Harry's POV

The rain has been pouring heavily for the past hour. It seems as if the heavens have finally decided to open up and they don't plan to close anytime soon.

As I hold my hot cup of coffee, I watch the steam rise and feel the warmth radiating through my hands. I should be doing something else. Instead, I find myself perched on a set of stone steps, listening to the rain and staring into my cup, hoping to encounter answers I know I won't discover.

Most people turn to a bottle of whiskey to find explanations, but I know that won't solve anything. There are a lot of things I ought to figure out, but it appears as if life has become so hectic that I can't seem to uncover any answers. Maybe the next time I have a cup of coffee, I'll add a shot of whiskey to it. I need something to help calm me down and ease my mind from these questions that I can't find answers to. It feels like I'm attempting to solve a puzzle without all the pieces. Maybe the king has more pieces to this puzzle, but he's not prepared to disclose them just yet.

Maybe I have the pieces and I just don't want to put them together.

"Why do you look so glum?" My sister distracts me from my drowning thoughts.

I glance up from my mug and discover my sister stepping closer, her hair thrown up in a bun and her sweater falling off her shoulder as she shoves her keys into her handbag.

"I thought you moved away years ago?"

She rolls her eyes at my comment, "Likewise... Some of us visit our family and stay for a few days."

I don't respond, I just take a sip of my coffee, not wanting to banter with her at this hour. "Why are you here at this hour?" I question, unsure why she is standing in front of me at six in the morning, "And how did you get past security? Nobody's meant to be entering the palace." She is the second person to visit me this morning, the first being Prince Louis.

My sister smiles, "That was an act of congress since you wouldn't answer your bloody phone. I had to show my ID before the new kid called for Matthew and Matthew granted me access." My sister informs me and I nod my head. "I heard about your shoulder and thought I'd check on you. I've seen some news articles across my desk... I decided to get here before the rest of the press." My sister flicks her head to the gates of the Palace which will be lined with press and different personnel.

"I'm fine, it's nothing major."

"So, why are you so glum? Where's your princess?"

I glare at my sister and she curls her lips up into a smirk. She's doing this to purposely piss me off. It's what she does best.

As kids, we continuously took the piss out of each other and found ways to get under each other's skin, and usually, I'd be all for our banter, but right now, I'm exhausted and I don't want backhanded comments... especially when it comes to Anna who is on the direct path of sharpened swords with everybody.

"Do you not like her or something?" I ask with irritation, unsure of where my sister stands when it comes to my relationship.

"I do," my sister nods.

"Then what is with the damn comments when it comes to her?"

My sister lifts her shoulders into a shrug, "Daddy Issues."

I roll my eyes and sigh, "You're annoying. Dad treated you well.... daddy issues my fucking ass," I shake my head at her, attempting not to laugh at her comment.

Contrary to popular belief, we always got along with our father, he wasn't the villain in our family story. Our parents went their separate ways but it wasn't for any drastic reason like he was an asshole or cheated, no.

Our parents outgrew each other and weren't on the same path when it came to life— they had different goals and aspirations— they were perfect for each other until they weren't. They served their purpose together and split ways civilly when we were younger. When we got a little bit older, their paths crossed and they remarried just last year.

"I like her, but I enjoy teasing you," my sister admits.

"Well, it would be beneficial if you were kinder to her. I realize being nice may not come naturally to you, but she would appreciate having nice people around her," I respond.

My sister can be challenging to read. She's often sarcastic, and sassy--there's a fine line between her liking and disliking someone, and it's not always easy to distinguish.

"I'm nice," my sister protests, holding up a bag of danishes. "I even had them inspected when I entered."

"You aren't supposed to be here."

My sister lifts her shoulders into a shrug, not seeming to care about the defence I am showing. "I want to make sure you know what you're getting into. I've read news articles and past royal biographies," my sister warns.

I nod. "Just try to keep your comments to a minimum."

"Is that why you seem so down?" she questions.

I rub my face in frustration. "I have a lot going on right now. Can I tell you something?"

My sister raises an eyebrow. "Depends on what you did."

"This is off the record," I respond, making it known she is not to repeat what I say from this moment forward.

My sister is a journalist who covers stories on the royals and major events in London. She's renowned in her career, but sometimes her attention to detail can be a problem.

"Is she pregnant?" she asks.

"No," I reply, surprised by her question.

"Thank goodness. We don't need a mini-you running around," she jokes. "So, what is it?"

"This is why I don't call and tell you anything," I mutter.

"You don't call because you're an asshole," my sister chuckles.

"I did what you advised me not to do," I begin, looking at her intently, hoping to find anything other than icy contempt in her expression. To my surprise, her lips curve into a small grin, and she cocks her head slightly to the side. She looks oddly content. I expected her to be pissed—anything but content.

"You fell for her, didn't you?" she asks, her voice soft but knowing.

I silently nod, my heart pounding as I watch her reaction. Her smile remains gentle and understanding.

"I figured you would—"

I cut her off, my voice firm but tinged with desperation. "Before you ask if I know what I'm doing... I do."

Her eyes soften, and she nods. "As long as you're happy. But you know the tabloids are full of stories about her and her family, right? She's the topic of conversation. This is bound to get out."

I shake my head, frustration bubbling up inside me. "I know she's the topic of conversation."

"I have a lot of articles sitting on my desk that I have to sort through," she says, her tone now serious. "You know I have to publish a few of them."

"I know," I sigh, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. "Can you veto what you can? I can't afford to leak anything right now."

She looks at me for a long moment, then nods slowly. "I'll do what I can. But you need to be careful. This could get messy."

"I understand," I whisper, grateful for her support despite everything.

If there are any security breaches, threats, or sensitive information related to the family that could potentially be leaked, I alert the PR team. The team monitors the monarchy's website and social media channels, as well as handles PR. I assist them with damage control when instructed by the King or when Anna requires it. On occasion, I share information with my sister to divert media attention away from the family. However, I have experienced instances where she has published stories that I did not approve of or were inaccurate, but this is part of her job.

"I can try. I can't veto her taking the crown soon or her supposed budding romances."

"That's fine," I say, my voice tinged with a weary shrug. "I don't need to be in the articles," I inform my sister just as my phone rings. I heavily sigh, staring down at the screen, my chest tightening with reluctance. I don't want to answer it. I don't want to deal with anything besides sipping my coffee at six in the morning, a fleeting moment of normalcy amidst the storm of secrets and uncertainties.

"I knew you screened my calls," my sister says with a knowing smile, though her eyes betrayed concern. "Have you spoken to Dad?" she asks softly, her voice laced with worry.

I sigh again, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling over me, both mentally and physically. The incident on the boat and my shoulder breaking and never fully healing has gotten me to this point. It left me more vulnerable than I cared to admit. Sometimes, I wish I could just breathe without worrying about the next crisis. Sometimes, I wish I could call Dad for advice, but I can't risk breaching his safety. There are moments when I could use a hug or some fatherly advice.

"You know even if I have, I can't tell you," I admit, frustration and guilt mixing in my voice. I know where he is, but I can't tell her, as much as I wish I could— I can't. It wouldn't be beneficial for her to know anything either way, she'd just worry.

My sister's expression softens, understanding the unspoken rules that govern our lives. "He'll be home soon to see you," I offer weakly, trying to redirect the conversation away from my evasions.

"Have you told Anna?" she probes gently, her concern now focused on someone else I care deeply about.

I shake my head, a knot of apprehension forming in my stomach. "No, I'll tell her when I'm ready," I reply, my voice tinged with uncertainty and a hint of fear.

My sister persists, her words gentle but insistent. "Secrecy isn't your friend," she advises, her concern palpable.

"Don't start on this topic, not right now," I murmur, feeling the weight of every hidden truth pressing down on me. The incessant ringing of the phone underscores the urgency of my situation, reminding me of the difficult decisions and conversations I must face, all while desperately trying to maintain a facade of normalcy and control.

My sister nods her head, "I'll see myself in, I'd like to see your girlfriend."

"She's in the centre room, it's a small sitting room that leads to the balcony of the Palace. Take the elevator to the fifth floor. There will be a guard at the elevator and he'll take you to her. I'll call you later if I have time," I dismiss my sister and answer my phone as it rings again, ignoring it again would be a horrible decision. My sister nods her head and walks up the steps and follows my instructions.

"Hello?"

"ID call in."

I sigh, "Styles, 2832."

"Your boarding pass will be sent to you in a few moments," the woman on the other end of the phone informs me, "The following information will be given to you at the airport."

I heavily sigh and bow my head, "Noted," I respond, ending the phone call. Fuck.

The message on my phone is clear and concise—a boarding pass to Barcelona. Every call and every trip could mean a sudden departure into a world of shadows. This time, the urgency is palpable. Boarding at ten am. Two hours to prepare is tight, even for me. I hate this.

As I stride through the palace, its corridors feel less like passages and more like a maze designed to keep secrets and make secrets.

In the sanctuary of Anna's quiet and unbothered quarters, I'm quick and efficient. A shower to wash away the morning's stress, clothes chosen for incospicuality—dark jeans, a versatile jacket, with a white button-down shirt. I scan Anna's quarters to ensure privacy before shifting a painting aside, revealing a concealed safe embedded in the wall. My fingers move deftly as I enter the code, and with a confirming beep, the safe swings open. I quickly gather the essentials—passport, various currencies, a compact survival kit, burner phone and a few personal items that keep me anchored, including my watch—and slip them into my bag.

I give my room one last sweep with practised eyes—no trace, no accidental leftovers. Satisfied, I lock everything and make my way out of the bedroom, my footsteps silent and measured. My breath hitches in my throat when I see Anna walking into her quarters, her hand closing the door at the entry.

"What are you doing here?" the words leave my lips before I can stop myself.

Anna raises a brow before grabbing her clutch bag off the couch, "I forgot my bag. What are you doing?" she asks, her eyes trailing to the small duffle bag that hangs in my hands.

I give her a small smile, "I will be back tonight," I inform her, stepping closer to her and pressing a kiss to her lips.

"Mhm" she hums, "Where are you going?" she questions curiously, my heart thumping in my chest at the thought of having to lie to her. "Oh, fuck," she sighs, her eyes glancing at her phone. "I don't have time, I have to go. I love you," she kisses my lips before hurrying towards the door, her heels sounding against the flooring.

"I love you," I respond, breathing a breath of relief.

The drive to the airport is a necessary pause, a moment to switch from the role of a royal aide to that of whoever I will be transforming into on this flight. The city blurs by as I rehearse the scant details of my assignment, ready to fill in the gaps once I land.

At the airport, I blend in, another face among the crowd. Yet, my awareness is heightened, scanning, always scanning. Reaching the gate, I check in as any traveller might, but my eyes catch every movement, every anomaly.

Boarding the plane, I settle into my seat, the boarding pass an innocuous slip of paper that belies the weight of the journey ahead. As the plane taxis and takes off, I'm already mapping out my first steps on Spanish soil to make contact with my local contact.

My phone buzzes, and I instinctively flip it over, expecting another batch of documents to review. To my surprise, it's a message from Anastasia.

"I've arrived at the ribbon cutting in the city. I haven't forgotten that you never mentioned where you were headed this morning."

I sigh heavily, conflicted by the necessity of secrecy in my line of work and the discomfort of withholding information from Anastasia.

"That's because I intentionally left it out. I'm off to Spain for a work seminar," I reply, opting for a vague yet prompt response, already feeling the weight of bending my protocols. "Enjoy your day and the ribbon-cutting ceremony. I love you," I add, hoping my affection will compensate for my evasiveness.

I watch as Anastasia's reply bubbles appear and disappear, feeling a twinge of guilt for the half-truths I'm compelled to give her. My life split between duty and personal, forces me to withhold the full extent of my activities—even from those I love. It's a precarious balance of maintaining personal relationships while securing the confidential nature of my work.

Her response pops up on the screen, her words laced with affection yet tinged with unease. "I love you too... Although, I don't like you being so secretive... it's gotten more frequent."

I pause, knowing her discomfort is warranted. My position requires a level of secrecy that is often hard for others to accept. I type back, trying to reassure her within the limits of what I can disclose.

"It's part of the job, but I always come back to you," I write, hoping to soothe her worries without stepping over the boundaries of my operational constraints. "Blame Matthew."

Closing the messaging app, I turn off my phone's display. The challenge of balancing my professional responsibilities with my personal life never gets easier, but it's a part of the life I've chosen.

♔♔♔

I walk through the north end door of the Palace, more than thankful to finally be home. The warmth wraps around my body like a comforting embrace, and I can't help but let out a sigh of relief. I'm exhausted, mentally and physically drained from the horrors of my time away. All I want now is to crawl into bed and sleep for a few hours, to forget the unsettling events that have unfolded.

The flight home was fucking cold and miserable, every bump and jolt reminding me of the turbulence in my own life. The drive from the airport to the Palace was no better, each mile dragging on as if time itself was against me.

Throughout my trip, I missed Anna deeply. I managed only a few texts to her here and there, brief moments of connection amidst the chaos. Her absence gnawed at me, a constant ache in my chest that I couldn't shake.

Now, as I step into the familiar surroundings of the Palace, I cling to the hope that being back home will bring some semblance of peace. The weight of the world feels heavier than ever, but here, surrounded by warmth and familiarity, I dare to believe that I can find solace, if only for a moment.

I enter our bedroom and close the door behind me silently, just in case Anastasia is sound asleep. I throw my jacket to the corner of the room before I observe Anna sitting up in the bed, the comforter draped over her, "Hey," she smiles towards me.

"You're up late, what are you working on?" I question stepping closer to her and sitting on the edge of the bed beside her, glancing towards her laptop.

"The King ordered me to prepare the charity ball while he's gone, so here I am making sure the dignitaries he wants are invited. Where have you been?"

I grow withdrawn for a moment, unsure of what to tell her. I didn't think of the cover story I would need; it didn't even cross my mind. "Harry?" she says, taking a cup from her nightstand and narrowing her eyes at me as she takes a sip.

"I told you..."

"Care to elaborate? Spain is vague."

"I'm not allowed to talk about it."

I'm not lying; I'm not supposed to say a word about tonight's events. I should have been more efficient and come up with a logical story, but I am too tired, mentally and physically. The exhaustion weighs on me, and the last thing I want is to fight with Anna.

She looks at me, suspicion and concern etched on her face. "Why can't you talk about it, Harry? This isn't like you."

I sigh, rubbing my temples. "Anna, I am tired."

"That's the thing, you're always tired." ... "I don't care," she bluntly responds.

Fuck.

Up until recently, she hasn't questioned when I've gone missing or been gone for days without explanation. I'm not sure why she is suddenly noticing now.

I sigh as she takes a sip of her tea. "Anna... sometimes I have to fight fire with fire. Can you just take my word for it?"

Her eyes narrow over the rim of her cup. "You've always been vague about your absences, but this feels different. Why now, Harry? Why are you being so secretive?"

"I was busy," I say, my voice heavy with fatigue. "I can't tell you much yet."

"Not yet?" She sets her cup down, frustration is evident in her eyes. "That's not good enough, Harry. You're asking for blind trust without giving me anything in return."

"I know," I admit, running a hand through my hair. "Anna, please," I say, stepping closer. "Trust me. Just this once. I'll tell you everything when I can, but for now, you have to trust me."

She looks at me, her expression softening slightly. "I want to trust you, Harry. But it's hard when you keep shutting me out."

"You will have to deal with it," the words leave my lips before I can stop myself.

Wrong words. Fuck.

Her eyes burn with hatred as she glares towards me, her lips screwed into irritation, "You're being shady."

"Jus' don't worry about it, okay?" I lean over and kiss her forehead. "Let me handle things."

"I don't like how you're handling things. I don't even know what these things are."

"Well, I am sorry, you don't have to like it"

Some things are better left unsaid. Where I was and what I was doing is best unknown at the moment. Perhaps one day it'll come to light, but that day isn't today.

"What happened to you? What's on your shirt?" Anastasia leans forward, her eyes narrowing as she presses her hand against my shirt, inspecting the red stain spreading across the white fabric.

I look down, my heart skipping a beat as I grab the material between my fingers, stretching it out to see the crimson mark more clearly. The stain is vivid, fresh, and unmistakable.

"Harry, is that blood?"

I swallow hard, my mind racing for an explanation. "It's... it's not what it looks like, Anna."

I should have known better than to not inspect my clothes.

Her eyes widen, disbelief etched across her face. "Not what it looks like? It looks like blood, Harry."

I have to think quickly. "I... I cut myself earlier. It's nothing serious."

Her gaze remains fixed on the stain, doubt lingering. "Where did you cut yourself?"

I hesitate for a split second too long. "On my arm. It's fine."

Anna's hand moves to my arm, gently pushing up my sleeve to inspect the supposed cut. I wince inwardly, knowing she won't find anything. Her fingers brush my skin, but there's no wound, no explanation.

Fuck.

She cocks her head to the side and raises a brow, "Do you want to lie to me again?"

I shake my head, "No, I'm going to take a shower Now."

"You've been spending too much time with my father and Syrus."

"What?" I question as Anastasia pushes the covers off her body and gets out of bed.

"You heard me, you're acting just as shady as them, and quite honestly, I don't like it."

"You're paranoid, go back to bed," I respond, stepping into the bathroom and flicking the light on, only for Anastasia to follow me. "Are you joining me in the shower?" I raise a brow cheekily, attempting to distract her from the argument she is most likely ready to create— she has a valid reason for being irritated and wanting answers, but I don't want to answer her. I don't want her to be consumed even further by what is happening or by what could happen.

I am trying my best to protect her from the shit show that is currently going on, she has dealt with more than enough and at this point, I am going to do everything that I can to not push her over the fucking edge. I don't know how much further things will go before she begins to inch closer to the edge and I will be damned if she goes over it.

"Is that what things have come to? You tell me I am paranoid and everyone else telling me I am insane and imagining things?" Anastasia questions while I turn the knob to begin the water to heat up.

I of all people should not call her paranoid. She isn't paranoid, she is onto something and I don't want her to figure it out right now.

I turn to face her and I step closer to her, "I am being honest, believe me when I say there are some things better left unknown, please don't make this harder than what it already is."

I'm not allowed to tell her.

Anastasia pulls her hand away from my own and stares at me relentlessly, "Seems like everything is left unknown until it boils into something bad that can't be hidden."

I nod my head and heavily sigh. She's relentless. "Where were you?"

"I flew to Barcelona for a conference. Can I take a shower now?" ... "Why do you suddenly care?" I ask, noticing the tension in Anna's eyes. "I've always left on short notice without explanations, and you've never questioned it."

It hasn't been until recently that Anna has questioned me about leaving or not being at events. This isn't new, I've always been like this.

She glares at me, her anger growing with each second. "Because I didn't care then!"

"So why do you care now?"

"Because I love you!" she snaps. "I didn't care before because I didn't want to love you. Now I do, and it's driving me crazy how you're always so secretive about these trips. I should've guarded my heart better and kept things casual. But here we are..."

Guilt twists in my gut. I hate keeping secrets from her, hate that my silence hurts her like this. But I can't let her in. I can't risk her knowing the truth. For a brief moment, I want to tell her everything, to let her see that my distance isn't about her. But I have to shut it down. I have no choice. So I force my emotions away, bury them deep where they can't interfere. "I can't explain," I say flatly, knowing it's not enough. It never is.

"If you regret being with me, just say it. We can end this anytime you want," I offer, my voice steady even though it's the furthest thing from what I want. But if it means keeping her safe, keeping her away from the mess I've tangled myself in, then I'll do it. I'll let her go, no matter how much it tears me apart. If walking away is what it takes to give her back her sanity and shield her from the world I've helped create, then I'll do it without hesitation.

Anna shakes her head, "That's not what I said."

"Then for the sake of our relationship, leave it alone." I respond.

"This conversation isn't over," Anastasia dismisses me and I heavily sigh as she storms out of the bathroom.

This is bound to be an interesting night. Just when I thought that things could settle down, I now have to face her. I lean on the vanity and stare into the mirror, taking in deep breaths in an attempt to think things through.

I knew that at some point these secretive late-night flights would come to light when she started to ask questions about my whereabouts. I thought by the time this moment arrived, I'd have the ability to speak to her about the events. I haven't been cleared to do so yet.

I push away from the vanity and take my suit pants off, dropping my clothes to the floor before getting in the shower. The steaming hot water hits my body and I feel a sense of stress leaving my body for a brief moment. My body isn't cold and shivering and all the negative things that I have dealt with in the last two days are washing down the drain, hopefully, to never return.

I step out of the shower and Anastasia is leaning on the doorframe, I raise a brow but I do not say anything as she watches me reach for my towel and wrap it around my lower body. From the way, her lips are pressed firmly together and the way her eyes watch my every move, she isn't watching me because she finds me charming and good looking, no, she is watching me because she has things to say or she is trying to read me in an attempt to figure shit out.

I shuffle closer to her and press a kiss to her cheek, "Let it go," I mutter as I slide past her, still not saying a word about where I was. I step towards the clothes Anna kindly laid out for me and I hold up a clean pair of sweatpants, wasting no time by pulling them up my legs before running the towel through my hair to dry it briefly. I place the towel in the hamper and glance over to Anastasia who has her arms crossed over her chest. I adjust my shoulder and attempt to move it, grimacing with each motion.

"How'd you get the blood on your white shirt? That is going to be hard to get out." Anastasia gestures towards the shirt I let fall to the floor before I went into the bathroom.

I heavily sigh as I pick it up from the floor, "I told you."

"That was a lie, you and I know that."

"Anastasia, please don't," I shake my head. I don't want to explain today to her. "I'm begging, please let it go."

I fall to the edge of the bed and run my fingers through my hair. It is hard to draw a line between my job and being her partner, sometimes there isn't even a line, and sometimes I have to choose which one I want to take the role of. "I need you to know that I can't explain everything to you, and I mean no disrespect by not telling you."

"Fine," anna responds; finally giving in. "But if I find out that you're playing me, I'll make your life a living hell."

I softly chuckle, struggling to take her threat seriously, "I'm already in a living hell, sweetheart," and I gesture towards the Palace walls, "Trust me, this is no heaven."

"How are you so cool with keeping secrets?"

I heavily sigh, "I took note from your family's playbook," I respond. "I don't enjoy it, Anastasia," I continue, "If you could trust me before this point with me leaving, I need you to continue to trust me."

"I'd be stupid to blindly trust anyone at this point, my family is shady, my government is just as bad," ... "And I'd be equally as stupid to let you go with or without a trusting title."

People always want what they can't have— but they should be careful what they wish for, a title comes with many burdens that not many want to deal with.

"So what is it? Am I staying or going?" I ask.

"Are you doing anything that jeopardizes me as Queen?"

I pause for a moment before shaking my head. Not technically. "No."

"The monarch controls my life, I have to be able to trust you're not fucking me over." Anna presses.

If these members of royalty aren't happy, I don't understand why they allow the monarch to control their lives so much. If all of those who are unhappy were to rebel against the rules of the monarch, then surely, somehow, there could be a reform of amendment. It's like when a union goes on strike to express their issues of being paid inadequately or for whatever issue they don't agree with. When the union stands up and goes on strikes, it causes evaluation and further amendment of issues, changing the forms. Anna and Louis can't be the only ones who are having issues when it comes to being royal. Perhaps, if they band together, they could change things for the better.

But then again, who's going to listen?

The King and Parliament have had their chances to improve conditions and they haven't, I can only assume the chance of change is only going to occur when Anastasia is Queen, and if I'm being honest, I am somewhat dreading that moment. I know it is coming soon, more than likely she will be inaugurated as Queen in the New Year and be crowned before the spring. I fear the day Anna becomes Queen not just for her safety but her sanity. Being King has destroyed her father, he has gone off the deep end and there's no sign of him returning any time soon, although I know that she will not follow in the same steps as her father and get involved in matters that could kill her, there is part of me that wonders if she will be able to stay composed and genuine when she takes on such a role. Being a princess hasn't had the best of influences on her, she denounces it... I can only assume her being Queen will not cause a revolution where she will abruptly relish being royal. All I will be able to do is protect her, love her and support her through it all. I know she can handle the challenges that she may face, I have no doubt in her abilities, but I have seen her father decline over time and it worries me.

The monarch won't stand in my way when it comes to Anastasia, I have decided that on my own. I will stand in the shadows and be a silent partner while she's a part of the monarch. I won't force her to abdicate the throne when and if she ever takes the title of Queen, I will not force her to leave the monarch altogether. No. I plan to simply love her through it all and stand by her side. That crown will cause many arguments amongst us, I already know, but Parliament and the people of the United Kingdom won't separate us.

"You can trust me, I'm on your side," I assure her, "I am merely working when I take these trips and it doesn't concern the monarchy."

She looks at me and takes a breath, and by the way, she slightly nods her head and shifts her eyes— she doesn't believe me.