed when it is damn convenient for my Father. "Please tell me I will not be compelled to obey royal protocol for what I wear."

My mother nods her head, "You still have to follow protocol, Anastasia. It's a royal occasion."

"I'm not wearing pantyhose, and this isn't a royal occasion, this is an announcement for my unknowing relationship with the crown." I remind my mother of what today is about, thereby forcing me on a pedestal and narrating to the world an immaculate monarch tale and declaring a crown takeover.

"Anna—"

"No," I cut her off, "Unless you're going to tell me that we don't have to go through with this, then I don't want to hear another word," I bluntly react, not having any respect for the verity that she is the Queen. If anybody else were to speak this way to her, they'd be screaming for their heads. "I will forfeit my right to the crown if he announces he is abdicating today."

My mother clears her throat and laboriously sighs, "Your dress will be up in a minute, be ready to walk the gardens by three," my mother informs me in her soft-sounding voice. "Anna, sometimes we do things we don't want to do. This monarchy isn't always going to be your best friend, but don't make it your enemy, either," my mother half smiles at me, "Be wise about your decisions. Your father can only do so much." ... "I fought hard for this monarchy, don't allow them to be your enemy."

"I don't understand," I respond. It appears she's coming off as cryptic. How did she fight for it? The very thing she has fought for has destroyed her, even if she does not wish to admit it, it hasn't been her haven.

"Play your cards right, dear child. Lord knows your father didn't," she responds before she ambles out of my room, her heeled shoes chiming against the dark floorboards.

A lot can be said about my father, he was great for the monarchy until he wasn't.

I shift back to gaze out the windowpane down at the terrains below me where momentarily I will be hurled into the multitude of people who want to know every component about me, but I don't have any details to bestow. The attributes I want to disseminate, I am forbidden.

♔ ♔ ♔

The gardens are bustling with people, the cortege can't keep up with the demand for food and drinks, and the band is playing modestly enough for me to catch the melody of the birds sheltering in the trees, but loud enough for me to disregard the conversations around me that more than likely pertain to me. The menacing thing about these affairs is the fact that more times than not, the conversations are regarding me, the future of the crown or the forthcoming expeditions.

The shadow that has been lingering behind me since I stepped out of my room, strides closer to me as there is a void between me and others.

For a moment, there is silence between us and it takes everything in me not to turn around and convey with him.

"You look cute wearing a hat," Harry comments while cruising to scan every inch of the garden he physically can observe.

I stop to smell some of the roses before I turn to him, "It's a fascinator," I bitterly correct Harry, but I immediately retract my tone of voice, "But thank you. You look good in your suit." I dully compliment Harry.

"Thanks, it's new."

I silently agree with his sarcastic remark while trying to hide my amusement. It's no secret that he always wears the same thing. He's not one for change; he's been using the same cologne for years, hasn't changed his hairstyle, and probably still goes to the same barber he did when he was a child. His wardrobe consists solely of identical outfits, and it's rare to see him in anything other than his usual black suit.

I've suggested before that he try mixing things up a bit, maybe swap out his white shirt for a maroon one, but he wasn't receptive to my advice. "Must you be so close to me?" I mutter.

"Yes, I must be close to you," as we continue to navigate through the crowded gardens, he speaks softly so that only we can hear.

For a moment, I feel a sense of comfort.

"Harry," I breathe out and he hums for me to continue but I can't discover my words.

"I'd like space, please," I inform Harry, still uncertain of how to arrange my thoughts about the entire circumstances, especially today when in a few mere hours it will be announced that I have been courted, but I don't know who by. I'm not enraged at Harry, I'm incensed at my position, however, it's easier to take it out on him than face my problems head-on.

"As you wish, Princess... space from me or everybody else?" Harry inquires and I can't help but grin to myself.

As the soon-to-be Queen, I understand the importance of fulfilling my monarchical responsibilities and attending royal parties thrown at the palace. However, I often crave distance from others. It's challenging to find freedom in the royal family, as every move I make is closely monitored by the entourage or the press. Even when I'm asleep, there is always a guard outside my bedroom. Although I'm not complaining, there are some nights I want my bodyguard in my bed. I can't help but wonder what it would be like to be completely alone - no entourage, no security, no press, no assistant - just peace and solitude. It would be a truly blissful experience.

I laboriously sigh as I witness the mother of one of the men who are on the list of prospects. "Need space from her?" Harry questions.

"I'll allow this encounter. My father would be mortified if I avoided her, Aunt Elara." I respond bitterly, anticipating Harry to take his usual step behind me, but he doesn't, he remains beside me.

Elara wanders closer to me and grants me a smile, and for a moment I hope she marches past me, but she doesn't. "Anna, hello, darling," she's cheery and enthusiastic with her greeting.

"You curtsy to Princess Anastasia," Harry makes it a point to remind Elara to be courteous and curtsy, also making a point that he doesn't like her being informal and calling me Anna. Nobody beyond the immediate family calls me Anna, it is informal and unmannered. Harry, however, is the anomaly to the rule.

The woman narrows her eyes towards Harry as if in an attempt to show dominance and superiority, "And who are you?" Elara questions with a tone of voice that only indicates she's talking down to him.

I don't have to glance at Harry to know he's more than presumably offering her the glare that is a warning not to try him. "SO14 bodyguard." He bluntly responds. "Curtsey," He instructs firmly.

He despises being questioned and talked down to, whether it be by Royals or by those who are considered normal.

"What level?" She inquests. "You are supposed to curtsey to me."

"None of your business. And no, thank you." Harry sneers.

"Hm, I don't think I like your attitude, I think this family ought to make some security changes."

"My bodyguard doesn't change," I immediately inform Elara who appears to live under delusion tthe hat she has any sort of say of what happens on the grounds of this monarchy. She may be married to Syras but she has no say in things.

"We'll see about that one," she mutters, skimming Harry up and down, commencing to make me feel uncomfortable.

"Princess, you're needed by the marque of food, Queen Willow is requesting you," Harry informs me, shortening the conversation with Elara. I excuse myself politely and step away from Elara.

I make my way towards the marque of foods that are set up meticulously. Garden Parties always consist of cakes, tea sandwiches, and sweet and savoury finger foods, all of which I am meant to bypass. It is not okay for me to be photographed eating, it isn't ladylike. Lucky for me, the staff make sure to put aside food for me in the palace, they always leave me with Scones with homemade Balmoral jam and clotted cream on top.

"Well, she's a royal bitch," Harry murmurs when there's nobody but the staff around us.

I glance over towards Harry and roll my eyes, "Be polite, she's still royalty and a part of politics."

Kings and Queens stay politically neutral but some royals go into politics when they're not as high up in the monarchy chain. Elara is in politics and has meetings with my father on occasion. How she is in politics, I am unsure— If my Father and I both die, her husband, Syras is meant to take the throne.

"The quicker this day is over, the better. It's bloody hot in this dress."

Harry smirks before he softly speaks, "Take it off?"

I raise a brow and grin, "Are you propositioning me?"

"A proposition would be me offering to help you out of the dress and me receiving something in return," Harry answers, "I'd do no such thing."

"Hm, and what would you want in return?"

"Whatever Her Royal Highness desires to give. But for now, back to the party," Harry subtly motions towards the gatherings of individuals who are conversing away and appreciating the establishment of the regal gardens. "We are being watched," he whispers, flicking his head subtly. He's continuously scanning his eyes around, looking at the hands, eye contact, and dress code of others, all indications of a threat or being supervised when we don't need to be speculated.

I'm tugged aside by my father, "Have you made a decision?"

"I told you my answer was no. I'm not changing my mind."

"I'm not giving you a choice, you will accept the crown of your own will."

"I said, No." I hold my ground, "I have every right to disagree with this. If you continue this conversation I will cause a scene," I threaten the King of England, Harry's eyes growing wide as he overhears the conversation.

My father narrows his eyes on me and bites down on his tongue, his jaw clenching as he takes a deep breath... "I need you to be courted." ... "You will do no such thing."

"Try me," I respond.

"Your Highness," Matthew steps between us, "I think we are done here. sir, you have to stand by Syrus as he makes his speech on your behalf, walk away."

My thoughts continue to spiral and the world around me feels as though it's spinning as I amble away. I contested a man who has never been oppugned in his sovereign, a man who harbours more power than I can abide. My Father walks away, and I stand still in my thoughts. My mother told me to play my cards well, and I intend to do so, even if it means challenging my father and every single person who tries to force me into what I do not want.

I glance at Harry and his eyes lock with mine, "Anastasia?" he questions, stepping closer to me, surpassing the expected distance between bodyguard and princess, "Anna, are you alright?" He challenges and I nod my head.

I'm not entirely sure when life got so hectic, perhaps it was always dishevelled and I just don't remember having to share the burden as much as I do now.

Growing up, I was informed I'd grow up to wed a precious prince where we'd get married at Westminster Abbey, we'd be welcomed and adored by the populace of Britain and they'd accept my husband as King while I reign as Queen. But here I stand, in the epicentre of the grasslands encircled by individuals who have had too much of a vote in my life from the moment I was born. Here I stand, waiting for the moment the people bestow upon me a future King.

I take deep breaths, the summer sun shining down on me as the relentless heat persists to suffocate everyone. We are only on day two of this heatwave and I already want to whisk myself off to a more unperturbed place, one where nobody will encounter me nor bother me for quite some time. I take a breath and seize my fascinator from my hair before turning to Harry. He raises a brow as he stands in his immaculate stance, hands behind his back, his eyes aware of everyone's placements and his lips pursed into a fine line, his facial expression being one that merely depicts nobody should fuck with him.

"I uh.. I need to leave."

"Your Father is watching, Turn around, Princess," Harry instructs, subtly motioning to my Father who I can only presume is far from satisfied with me.

I turn to watch my father as he commences to welcome the guests with his endearing voice that the public relishes hearing and so do other royals. He starts lightheartedly joking, something he has grown to do a lot more lately in an attempt to show the public that he is still a mundane fellow... Somewhat. The crowd giggles and I, too, have to fake a laugh. While the assemblage laughs at the diminutive jokes, my inner thoughts eat me alive with the sentiment that this monarchy will possess my life until the day I die. My Father passes the speech to his brother and my breath hitches in my throat.

I press my hand to my forehead for the moment and glance down, closing my eyes briefly to shield them from the sun.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, "You okay?" Harry questions every so softly and I nod. I'm lying.

"Yeah, it's just hot." I respond, "This is bullshit," I whisper and Harry takes a step back, going back to observing the crowd and doing his assignment, ignoring my last comment.

I don't know how I'm the only one bursting with sentiments and rage. Harry is serene and composed, my mother, whom I can witness in the corner of my eye, is satisfied with a drink in her hand. Despite this being a dry fete, I am sure there is some alcohol in her beverage, I know my mother well, she is a Queen but a shifty one.

I turn to Harry, my eyes feeling heavy as my chest rises; my chest feels as though it is fighting a grave force over it with each breath. "Harry," I begin dryly but I shake my head and begin to make my way through the assemblage, not caring who I pass as I make my way to the end of it. The moment I am no longer encompassed by warm bodies holding onto every word of the King, I feel as though I've just come up for fresh air.

I sense a hand wrap around my arm and I'm tugged back. I swiftly turn on my heel and notice Harry, "What the hell are you doing?" He whispers.

"I'm not standing and listening to this," I gesture around me, "This alliance of convenience is overplayed."

"This isn't the way to handle this," Harry informs me.

I'm stunned by his wisdom. "Since when do you know the best way to handle this? You're not the one in this predicament."

"I'm not?" Harry raises a brow, "Last time I checked this concerns me just as much as it does you, but if you insist on being the only one to play victim, go ahead," Harry hisses.

"You have quite a bit of nerve thinking I'm playing the victim. I don't think you understand the magnitude of things."

"You're not the only one in this boat. I've kept quiet about it but the point is, it's not just you," Harry argues.

All of a sudden, I feel a rush of heat and apprehension overwhelm me. My stomach churns with unease, and I know I need to take a moment to calm down before things escalate. I also need to remind myself that we are in public and at any moment, anyone can see the two of us going back and forth. "Can we pause for a moment?" I press my hand to his chest, urging him to give me some space. "I need to sit down."

Harry helps me to a nearby garden chair, and I take a deep breath, closing my eyes briefly to collect myself. I realize that I need to establish boundaries with the monarch, for my sanity. "I know this affects you too," I say, sighing, "but we haven't had an opportunity to discuss it yet."

"Not now, Anna," Harry replies firmly.

"Harry—" I'm cut off.

"I said not now," he presses with a harsh tone. Part of me boils inside with rage at his tone of voice and assertiveness, the other part of me is mildly turned on.

"I want to leave, either you walk with me, or I will walk alone," I speak, providing him no room to deliver me any alternative besides me ambling away. "I don't want to hear about protocol, I don't want to hear about this party or the monarchy. I want to go inside, now." I'm demanding, not asking— he is aware that I'll test his limits and march my way back inside with or without him.

I have no desire for what comes out of Syrus' mouth. Whether I rule alone or not has nothing to do with my uncle— He wants me to stay single— My Father wants me to marry and will stop at nothing to get his way.

"Demanding," Harry murmurs, unenthused by my demands. "As you request, Princess."

"Do not be condescending," I narrow my eyes onto him. He does tend to be condescending and calls me 'Princess' when he is enraged with me.

"Why? Are you going to provoke a scene?"

"I might," I bitterly answer.

He shakes his head, "You wouldn't dare pull that shit on me," Harry replies as he inclines closer to me, "Now, we are going to make our way to the Palace, peacefully, without any further discussion. Do not challenge me right now," he whispers in my ear, steadily pushing his body away from me before presenting his hand and assisting me off the garden chair.

We walk into the palace, the cool air tapping my warm skin the moment the doors close behind us. I let out a sigh of relief, happy that I was away from the bustling crowds of the party. I'm sure I'll hear about my abrupt disappearance later, for now, I'll relish in it. "Your wish has been granted, I have you in the Palace. Now what?" Harry questions as he turns to look at me.

"I don't know why you're being so pissy towards me."

Harry shakes his head disapprovingly, beginning to walk, giving me a queue to follow him. "If you do not understand by now, I'm not going to keep fucking telling you."

"I get it, you're in the same boat as me."

"I don't think you do get it."

"For fucks sake," I groan, grabbing his arm and tugging him back towards me. "I get it, we are in a boat paddling up shits creek," I push him against the wall, taking him by surprise.

"At least you have us in the same fucking boat now."

"I'm not that fucking clueless," I hiss, pressing my body up against his as his hands press to my hips and my left hand reaches around him and pushes on the hidden door. He stumbles back and I grip his button-up with my fingers, pulling him back towards me, kissing him and kicking the door closed with my shoe.

I keep him pressed against the wall of the secret hallway, relishing in the fact it's one of the only places that doesn't have a security camera that's constantly being monitored. He breaks away from our kiss and moves his lips to the slender column of my neck, his hands gripping my hips and pulling me into him. I tilt my head to the side, allowing the rain of kisses across my silky skin. I needed this.

I press against him, his hand bunching up my dress, his other hand in the small of my back, making sure there's minimal space between us.

He squeezes my thigh before gliding effortlessly up my thigh, dancing across the lace of my underwear as I work steadily to unbuckle his belt. He takes me by surprise when he urges me forward and pushes me against the wall, taking full control. I swallow hard, feeling the sweet temptation of him.

"No foreplay," I groan, having a desire for more.

"Stop being so god-damn demanding today," Harry groans, clearly having some pent-up frustration with me. "Shut up and Fucking kiss me," he demands, causing me to grin before I comply with his demands.

"Now look at who's demanding."

"Anastasia, don't," he mumbles against my lips, shutting me up when he bites my lip and takes bold possession of the moment.

This isn't going to fix the issues at hand, but they sure will be diminished for a few moments.