Harry's pov

I swivel in my chair in the security chambers, watching as Oliver monitors the cameras. The palace is relatively boring when everyone's off doing their own thing. The king is hiding out in his office, requesting nobody bother him, and the Queen is out shopping, at least, that is what the Queen wants us to think. I know better, she's at an underground bar drinking in a disguise— she is seemingly having a rough time. As for Anna, she's somewhere in France on a royal duty, ignoring me entirely. Anna hasn't spoken to me much since she told me not to come on the small tour, I opted to respect her wishes and stayed at the Palace where it is calm. A little too calm.

My phone rings and I bring it to my ear, "This is your hundredth call, do you miss me?"

Niall chuckles on the other end, "Oh, so dearly," he jokes, "I only have a few minutes before I'm thrown back into the media propaganda your girlfriend signed me up for but I think you should fly out here."

"Why?" I ask.

"They're giving her hell."

"She doesn't want me there," I shake my head despite the fact he cannot see me. If Anna wanted me to attend France with her, she'd have told me. Instead, she bitterly told me not to attend and that she'd prefer to go without me. I'm respecting her demands. Her wish will always be my command, even if it's out of pettiness.

Niall sighs, "This trip is tearing her down and she's too stubborn to admit it. It's pretty rough out here."

"That doesn't sound like something I need to be a part of then."

Anna, stubborn? Never.

This woman is going to give me a run for my money.

"Mate," Niall begins, "Get on a plane and come here. You love her and she needs you. Whether she admits it or not, she's having a hard time."

"I'll think about it." I dismiss the conversation and Niall sighs before bidding me a goodbye and hanging up.

I sit and stare at the monitors, my phone in my hands as I take a breath. There's a fine line when it comes to Anna. She doesn't like to be coddled too much, and she doesn't like to admit when she can't handle what's on her plate. I have purposely stayed away from any news articles or social media where I can see what's happening on her small France visit as a solo Royal. I can't save her from everything and she is not the type of woman to want to be saved every fleeting moment something horrific happens. She is strong and unwavering, a force of reckoning that nature can't break down— Anastasia doesn't need me to rule a monarch or continue on with her legacy, she doesn't need me to be her saving grace— she is her own saving grace and her own destiny. She may want me, but she doesn't need me, she can stand on her own two feet with her head high.

Despite everything, here I am, staring at plane tickets. They're ridiculously expensive at the last minute. I'm not even sure if I can make it to the boarding gate in an hour. And to top it off, I'll have nothing but the clothes on my back.

But as I grumble about the inconvenience, a small smile tugs at the corners of my lips. The things I'll do for this woman. I truly do love her, even if I don't say it, and I don't tell her I'll marry her, I'll lay my life down for her if it meant she never has to feel an ounce of pain again. I'll do anything within my power to make sure she's happy and safe.

I heavily sigh and stand to my feet, "Ryan's in charge of you," I look towards Oliver, gesturing towards Ryan. "Call me if there are any issues," I mutter, wasting no time walking to the door and exiting into the cool tunnels.

I hurry my way through the palace, passing the staff who seem to be busy redecorating the palace for what feels like the hundredth time. The decorations and seasons are never ending. I stop in my tracks when I see the King emerging from his office with books in his hands. He raises a brow as he glances at me, "What has you hurrying out?"

"I need to leave," I respond, petting my hands to my pockets, struggling to find my car keys, "Alaric, can I trade you my car for one of your drivers?" I question.

I don't have time to run to my car, park it at the airport and manage to get the next flight out.

Alaric chuckles, "Depends, which car are you leaving me with?"

"The Audi," I dangle the keys in front of him, "I prefer not to leave it at the airport."

"Let me guess, you're going to France?"

"Not if I don't get to the airport," I smile.

Alaric grows quiet for a moment before taking the keys from my hands, "You're lucky I like you."

"You like my car," I shake my head.

"You going to come clean about my daughter yet?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," I respond, waving him off as I walk towards the palace doors, hurrying down the steps to where the line of blacked-out cars sit.

One of the drivers steps out of the car and waits for me to descend all stone stairs. He offers me a polite smile and I extend my hand out to shake his, "Heard you're going to the airport."

I nod my head, "That was quick." I smile before I slide into the back seat of the car, my phone taking my attention as it begins to ding with messages. I glance down at the screen, a text message from Alaric's assistant staring at me.

"Your flight to France will leave when you arrive. You will be escorted through a private terminal. The King has offered up the Private Jet."

The King has his suspicions of Anna and me, and I have my suspicions that he secretly relishes in the fact his daughter is being obstinate and not caving with the monarchy's requests. At some point he's going to force my hand, all cards will be on the table and I'll have no choice but to admit to him that he's not crazy. His daughter and I are more than what we lead on. I'm not just her security detail and she's not just a princess.

***

As I step out onto the balcony of the hotel room, I'm greeted with a breathtaking view. The room itself looks even more magnificent from this vantage point. The large windows showcase the elegant interior, with its tasteful furnishings and regal ambience. I turn around to see the room is bathed in soft, warm lighting, creating a cosy and inviting atmosphere. I can see the luxurious bed with its silky sheets and fluffy pillows, beckoning me to relax and unwind. The seating area is visible as well, with its comfortable sofa and stylish coffee table.

Anna steps into the hotel room, her movements heavy with exhaustion. The weight of the world seems to rest on her shoulders as she closes the door behind her with a deep sigh, leaning against it and closing her eyes. I can see the fatigue etched on her face, the lines of stress evident. She's dressed in black pants and a soft pink blouse, a departure from her usual attire. The nude heels she wears show a touch of elegance, but it's clear that she's not herself today. "Well, if this doesn't scream the breaking point of a princess, I don't know what does," I playfully remark, hoping to lighten the mood. Anna's eyes fly open, surprised to see me standing at the balcony doorway with my arms crossed over my chest.

"Don't stop on my account," I shake my head as she pushes off the door. As Anna walks from the door to the bed, I notice a slight limp in her step, as if she's in some kind of minor pain. Her movements are slower and more cautious than usual as if she's trying to minimize any discomfort.

"I didn't ask for your assistance," she says, her voice tinged with frustration, wincing slightly as she slides her jacket down her arms and lays it on the bed.

"Seems like you need it," I respond, "What's going on?" I softly ask, stepping towards her as she sits on the edge of the bed in defeat.

"You brought flowers?" She softly questions, noticing the flowers I placed in the room. "A lot of them," she remarks, frowning for a moment as she stares towards the other vases I placed in the bedroom.

"I also brought an apology, but we can discuss that in a moment," I respond. "What's going on?"

Anna takes a deep breath and lifts her shoulders into a shrug, "I don't know," her voice is soft as she speaks. "I just—," she trails off, wiping a tear away from her cheeks. "Why are you even here?"

She's mad and I don't know why. Well, I do.

"Are you going to be bitter with me?" I question, already aware of the answer. "I'm here because I love you, and it was brought to my attention that you were having a rough time on this trip. I'm here for you."

"As my security guard?" Anna questions with bitterness lacing her words.

I shake my head, "No, I'm off the clock. I didn't get any instructions to come here. I came because it looked like you could use someone, but if that's not the case, just say the word and I'll leave." I gesture towards the door, ready to exit if that's what she wants. I won't overstay my welcome.

Noticing her silence, I nod. "I understand where I stand. I'll see myself out," I say, as her silence fills the room. If she doesn't need me here, I won't insist on staying.

As I reach for the door handle, I pause for a moment, glancing back over my shoulder. There's a part of me that hopes she might say something—anything—that could hint at needing my presence. But the room remains shrouded in her silent contemplation, and no words come to break the quiet tension.

Resigning myself to her apparent decision, I open the door and step through, letting the cool air of the corridor greet me. The sound of the door clicking shut behind me echoes slightly, marking the closure of this brief chapter.

As I walk, my thoughts linger on the encounter. Love, I've learned, has its limits. It requires openness and reciprocity to thrive. If she's not ready to engage, to lower the walls around her, then there's little more I can do. Her stubbornness, a shield that might protect her in the short term, could very well become her Achilles' heel in the long run. And as much as I might wish to be there for her, to catch her when she falls, I have to accept that I can't force that connection.

The realization stings, but it's a necessary truth. Love isn't just about presence; it's also about boundaries. Tonight, perhaps, I've set one by walking away—not out of anger or spite, but from a place of respect for her and for myself. And though I might not always be there to pick her up from the consequences of her choices, I hope she finds the strength to eventually lower her guard. I'm not like the others who are trying to corner her into something she doesn't want. This is her world and I am merely in it.

I reach the lobby and immediately notice the crowd outside the hotel's glass doors. Curiosity and concern mix as I spot the variety of people gathered there—some with good intentions, others seemingly there just for the spectacle. A heavy sigh escapes me as my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. Initially, I consider ignoring it, but curiosity wins over restraint when I see Anna's name on the caller ID. I pull out my phone and answer, "Yes, Anna?"

"Stay," Anna's voice comes through the phone, unexpectedly soft and vulnerable. "Just stay." It's clear now—she had wanted my presence the other night but her stubbornness had kept her from saying it.

A moment of hesitation grips me as I process her words. I care deeply for her and don't want to walk away, yet staying feels complex. Anna is fiercely independent and strong, a veritable force of nature that often leaves me bewildered. She challenges me on the days when I'm closest to giving up—though I'd never admit to her the toll it sometimes takes, especially under the weight of her high expectations and our relationship's secrecy. "Why should I stay?" I find myself asking.

There's a pause on the line before Anna replies, her voice tinged with a rare confession of need. "Because even though I am stubborn and want to handle things on my own, deep down, you're the one I've always wanted by my side through all this. I've thought about calling you so many times but didn't want to seem weak... I'm sorry," she admits with a sigh. "I'm not perfect, and I just really need you to stay. You deserve to be heard out. You flew all this way, and I've been terrible."

"Okay, I will come back up," I respond, my decision made by the heartfelt honesty in her words.

Turning back from the lobby doors, I make my way to the elevator, my steps steady. Each floor I ascend, I feel a mix of apprehension and relief. This is what commitment looks like in action—choosing to return, to engage, even when the path is fraught with challenges. It would be easier to walk away before I get any deeper into things, but I can't bring myself to do it. I have tried to talk myself out of this love and I physically can't bring myself to do it. I love her more than I ever thought would be possible.

When the elevator dings at her floor, my heart quickens slightly. The short walk to her suite feels longer than usual, every step heavy with the weight of our past conversations and the uncertainty of what lies ahead.

I knock gently on her door, and when it swings open, I find Anna with a somewhat guarded yet hopeful expression. She steps aside to let me in, and as I cross the threshold, the tension between us starts to dissolve, replaced by a tentative truce.

"We need to talk," she begins, her voice still carrying a hint of vulnerability. "I've realized that I've been pushing you away when really, I should be pulling you closer."

I nod, acknowledging her words. "I'm here now, and I'm listening," I assure her.

I sit on the edge of the bed beside her and she rests her head on my shoulder, "What happened, darling?"

"Which time?"

"Let's start with why you seem to ne so down and go from there."

"Oh, that's a story," Anna sighs. "The media here are insane, very suffocating."

*** Anna's flashback.***

The hardest thing is when there are so many people who demand your attention at once but you don't know which direction to focus your attention. There are flashes and voices in every direction, rows of people all around me seeking to get a glimpse of me for an unknown reason. Over night I became what feels like the biggest media sensation the monarch has seen in decades. Majority of the world seems to love and relish in me, the other quarter... they hate my guts for exisiting. Moreover, they hate my guts because I am the spawn of my father. I am not sure what they know about my father that I don't, but whatever it is, it is starting to cause a fire and the media want to know every detail of my life.

"I feel like I can't breathe," I comment as Niall walks beside me, my heels echoing the pavement and the shuffling of people behind me muffling the sounds around me.

"What?" His voice is laced with concern.

"Not literally," I mutter.

I can't breathe without people wanting to document it and report it like it's the biggest news to hit the world. I know everyone seems enthused with my fashion choices, and on days like today when I'm wearing a bland outfit, I'm still followed. I want to get my itinerary done, that's all.

Right now, I feel overwhelmed by the shouts and the ridicule directed towards me and my position in the monarchy. The comments from diplomats and the media only add to the pressure. It's a mix of opinions: some want me as Queen, while others despise the idea. It's challenging to navigate through these conflicting perspectives, but I'm learning.

The rush of emotions is overwhelming as the paparazzi swarm around us, their cameras flashing incessantly. It feels like the world is closing in, but I try to stay composed. The weather adds to the mix of sensations - it's not hot, but it's not cold either. It's cool and a little windy, with a gentle breeze rustling through my hair. Despite the chaos, the weather brings a sense of relief, a reminder that there's still beauty in the midst of it all.

As the crowd pushes and shoves, the cameras flashing in my face, I can feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. It's suffocating, with everyone wanting my attention. We don't have enough security, nobody anticipated the extensive crowds. France has never been this chaotic. I look down at my heels, focusing on each step against the pavement, trying to block out the chaos. I feel like I am in the middle of bait fish, swirling around me, nowhere to move but in the direction they shove me in. I'm shoved from behind and the sides, stumbling into Niall but managing to catch mysel. Suddenly, everything happens in a blur. My vision goes black for a moment, and I find myself crumbling to the floor like a fragile piece of paper.

Gasps fill my ears as I feel my feet slip from under me, my body falling back onto the hard concrete. I take a breath, feeling the sting in my back from the impact, but I'm too stubborn to let it show in front of all these people and flashing cameras. For a brief moment, I contemplate staying down, finding solace in the escape from the suffocating attention.

But just as quickly as it began, it ended. Niall, with his comforting blue eyes, rushes to my side. His arms tenderly wrap around me as he pulls me to my feet. "I'm fine," I sigh, trying to reassure him and myself. The pain in my back lingers, a reminder of the fall, but I push through, determined to keep going. Determined not to give the media the satisfaction.

In the moment, my heart pounds with frustration and pain as I shoot a fierce glare at the crowd, desperately wishing to tell them to leave me alone. The weight of the situation hangs heavy on my shoulders as I shake my head, trying to shake off the negativity. With every step towards the car, my determination grows stronger, fueled by the need to find solace and distance myself from the chaos. It's moments like these when I realize the importance of prioritizing my well-being. I need a moment to myself, I need to go to the hotel and call it a day.

As I step into the car, a wave of longing washes over me, and I can't help but yearn for Harry's comforting presence. The urge to call him and seek solace in his voice is almost overwhelming. But I take a deep breath and remind myself that I need to find my strength in this moment.

It's a bittersweet struggle, to find a balance.

But I want him. It's not a need, simply a want. Unfortunately, what I want and what I get are two completely different things.

*** End of Anna's flashback ***

Anna looks at me and I heavily sigh, "I wish you'd have just called me."

Such a simple task to help prevent this and she refused to do it. Why? Out of spite? She's only punishing herself.

Anna moves her eyes towards the sunlight filtering through billowing curtains, casting a warm golden glow across the room, avoiding my gaze.

"They threw a straight jacket at me," Anna whispers, the words barely leaving her lips. "I don't know if it's some sort of sick joke but they think I need it."

"Again, why didn't you just call me?"

"I'm trying to do this on my own." ... "There's nothing you could have done."

She is stubborn and independent, she doesn't want to rely on me or anyone when it comes to her duties. She holds the title the best she can and doesn't hinder anyone with the burden she carries.

"Why?" I question.

Anna grows quiet for a moment before taking a breath, "Because I'd rather do it alone than to think someone like you would ever step into this world and be by my side."

Ouch

Someone like me? I'm a commoner in her world, I have no title.

"Anna," I begin, "I never said I wouldn't."

I never once said I wouldn't stand by her side in her world of chaos, and I never said I wouldn't marry her, my words within the moment by the lake were misconstrued and she heard what she wanted to hear. Typical.

"You never really said you would. I don't want to have this conversation right now. I feel like everyone wants something out of me and I don't have anything to give, I don't have it in me to fight this."

"If this is about you asking me to marry you..." I trail off.

"Please, don't make it worse."

"Okay. But just know, I didn't get to share my side," I point out the fact she won't hear me out or let me explain the moment from my point.

At the moment she asked me to marry her, I didn't say yes because her world would not accept me as I am. Her world will furthermore turn upside down if and when it is revealed we are together, it will further fall into turmoil if we were to get married. I don't think she is ready for the aftermath of our decisions. I don't think she needs to add our relationship onto the plate of things she is already struggling to juggle amidst her father wanting to force his reign onto her and step down. At any given moment, he can call for his abdication and the fate of the monarchy is in Anna's hands. At any given time her world can change and I don't want to make it harder on her when it does. At any given point, my life changes, and my complications twist further.

"You don't owe me an explanation. I don't blame you for not wanting to be a part of this life." .... "Can we just drop it?" Anna softly asks, "I'm tired, my back hurts, and I could use a long hug and—" I tenderly cut her off, wrapping my arms around her, pulling her close and allowing her to relax in the comfort of my embrace.

My explanations won't make her feel any better in this moment, my thought process on things won't help either. The only thing I can offer is a warm hug.

After a few moments of silence, Anna pulls away from my embrace and her eyes dance towards the flowers I have sitting on the antique table. "So, why so many flowers?" Anna curiously questions.

"One vase is for my apology, one vase is because I love you, and one vase is because I do want to marry you."

"And the bottle of wine?" Anna questions.

"Figured you could use with some wine since this tour of yours is a shit show."

"It would be smoother if you had attended from the start."

I chuckle, "Ah, but you told me not to." I remind her of her specific words for me not to attend.

Anna rolls her eyes and shrugs, "Didn't mean it." ... "Since when do you listen to me anyway?"

"Bullshit," I murmur, "You meant it, but you were too stubborn to call me and tell me when you changed your mind."

Anastasia giggles and nods her head, "Mhm," She hums, "I'll take a glass of wine now."

I carefully pour a glass of the crisp white wine, watching as its golden liquid shimmers in the soft light of the room. Handing it to Anna, I can see the gratitude in her eyes as she sinks onto the bed, seeking solace and relaxation. Kneeling beside her, I gently reach for her feet, helping her slip off her heels, one by one. The weight of the day seems to lift from her shoulders as I hang her jacket, making sure it doesn't crease.

As I take in the sight of her, a sense of tenderness washes over me. I know she's been through a lot, and I want nothing more than to provide her with comfort and support. Seeing her take a sip of the wine, her body visibly relaxing, brings a small smile to my lips.

"Is there anything else about your day you'd like to tell me about?"

Anna glances over at me as I lay beside her on the bed, "It was shit, paparazzi hounded me, I felt like an animal in a zoo, and the dignitaries I did meet didn't take me seriously, they didn't bother to bow or curtsy. I don't usually care about bowing but they're purposely being disrespectful."

"Sounds like security needs to change their approach."

"Mhm," Anna hums, "Sounds like your team is slacking," she chuckles. "Are you coming tonight?"

I grow quiet for a moment, debating whether to go with her or stay at the hotel. "Baby, if I go, it'll be as security."

"I guess I'll settle with that," Anna nods, "I'm ordering room service before I have to get ready for the next big event, do you want anything?"

"Get me whatever you're having. While you do that, I'm going to go visit Niall," I smile, pushing off the bed and adjusting my jacket. Anna nods her head in response and I make my way out of her hotel room.

***

"The fuck are you doing here?" Niall questions with a smile as he allows me to enter his hotel room.

"That is quite a nice hello," I respond as he closes the door.

Niall shrugs his shoulders, "Aren't you meant to be with Anastasia?"

"She is waiting for room service. I have a slight problem."

"This sounds like I'm going to need a drink," Niall chuckles, walking towards a bottle of whiskey on the counter, "Go ahead, tell me." He instructs, grabbing two glasses.

I take a moment to notice Niall isn't in a normal hotel room. He's in a penthouse that oozes opulence. As I step into the expansive living area, I am greeted by floor-to-ceiling windows that offer panoramic views of the city skyline. The space is bathed in natural light, highlighting the sleek and modern design. The open-concept kitchen is equipped with crystal glasses and an array of alcohol. It's the epitome of luxury living and a bachelor pad.

"How'd you get a penthouse?" I question curiously.

"Anna didn't want it," Niall responds, "She didn't want to be alone in such a large room."

I look down at the flooring with a small sigh, my heart breaking at the realization of her doing this tour alone and possibly feeling lonely despite me following her instructions to not attend.

"She wants to get married. She's dead serious about marrying me," I confess, my voice filled with uncertainty.

"And?" Niall responds, his tone curious. "The only problem I see is the fact she wants to marry you of all people." ... "Wouldn't be my first choice but I'm not a woman," Niall jokingly laughs.

"Am I the only one who realizes she's the future fucking Queen of England? We can't just go ahead and get married," I lament, my heart heavy with the weight of the situation.

Niall takes a sip of his drink before handing me mine, his eyes filled with understanding. "You can do whatever the fuck you want, pal," he says, his voice laced with determination.

"But the monarchy won't allow it. There's all this protocol, and I don't fit into any of it. That's why you're being used as a beard," I explain, frustration evident in my words.

Niall gasps playfully, "I'm a beard?" He pauses for a moment before continuing, "Mate, fuck the protocol. If you love her, that's all that matters. And before you bring up your previous work before joining the monarch, it'll be okay."

His words strike a chord within me. "But the monarchy controls everything. How do I even begin to navigate this?"

I don't know how to navigate the monarchy side of things let alone my previous career choice.

Niall looks at me, his eyes filled with conviction. "Just fucking marry her," he says, his voice unwavering.

I take a deep breath. "But... how?" I ask, my voice trembling with uncertainty.

Niall smiles a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "The monarch only controls you if you allow it."... "Mate, I know you're not this dense," Niall laughs, "Jus' go get married, don't tell a single soul and fucking do it. It isn't rocket science. Forget she is a Queen, forget the monarchy, forget it all."

I stare at him for a moment, blinking a few times as I process his responses. He makes it sound simple and easy. Is it as simple as he says?

"The worst thing that can happen is her title is revoked, and from what I see, she doesn't give a fuck about having a title. If you don't marry her, someone else will. While The Sovereign is Head of State, the ability to make and pass legislation resides with an elected Parliament. Parliament won't let her rule without a husband, her Father has no choice but to push me or any Prince on her. You better get in before it's too late."

"You know something I don't, huh?" I raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of my drink, intrigued by Niall's earlier comment.

Niall let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Nah, mate, I know nothing. Just playing the role of a beard," he replies with a mischievous grin. "Marry her before it's too late. Her father won't do anything if you marry her."

I hum in response, grateful for his support. "Thanks for the pep talk."

Niall's expression turned serious as he leaned in closer. "Anytime, mate. Now, I have to get ready for my next event as a beard," Niall informs me, "Heaven forbid I wear the same suit," he gestures towards the hanging wrack of multiple suits, "It's a nightmare trying to keep up with her world. My world as an under-the-radar prince is much more bearable."

I chuckle, "I'm attending too, I feel your pain." I respond before walking out of the penthouse and making my way back to Anna's hotel room.

Anna's POV

My breath catches in my throat the moment I realize I've missed the dress code memo—I'm clad in white while everyone else is decked out in crimson red. I wore white as the invitation stipulated. It feels like I'm adrift in a tumultuous sea, with all eyes fixed on me, and a whirlwind of emotions threatening to engulf me.

Glancing towards Niall, who appears unfazed by the situation, I find a sense of reassurance. He, too, stands out, yet his indifference is not detectable. "Do you want to leave?" he asks calmly.

I ponder his suggestion for a fleeting moment. Yes, I want to escape this uncomfortable spotlight, but I refuse to grant anyone the satisfaction of seeing me retreat. I want to scream into a non-existent hole and never return as I fall in. Despite the stares and murmurs swirling around me, I summon my resolve. "No," I reply firmly. "I'll manage."

Before I can even process the implications of my response, a dignitary approaches with an air of arrogance, commenting on my "bold choice of dress" with a smug grin.

Niall's swift intervention catches me off guard. His voice cuts through the tension with a sharp retort, defending my unconventional attire. "Bold choice for a bold Queen," he declares, his words laced with defiance. "I think it's a bit less subtle than your ego and shit-eating grin."

The dignitary recoils at the unexpected challenge. "That's rude," he sputters indignantly. "You don't know who you're speaking to."

Niall's response is unwavering. "I don't care about your status when it comes to trying to humiliate someone. Nice try, but she still outshines the rest of these broads."

"A social snubbing seems rather juvenile, doesn't it?" I remark with a confident smile, my tone dripping with subtle disdain. "Engaging in childish games like Chinese whispers hardly befits adults. Perhaps it's time for you to rejoin the rest of the giggling children," I suggest, gesturing dismissively towards the corner where the gossipers linger.

"It isn't my fault you are the laughingstock of walking royals," The man calmly comments.

"I'm well aware that my reputation might serve as fodder for laughter, but let's not underestimate the value I bring to this occasion by attracting attention," I assert, emphasizing my acknowledgement of being exploited for publicity.

My words cut through the tension like a knife, asserting my authority and refusing to allow their petty behaviour to diminish me. In taking control of the situation, I reclaim my power and refuse to be a pawn in their game.

***

As I weave through the crowd, Harry's reassuring presence by my side is a welcome comfort amidst the sea of scrutiny. With each step, his genuine compliments lift my spirits, offering a glimmer of confidence in the face of relentless judgment.

"Anna, you look absolutely beautiful," he murmurs softly, his words like a soothing balm to my battered self-esteem. "You're like a breath of fresh air in this sea of crimson," he chuckles.

In moments of levity, he peppers our conversation with playful banter and flirtation, his teasing remarks a welcome distraction from the negativity surrounding us. "You know, Anna," he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "I've always admired someone who dares to stand out. But I think we might have taken it a step too far with your fashion choices tonight."

His playful jests bring a genuine smile to my lips, momentarily easing the weight of judgment that threatens to crush me. In Harry's company, I feel seen, valued, and cherished—a rare source of warmth and affection amidst the chilly reception of the crowd. "Hush," I chuckle.

Leaning against the bar, I feel the weight of the crowd pressing in around me, their expectations and judgments looming large. Despite the social obligation to mingle, I find myself rooted in place, unwilling to engage.

"This is different," Harry remarks, his voice tinged with boredom and frustration.

"We could certainly make it more interesting," I suggest playfully, leaning in closer to him. "You're making my head spin in that suit," I whisper, my lips brushing against his ear.

Harry chuckles softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Maybe it's because I fit in," he replies, a hint of teasing in his tone.

"Coat closet?" I inquire, my hand resting lightly on his back as I draw nearer to him. "I really want you."

"We are in public."

"Who cares? They don't like me anyway," I shrug, feeling a surge of defiance as I push off the bar and stride away, not bothering to look back as I know Harry will follow.

Weaving through the crowd, I navigate towards a quieter area, my heart racing with anticipation. With a mischievous glint in my eyes, I reach for Harry's hand, our fingers intertwining as we move with purpose.

Finding a secluded coat closet, I pull us both inside, the soft click of the door locking behind us echoing in the enclosed space. With a playful smile dancing on my lips, I turn to face Harry, the air between us charged with anticipation. As our eyes lock, a magnetic pull draws our bodies closer, until there's barely an inch of space separating us.

With a gentle yet firm grasp, Harry pulls me closer, his touch sending shivers down my spine. Our lips meet in a fiery embrace, the kiss igniting a passionate inferno within me. Lost in the heat of the moment, I surrender myself completely to the intoxicating sensation of his lips moving against mine.

Every touch, every caress, sends shivers of pleasure coursing through my body, awakening a hunger I never knew existed.

As we lose ourselves in each other, time seems to stand still, the outside world fading into oblivion. "What are we doing?" he softly asks.

"I'm in a dress, so please, for the love of God, give me your all," I breathe out, "Give me you," I demand, causing him to raise a brow.

"Right here?" He asks, "You sure?"

Sometimes, you have to do what you have to do. There is nowhere else that we will be adorned with privacy.

"Any other time and place we are interrupted, right here, right now," I confirm. "There are no cameras, no staff, no interruptions, fuck it, fuck me."

Harry stands in front of me, blinking owlishly. I sigh and shake my head before moving to the side, my hand reaching for the door we entered from.

He isn't interested.

Abruptly, he seizes me and pushes me against the wall. My back hits the wall as one hand cups my neck and the other rushes to my hip, leaving very little space between us. His lips waste no time with leaving rained kisses on my exposed skin, butterflies in my stomach soaring with every luscious kiss settled to my skin.

He caresses my shoulder and bequeaths a trail of kisses leading to my collarbone, my fevered skin shivering at each moment his raspberry-red lips leave their mark. I tilt my head to the side as he advances to kiss the slender skin column of my neck, producing a meagre exhale to escape my lips.

Finally.

He urges his body closer to mine, and my breath hitches in my throat while he bites my neck mildly, just enough to enthral me. My chest rises up and down, and I sense his breath brushing my skin with every moment that transpires. He takes bold possession of my lips, kissing me vigorously and passionately with his sumptuous, sensuous and velour soft lips that drip with honey. My hands haste to Harry's physique, which deserves to be on statues, chiselled by the greatest artists. My leg encloses around his body to draw him closer, a wild desire and yearning to take power. His hand drifts to cup my boob, my body continuing to advance into his as tongues slip and surge in superfluous movements.

He takes his palm and glides it up to my inner thigh, my dress being of no concern to him. He takes his time, welcoming every inch of my inner thigh that he can, feeling every inch like a map for him to follow. Finally, he discovers the lace beneath my dress, and my palms clutch his shoulders. He glides a finger across the lace, my leg wrapping tighter around him while the other holds me up, keening anticipation humming through my veins.

I draw away from our kiss and let out a breath, my chest rising rapidly as he teases me with extremely light glides across the lace. "How much do you want this?" Harry challenges with a soft voice and a grin on his face. "Because I don't think you want this enough."

"I need you, now," I murmur, my fingers burrowing into his shirt while he brushes his finger over the lace of my underwear.

"You sure?" ... "Tell me how much you need me," Harry instructs, gradually positioning himself on his knees and thoroughly pressing his hand to the back of my thigh.

"Don't do this," I whine as he begins to kiss my skin, slowly making his way up my thigh.

Harry gently squeezes his hand on the back of my inner thigh and leaves a few more sweet kisses on my skin. I tilt my head back, my mouth allowing a small groan to escape as I am enthralled with him getting closer and closer to where I want him.

"I'm still waiting," Harry responds, his breath tapping my skin, driving me crazier.

"Harry, just put me out of my misery and—"I begin, frustrated with him, but my words trail off as he slides the lace to the side, ever so nonchalantly.

"And?" Harry questions, standing back to his feet, his hand pressed to the lace band of my underwear, tampering with my sanity.

"And do what you do best. Why do you make this so fucking frustrating you're—, oh," I trail off the moment he graces me with his presence and slides a finger inside me, shutting me up instantly. I tilt my head back and softly moan.

"Is that what you wanted?" He grins cockily, working his fingers in a circular motion, causing me to want more and more of his breathtaking movements.

"Don't stop."

Delighted with excited anticipation, he slides in another finger, my toes curling within my heeled stilettos, my hand clutching fistfuls of his shirt, my body focusing on the sensation he's dominantly advancing, his fingers twisting in a circular motion. My eyes narrow to half-mast, my head is tilting back, my nails digging into his shirt as he continues to grin. I needed this.

Harry chuckles as I begin to dance my hands along with the band of his pants, hinting at what I want next.

"Gettin' ahead of yourself already," Harry grins, "I'm not done," He continues, catching me off guard as he slows his circular motions and lowers himself back down to his knees. He rides my dress up and grasps the back of my thighs, kissing his way up my thighs. My fingers press his shoulders while my other hand holds my dress. He bites gently on my inner thigh, a small chuckle escaping his lips before I go weak at my knees, enthralled by the motions of his tongue.

His hands squeeze the back of my thigh harder, in turn, my fingers squeeze his shoulders as my legs begin to quiver. I feel the rushing, narcotic power building in my body, "Harry," I moan his name, fighting the power and squirming as he gets closer and closer to finding the exact spot I have been demanding.

I feel the building pressure, the climax coming at me in digging waves, but Harry stops. He stands to his feet, and I go to protest, but I'm stopped the moment he unbuttons his pants, thrilling me further and entering slowly. His hand presses against the wall, and we work together, at first going slow before he gradually inclines his thrusts, my hips moving to work with his.

My eyes roll to half-mast as my residence is broken and my body weakens, entirely falling into him with pleasure.

I catch my breath as he holds me up, my nails removing from their emended position on his shoulders.

I smile at him as my dress falls back to its original length and my leg unwraps from around him. He holds me tighter, my legs shaking even further.

"You okay?" He breathes, pressing me back against the wall while holding me securely.

I nod, "Just for future reference; I'll be getting you back for demanding praise before pleasure."

Harry shrugs as he drops his arm from me and begins to adjust himself and his pants. "You dragged me in here."

"If I had to wait for you to drag me in here, we'd never get anywhere."

"I'm sorry I prefer to pleasure you in complete privacy."

"Up your game, Styles," I smile, adjusting my dress.

Harry rolls his eyes, "I look forward to your revenge, darling." Harry winks as he cocks his head and looks me up and down, "Your quivering legs say you're satisfied."

"Very," I nod, "Next time, it's my turn to pleasure you."

Harry grins and agrees, "Revenge and all." ... "We have to leave before we are caught," Harry whispers, kissing me sweetly and softly, enthralling me further. "or, we could leave and do this again at the hotel?"

"Give me twenty minutes?" I whisper, biting his lip gently before pulling away from him with a giggle.

"20 minutes," he nods, picking up a white jacket off the floor and placing it over one of the racks, "Be ready."

"I'll be waiting," I respond with a grin.

***

I take a sip of champagne, the sweet bubbles doing little to lift the weight of unease settling in my chest, I find myself scanning the room. Amidst the murmurs of conversation and the tinkling of glasses, I search for a familiar set of eyes, a gaze that I can lose myself in, finding solace and reassurance. But as I glance around, there's a palpable absence—a void where that comforting presence should be.

Instead, I feel like a stranger in a sea of faces, an outsider whose presence is tolerated rather than welcomed. Despite the grandeur of the event and the esteemed company surrounding me, there's not a single friendly face to be found. It's as if I'm here merely as a pawn, a prop for the publicity of the charity, my political power being exploited to boost their noble cause.

Beneath the veneer of camaraderie and philanthropy lies a darker truth—a truth that whispers of ulterior motives and hidden agendas. While they may shower me with accolades and praise in public, behind closed doors, I'm little more than a target for their machinations. They seek to use me for their own gain, to elevate themselves at my expense, all while casting me as the laughingstock of their clandestine games.

Amidst the glittering facade of the event, I find myself grappling with the harsh reality of my position—a position of power and influence, yes, but also one fraught with betrayal and manipulation. And as I navigate this treacherous landscape, all I want is one thing: Harry.

The weight of the world bears down on my shoulders, pressing relentlessly until I feel like I might crumble beneath its crushing force. All I want is to release that burden, to let it fall and shatter into irreparable pieces, scattered across the ground where they can never be reassembled. Perhaps in the chaos of shattered fragments, I might find some semblance of peace—a respite from the relentless pressure that threatens to consume me.

Tonight, I've been made the object of ridicule, the subject of whispered conversations that follow me like a shadow amidst the sea of crimson dresses—a sea teeming with vengeance, malice, and envy. My dress has been trampled upon, my path obstructed by subtle yet deliberate shoves disguised as accidents. Yet through it all, I've maintained my composure, standing tall and resolute.

I am the future Queen, and queens do not falter. They do not yield to the sting of humiliation or the ache of betrayal. Instead, they forge ahead with unwavering determination, their gaze fixed firmly on the horizon, their resolve unshakeable in the face of adversity. Unfortunately for me, I'm faking it until I make it.

The room is cold despite the press of many bodies. As I stand isolated amidst the chatter, an usher approaches with a small, polite smile. "Anastasia, here is your coat," he says, handing me a folded item before pocketing the note card with my name. "Wait," I call after him as something feels amiss. I unfurl the garment, and a chill runs through me—it's not my coat, but a white straitjacket, cruelly disguised as courtesy. My heart plummets, confusion and horror swirling within me as I scan the room, trying to discern who might have orchestrated such a vicious joke.

I clutch the straitjacket tightly against my chest, masking it as best as I can. My eyes sting with unshed tears; I need to get out. Moving quickly through the crowd, I push past oblivious guests, each brush a reminder of my urgency to escape. The exit seems agonizingly distant as my focus narrows to those glass doors—my lifeline to fresher air, to a sliver of sanity.

Suddenly, I collide with someone. "Anna?" a familiar voice questions, but I don't stop to acknowledge Niall or his concerned gaze. I can't afford to—every moment here is a moment too long.

The glass doors are nearby yet seem impossibly distant as I fix my gaze on them, relying on their promise of escape to steady my breath. Maybe the air is fresher on the other side, maybe life is kinder there. Suddenly, fingers curl around my wrist, pulling me aside, and the doors vanish from my view. I recognize the touch, and I know whose eyes are searching for mine, but I can't bring myself to look up. "Anastasia," his voice is soothing, like gentle waves caressing the shore, soft and comforting. Unable to hold back any longer, tears overflow, tracking down my face. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing my desperate need for space, for air. I wrench my wrist free with a quiet determination and push through the last few feet separating me from the doors.

I push through the heavy doors, my escape almost thwarted as my dress catches on my heels. I stumble throwing the straitjacket to the floor before quickly regaining my balance, pausing to gather myself and notice the small tear at the hem of my dress. The tears are still evident, cascading uncontrollably down my cheeks like a relentless waterfall. The realization hits me hard—I can't do this anymore. I am the pawn of cruel jokes, a pawn in a game I never wanted to play. I hastily wipe the tears from my cheeks, each swipe of my hand a feeble attempt to erase the humiliation and pain that overwhelm me.

My heel not only ripped my hem but also at the straps of my dress. I notice one small strap is now broken, hanging loosely down my chest. Frantically, I press my hand against the thin material, trying to hold the dress in place and conceal my cleavage. The vulnerability of the moment intensifies my discomfort, adding a physical exposure to the emotional rawness I'm already feeling. Every step becomes a careful calculation, my other hand clutching the fabric to keep myself covered, as I navigate away from the scene with as much dignity as I can muster.

As I take a step forward, I collide with another figure—Harry, who always seems to be just where I least expect him. "Why are you everywhere?" I mutter, frustration and distress mingling with the tears still streaming down my face.

"Oh, Anna," he replies softly, his tone laden with concern and something akin to tenderness, yet all I feel is the crushing weight of humiliation and vulnerability forced upon me back in that room.

I shake my head and step away from him. I don't want him, or anyone else for that matter, to see me cry. I don't want to be seen like this.

As I step outside, the cool night air brushes against my face, sharp and liberating. I pause, allowing the chill to wash away the stifling warmth and turmoil I left behind. The streets here are quieter, the nights embrace a stark contrast to the harsh lights and even harsher stares at the event.

Suddenly, a flash catches me off guard. Before I can react, another burst of light confirms a photographer has caught me in this vulnerable state. As I brace for more, a figure steps in front of me, blocking the subsequent flashes. "Wrong door," Harry mutters with a sigh. "It's okay," he reassures, swiftly draping his jacket over my shoulders and buttoning it up to cover my compromised dress. His quick thinking spares me from further exposure, though he can't shield the tears streaking my makeup or erase the night's indignities.

He turns to face the barrage of flashes, effectively shielding me with his body. Behind his back, his hand seeks mine, fingers intertwining subtly as he guides me through the throng of relentless paparazzi. I keep my head down, relying on his presence to protect me from prying eyes and cameras that are eager to capture every moment of their headlines.

He guides me into a secluded alley before opening a nondescript door. For a moment, I fear we are re-entering the event I'd fled, and I instinctively loosen our intertwined fingers. "I don't want to go back in," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

"We're not going back. We're just waiting for a car," he reassures me, gently pulling me closer to him. He presses me against his chest, his hand cradling the back of my head, soothingly stroking my hair before his grip shifts to the nape of my neck. As tears begin streaming down my cheeks, my quiet crying soon transforms into soft sobs, my tears soaking into his shirt.

"It's okay," he murmurs, his embrace tightening as his other arm wraps around my waist. Though I hadn't intended to let my guard down, the floodgates open—I can no longer hold back my emotions.

The raw, self-doubting thoughts swirl through my mind. "Maybe I'm not cut out for this," I confess, the words thick with despair. "I don't have the mental or emotional strength to deal with being ridiculed, or being handed a straitjacket as if I belong in an asylum." A bitter laugh escapes my lips, tinged with irony. "Maybe I do belong in one, and I don't even realize it."

Tears cascade down my cheeks as I finally muster the courage to lift my eyes to Harry. There's a desperate need in my gaze—a profound longing for reassurance that everything will eventually be alright, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary. In his eyes, I search for a sign, any indication that I can find solace and strength to continue amidst the chaos that has enveloped my life.

"You are not crazy, you're human and you don't need these people's approval for anything. All that this place is known for is the river Seine."

A small chuckle escapes my lips at his attempt to lighten the mood. "It's known for a lot more, I appreciate the gesture though," I reply, grateful for his effort to bring a smile to my face amidst the chaos.

"It's a fashion house, but from what I saw, they seem to have a rather limited colour palette," Harry quips, his tone playful as he nods towards the sea of crimson-clad guests behind the walls.

"And here I thought they were just really committed to a theme," I quip back, a hint of amusement colouring my words.

These feelings of inadequacy and confusion, magnified by the night's harsh events, weigh heavily on me. The public persona I'm forced to maintain feels like a mask that's cracking, revealing the fragile reality beneath.

"I don't want to do this anymore," I whimper, struggling to stop the tears that continue to pour down my cheeks.

"I know, baby, I know," Harry whispers, pulling me back into his chest and holding me tightly.

In his warm embrace, I find a haven from the storm raging within me. In this moment, nothing else matters—not the whispers of the crowd, nor the prying eyes of onlookers. All that exists is the comforting strength of his arms enveloping me, anchoring me to the present and soothing the turmoil in my heart.

As tears stream down my cheeks, his touch becomes a lifeline, guiding me through the tempest of emotions with unwavering tenderness. His whispered words of comfort wash over me like a gentle breeze, offering reassurance and support amid my turmoil.

Sensing my need for a more comfortable space to release my emotions, he gently lowers us both to the ground, cradling me in his arms as I allow myself to fully surrender to the weight of my tears. Here, nestled against his chest, I find solace in the softness of his embrace and the warmth of his presence.

In this moment, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, I find peace. In his arms, I am safe, I am loved, and I am understood, I am home. No matter where we are, he is always my safety net, my home and the person I look for in a crowded room.

After some time and Harry allowing me to cry into him, we make our way to a black car parked at the curb. Harry manoeuvres me ahead of him, opening the passenger door with a protective urgency. I quickly slip inside, and he follows, shutting the door behind us with a reassuring thud. This car isn't part of the official royal fleet or any of the usual rentals—it feels more personal, more private.

As he drapes his arm around me, I release a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and lean into the warmth of his embrace. "The hotel, please," Harry informs the driver.

"How does he know where to go? He wasn't our driver." I ask.

"He knows," Harry responds softly, "How about we crawl into bed, finish watching that series you've been watching and order some room service? I've heard the desserts are delicious." Harry offers in an attempt to lighten the mood and the events of the night.

I nod my head in agreement. I can't think of anything I'd rather do than curl up in bed with him and forget the night and this life I have been thrown into.