Harry's POV.

A sudden, urgent knocking jerks me awake. I sit bolt upright, the blankets sliding down to my waist as Matthew storms into the room, flicking on the harsh lights. "Christ," I groan, shielding my eyes from the glaring brightness. "What's going on?" My voice is thick with sleep, puzzled at his intrusion at this ungodly hour.

"Where's Anastasia?" he asks directly.

"In bed?" I reply, my voice muffled as I reach out to feel her side of the bed. "Anna?" Her name slips out as I encounter nothing but cold, empty sheets. Alarm prickles up my spine as I quickly throw off the covers and swing my legs out of bed, facing Matthew with a growing sense of unease. "Anastasia?" I call out again, pushing open the bathroom door and flicking on the light. The room is empty.

I spin around to face Matthew, my confusion turning into worry. "Where is she? What's happening?"

"That's why I'm here. She's supposed to be with you."

"But she was," I insist, memories of her sleeping peacefully next to me an hour ago still vivid in my mind. "Could she have gone to her mother's room?"

Matthew shakes his head. "No, the Queen is asleep, and Oliver has been guarding her door."

Frantically, I grab my phone from the nightstand, dialling Anastasia's number as panic sets in. One, two, three rings... then straight to voicemail. Damn it.

"Get someone to check the cameras. Monitor every room," I command, quickly pulling on a jacket and shoes. I toss my phone to Matthew. "Use the tracking app; it should show her last known location. Might help us find her in this damn palace."

"Harry, she left the palace."

"What?" I stare at him, my heart skipping a beat.

"She left. Her phone has her at a club."

"A club?" I repeat, incredulity mixing with a surge of adrenaline. I shake my head, trying to process this. "What do we do now?"

"You're the head of security," I remind him pointedly. "Why are you asking me?"

"She is your girlfriend—" he starts, and I cut him off with an impatient gesture.

"I want the palace on lockdown. No one in or out without our say-so. You handle the protocols; I'm going to find her," I declare, grabbing my keys, wallet, and pistol from the bedside drawer. "Keep the press out of this, and have half the security team ready to move out. We need to secure the area and find her."

"Should we keep calling her?"

I shake my head. "No. She won't answer."

"Do you think she's spiralling?"

"Possibly," I admit, the thought tightening my chest. "You would be too if you were being handed straight jackets."

It's unlike Anastasia to sneak off like this, especially not through the palace tunnels at night. She's clever and knows them well—well enough to navigate them unseen. The question now is why she left, and what happened to make her take such a drastic step. My worry for her safety grows as we prepare to step out into the night, uncertain of what we might find.

** ** **

The club is a cacophony of flashing neon lights and pulsating beats, a sensory overload assaulting my every sense. The air is thick with the smell of sweat and alcohol, and the crowd moves like a single organism, bodies undulating rhythmically to the thumping bass that seems to echo through the very walls. It's the kind of place that feels alive, each pulse of the strobe lights casting everyone in sharp, surreal relief before plunging them back into shadow. People shout to be heard over the music, their laughter and screams mingling with the sounds of clinking glasses and the occasional clatter of a dropped bottle.

My phone vibrates against my hip, pulling me out of my reverie. I fish it out, hoping it's Anastasia, but it's Matthew instead.

"Go to the bartender and tell him you want a shot of Lavender."

Curious but too tired to question it, I push my way through the throng of club-goers. The heat from their bodies is oppressive, a stark contrast to the cool air that blasts intermittently from somewhere above. Making my way to the bar is a battle, each step forward hard-earned as I dodge elbows and avoid spilling drinks.

Finally, I reach the bar, its surface sticky under my fingers as I signal the bartender. "A shot of Lavender," I tell him over the din.

He nods, understanding immediately, and motions for me to follow him to a quieter part of the bar. He opens a hidden door beside the stacks of glasses and bottles, ushering me into a small, dimly lit room. It's like stepping into another world, the music muffled and distant, the air cooler and less stifling.

"I tried to keep her out of the public eye," he explains as he closes the door behind us. "A few people saw her, but I just told them it was my sister from Manchester."

"Thank you for not publicizing her," I express my gratitude with a nod.

Inside, Anastasia is slumped against the wooden panelling of the room, her heels discarded and her stockings torn. It's a stark image, one that underlines her vulnerability. Despite my rising irritation and concern, I crouch beside her, my anger diffusing at the sight of her distress. "Hey, baby," I whisper, gently pushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "You ready to go home?"

Anastasia shakes her head, a lost look in her eyes. "Where's home? The palace isn't home."

"Sweetheart..." I begin, my heart aching at her tone. She looks at her hands, twisted together in her lap, her voice filled with sorrow. "Home is wherever you make it, sweetheart. Home isn't just four walls. Home is where you are. Let's get you back to the palace and in bed."

"Home is with you," she murmurs, her voice weary. "So many rules and regulations for the new Queen, and nobody stopped to ask how I feel about this." She looks up at me, her eyes sad yet defiant. "For once, I was normal," she adds softly. "Just another drunk girl at the bar chasing tequila with a lime."

I can't help but give a small, knowing smile. "Can you stand up and walk?" I ask.

She nods, and I wrap an arm around her waist, helping her to her feet. She stumbles slightly, gripping me tightly. "Fuckin' hell," I mutter under my breath, holding her close to stabilize her. "How much have you drank?" I ask, concerned by how much she's leaning on me for support

Anna lifts her shoulders into a nonchalant shrug, "Until the card stopped."

"What card?" I curiously ask.

"Yours," Anastasia responds honestly, "Can't use mine, it'll track me."

"Good to know you used my funds instead of the royal funds," I sigh, shaking my head as I guide her away from behind the bar and we use a back exit to avoid the public.

I get Anastasia out the door and we stumble across the stone pavements of a rear alley. I let out a heavy breath as we have a moment to stop. I shrug my jacket off my shoulders and I slide it up her arms, the windchill dancing between us. If she contrived to find a manner to sneak out and go to a bar, I would have thought she had enough sense to at least clasp a jacket of some sort.

I fumble with my phone, managing to dial Matthew with one hand while my other arm securely wraps around Anastasia, who's swaying unsteadily beside me. "She's hammered, can barely keep her feet," I murmur into the phone, asking, "Where's the nearest exit with a car?"

"I am not hammered," Anastasia retorts, her words slurring slightly. She makes a half-hearted attempt to pull away from my grasp. "I want another drink," she declares, eyeing the bar longingly through the dim light of the hidden room.

I tighten my grip on her jacket to keep her close. "Not tonight, love," I tell her gently but firmly.

She huffs, a mix of frustration and disappointment crossing her flushed face. "You're such a bore," she complains, her attempt at indignation falling slightly flat due to her inebriated state.

"You're not the first to tell me that," I reply, managing a chuckle despite the situation. "Probably won't be the last, dear."

"Look, I just want to feel normal for a bit longer," Anastasia pleads, her eyes meeting mine with a desperate glint. "Just one more hour, Harry. Let me have this."

The raw honesty in her voice tugs at my heart. I glance back at the bustling club through the ally doorway—its chaotic allure starkly evident. The pulsating lights, the laughter, and the clinking of glasses all paint a picture of escapism, a temporary sanctuary from the pressures that weigh her down.

I pull the phone away from my ear for a moment, covering the receiver. "Matthew, give us a moment," I say quietly, then focus back on Anastasia. "Anna, this isn't a good idea."

"Neither is our relationship but here we are."

"Alright, thirty minutes," I relent, my words drawing a surprised but pleased smile from her. "But we stick together. Deal?"

"Deal!" she agrees eagerly, her earlier frustration melting into a relieved grin.

"Let's find a quieter spot, though. Somewhere you can still enjoy the night without it spinning out of control," I suggest, leading her back toward the bar but choosing a less crowded corner where we can keep to ourselves and I can keep an eye on her.

Matthew's voice buzzes through the phone again, and I assure him, "We're staying a bit longer. Have a car ready in thirty minutes."

I settle Anastasia into a more secluded booth, ordering her water and a mild cocktail to sate her desire to keep the night going without adding fuel to the fire. I stay close, my presence hopefully enough to remind her of the limits we agreed on, all while allowing her this small escape she seems to need so desperately tonight.

Anastasia's words hang between us, laced with a poignant mix of freedom and resignation. "It's nice not to be a caged bird," she begins, her gaze lost somewhere in the middle distance, a reflective note in her voice. "How bittersweet this will never happen again."

She picks up the lime wedge delicately, her attention briefly caught by the gleam of the tequila shot in front of her. "Oh, God save the queen," she mutters almost humorously, yet the undertone is tinged with sadness. With practised ease, she licks the salt from the rim of the glass, downs the tequila in one smooth motion, and bites into the lime, not even flinching at the sharpness of the flavours.

Anastasia's eyes twinkle with a blend of challenge and playfulness as she holds up another shot of tequila, urging me to join her. I hesitate, shaking my head initially. "I'm working," I remind her, trying to maintain some semblance of responsibility amid the night's abandon.

"No, you're my boyfriend right now, take the shot," she counters firmly, pushing the small glass towards me with a determined nod.

Seeing the determination on her face and feeling the weight of the moment—how important this small act of rebellion is to her—I relent. A shared experience, a mutual stepping away from roles and duties, if only for a second.

I take the shot from her, our fingers brushing briefly. "Just this one," I concede with a small smile, echoing her earlier movements by taking the salt, downing the tequila smoothly, and biting into the lime wedge provided. The sharpness of the liquor cuts through the tension, a brief escape encapsulated in the burn and zest.

Anastasia laughs a genuine sound that fills the air around us with warmth. For a moment, it's just the two of us, not the future queen and her consort, but two people sharing a moment of genuine connection amid the chaos of life that awaits outside the club's pulsating walls. Maybe this is exactly what she needed—to feel seen and joined in her moment of normalcy, no matter how fleeting

Anna looks at me with a mix of curiosity and amusement, her words laced with gentle teasing. "You know, you always seem so stiff and guarded, like you're permanently on security duty. Don't you ever loosen up and have some fun?"

I pause for a moment, considering her point. "I do have fun," I reply defensively. "I play golf."

"And how often does that happen?" she probes further, a playful smile dancing on her lips.

I shrug slightly, acknowledging the rarity of such moments. "Whenever I get some free time. Sometimes a few pals and I manage to catch an early morning tee time."

"Hmm, sounds like it doesn't happen often enough," Anna remarks, her tone light but her eyes conveying a deeper concern for my well-being amidst my responsibilities. "You should play more," Anna says casually, lining up another shot of tequila. Her words are easy, but her actions suggest she's far from done with the night.

"And who would sit and watch you while you do everything a queen isn't supposed to do?" I ask, half-joking, half-serious. It's my job to look out for her, after all.

Anna chuckles, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She lifts her shoulders in a shrug. "Hopefully nobody, that way I'd be left to my own devices."

"Yeah, that sounds like a disaster waiting to happen," I retort, shaking my head slightly. "And I think you've had enough," I add, more firmly this time.

I catch the attention of a waitress passing by and subtly gesture for her to stop serving Anna any more alcohol. "And there we go with you being a bore."

"You are drunk my love," I respond.

"I want to do fun things," Anna sighs.

"Such as?" I curiously question.

"Normal fun things. Like playing golf, going to Coachella, and the Met Gala."

I chuckle, "Only one of those things is normal." I point out, shaking my head humorously.

"The golfing?" Anna cocks her head to the side.

"Well, your everyday normal folk don't go to the Met Gala or Coachella."

Anastasia shrugs her shoulders, "You get my point."

"We need to leave."

"I disagree," Anna shakes her head, mischievously moving closer to me and placing her hand on my thigh, "There are many other things we could do instead of leaving."

Anna's playful defiance brings a brief smile to my face, even as I remain aware of our surroundings and her state. Her hand rests lightly on my thigh, her touch teasing and her tone suggestive.

"I'm sure there are," I acknowledge, my voice low, matching her playful mood but still threaded with concern. "But you're not exactly in the best state to make those decisions right now."

She pouts slightly, a hint of challenge still sparkling in her eyes. "Maybe not," she concedes with a sigh, "but it's not often I get to forget all the rules." Anna shrugs dismissively, a flash of defiance in her eyes. "Eh, Fuck 'em. It's probably better they see me like this than how they're trying to portray me anyway. I overheard Syrus the other day, muttering about how I'm unfit for the crown, questioning my mental capacity for it. And then they hand me the straight jacket in France."

Her words are flippant, but there's an underlying edge of bitterness that tells me how deeply those comments have cut. Anna's laugh has a hollow ring to it as she continues, "Before I know it, he'll be saying I'm insane." She shakes her head slightly, her voice tinged with sarcasm and weariness. "And maybe I am, for thinking that getting drunk is more fun than living another hour of royalty."

The playful facade briefly cracks, revealing the weight of the pressures she's under. I reach out, gently taking her hand, and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You're not insane," I say firmly. "You're just human. Everyone needs an escape now and then. It doesn't make you any less capable or deserving of your future role."

Anna throws her head back with a cackle, "You're insane if you believe the monarchy cares that I am only human," she rolls her eyes, leaning in closer and kissing my cheek— in public— oh, no.

"Anna," I swallow hard as she moves to kiss my neck. "You're in public."

"Thank you for stating the obvious," Anna responds, her breath tapping my skin delicately.

I clear my throat and subtly move away from her warm body, standing to my feet and offering her my hand, "It's time we leave."

Anna cocks her head to the side, refusing to give me her hand, "And where are we going? Because I only have one destination." She winks, giving me her 'Come hither' eyes.

"To the Palace where—"

"Where do I belong?" Anna instantly cuts me off with a heavy huff. Fuck— wrong words. "I want you."

"Right here? Right now?" I question, "That would be indecent exposure." Anna again rolls her eyes, not seeming to care. "Anna, you're drunk and we need to leave."

Anastasia stands abruptly, ignoring my outstretched hand, her voice thick with intoxication. "Doesn't change that I want you—all to myself."

"You have me," I assure her, coaxing a small smile as I guide her toward the club exit.

She shakes her head, stepping into the cool night air. "But I don't have you, not really."

"It's starting to rain," I note, just as the first drops begin to fall, but she barely hears me. "You do," I insist, trying to reassure her, but she's spiralling, lost in a sea of drunken doubts as she turns around from me. I don't blame her— I sometimes find myself swirling around those thoughts, finding them at the bottom of a whiskey glass.

As the rain intensifies, soaking through our clothes, I spin her around to face me. She slams into my chest, her hair plastered to her face, my shirt clinging to my skin. "I don't have you, and if I do it's only in secret," she says, pushing against me with unsteady hands.

I catch her wrists gently, looking into her eyes. "You have me, whether in private or public, in secret or not. I'm at your mercy!" I declare, my voice raised over the sound of the rain pelting around us. I'll do anything for this woman and she just won't see it. She's blind to the love and devotion I truly have for her. I'll do anything for the woman who stands in front of me. Anything.

Anastasia breaks away suddenly, staggering into the downpour. "I don't have you!" she cries out, her voice nearly lost to the sound of the heavy rain.

I chase after her, my heart pounding as I watch her blurred figure moving hazily through the thick sheets of water. "Anastasia, wait!" I call out, but the storm swallows my words.

She's a few feet ahead, and I push harder, the rain pelting me, soaking through my clothes, chilling me to my core. I hate being cold and wet. I finally catch up, grabbing her arm and spinning her around to face me. She collides into my chest with a soft thud, her breath erratic, her eyes wild with emotion.

"Don't force me back to that hell!" Anastasia pleads, her voice cracking as tears mingle with the relentless rain washing over her face.

Pausing to catch my breath, I hold her closer, the urgency in her eyes cutting through the storm's chaos. "Anna, where do you want me to take you?" I ask, my words almost swallowed by the rumble of thunder.

"Home is where you are. I want to be with you," she whispers, her voice desperate, clinging to the moment between us as if it were a lifeline.

"You are with me," I reassure her, my grip tightening, determined to protect her from any more pain.

But she shakes her head, disbelief etched across her features, just as the headlights of an approaching car break through the darkness, casting long shadows on the wet pavement. The light illuminates her face, highlighting her turmoil and the raw emotion in her eyes.

Anastasia's eyes are tormented pools reflecting the storm above us as she wrestles with the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. The rain is relentless, soaking us, and her trembling hands clutch at my shirt as if trying to anchor herself in the tempest.

"I can't," she sobs, her voice breaking over the roar of the rain. "You say I have you, but every moment hides a shadow, every whisper a doubt! How can this be real when everything feels like a secret?"

Who'd have thought: that drunk Anastasia could be poetic?

Her plea cuts deep, her desperation manifesting in the raw edge of her voice and the frantic grip of her fingers. I pull her closer.

"Listen to me, Anastasia," I implore, my words fierce with my own raw emotion. "This—us—it's the realest thing I've ever known. You're not just a part of my life; you are my life. So listen carefully when I tell you: You have me without any doubts, this is real and it's okay to allow it."

Tears mix with the rain on her cheeks, her gaze searching mine for the assurance her heart desperately needs. "But if it's real, why does it hurt so much?" she whispers, her voice barely audible against the clamour of the storm.

"Because the most real things do hurt," I admit, pressing my forehead against hers, sharing in the storm's assault, in the vulnerability of this moment. "They hurt because they matter, Anastasia. And you matter more to me than anything..." ... "I told you I'd burn the monarchy down for you— I'll do anything for you."

Finally, she nods, her body yielding against mine as the barriers between us wash away with the rain. A black car stops beside us, Matthew stepping out holding an umbrella as he ushers us both into the warmth of the car.

I slump in the back seat of the car, my clothes clinging to my skin, soaked from the rain. The pattering of the rain against the car windows mirrors the turmoil inside me. Sometimes, I feel like I'm falling—plunging into a deep abyss of emotions and troubled waters I'm not sure how to navigate. I love this woman with every fibre of my being, and although I told Anna that it hurts because it matters, a part of me wonders—am I wrong? Should love hurt this much?

I can't deny the pain—it's there, deep and gnawing. It hurts knowing I might never fully fit into the world she wants me in, that our love must hide in the shadows even though we guard it so tenderly. It hurts to see Anna, so full of life, break down over a situation that promises so much yet offers so little to those who hold it closest.

I envisioned love as a gentle, seamless current, akin to a warm summer breeze caressing the ocean shore. It should feel comforting, imbued with peace and surrounded by the serenity of crystal-clear waters lapping at your feet. Love ought to be like seagulls soaring high with wings outstretched, and like jubilant children sculpting sandcastles with gleeful abandon. Yet, sometimes, love morphs into something more tumultuous; the waters turn fierce, the seagulls find their wings clipped—not caged but restricted—and the sandcastles crumble to mere piles of sand, remnants of what was once a splendid creation now washed away. What starts as something beautiful can, at times, crumble and fall into nothing.

*** ***

The security chambers have taken most of my attention, in a way, it has been a way to escape and take a minute to breathe and compose my thoughts and feelings. The raging storm outside seems to mimic the raging storm inside the palace.

I glance over towards the cameras, making sure nothing strange is happening. The workers are doing their duties and bustling around the palace and from what I can see, Anastasia is still in her room.

I tap my fingers against the desk and cock my head to the side, the sudden realization of things jostling me.

The door to the chambers opens and I glare towards the door but I instantly adjust my stare as Matthew walks in with a well-dressed woman who walks with power and authority.

"You're busy, I see," the woman smiles and I close my laptop before standing to my feet to greet her.

"I am, Prime Minister, and what do I owe this visit?" I offer her my hand to shake. This woman gets on my nerves.

"We need to talk, it is the protocol, considering the events of things." She trails off, referencing only God knows what.

Matthew clears his throat and looks at me, "Harry, I will be heading to Anna's room if you need me," Matthew informs me, his eyes glancing down to his left wrist at his watch, a small indication for me to make this a prompt visit and conversation.

I nod my head, "Please, get her to eat something, it is noon and she hasn't gotten out of bed."

"I will do my best," Matthew responds before exiting the chambers, leaving me with the Prime Minister who I don't desire to be left alone with.

"Before I have to talk to you about your protocol, I have a question, if I may?" I softly ask, doing my best not to sound like a dick.

She nods her head, permitting me to continue, "Why do you always show up at the most inconvenient time?" I question.

Pippa chuckles and shrugs her shoulders, "Same reason you act like we have never seen each other outside of these walls."

"I mean," I begin, "I was drunk, so I don't consider it a night to remember."

I bend my head, deciding now isn't the time to ask more questions, I need to get back to working and figuring things out. "What are you here for?" I challenge.

"We need to discuss the King."

I immediately shake my head, not desiring to discuss the King. I don't trust Pippa. "All due respect, but no." My words are straight to the point and blunt.

"Okay, don't say I didn't try to warn you," she hums, beginning to walk away.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, no." Pippa shakes her head, "You are busy."

"Pippa," I sigh, "Don't play games."

Pippa wearily sighs, almost as if I am inconveniencing her. "Do you think she's fit to be Queen? Have you seen the papers?" Pippa reveals to me her phone that has the headlines of Anastasia's drunken night out at the bar.

I stare at the screen and mentally roll my eyes. Once Pippa leaves, I'll be making sure to communicate with my sister before calculating a means to shine things in a better light. Perhaps I'll release to the journalists that Anastasia has a doppelgänger, I don't know, I will have to get creative to hide Anna's drunken antics.

I have seen the headlines and the papers, but that doesn't define Anastasia. Anastasia is not what the media writes about her, Anastasia isn't defined by what the people think or say.

"She is the best one for the throne. You know this."

"Do I?"

"Would you get to the point?"

"When her father abdicates, Syrus is going to have a field day with Anna." ... "Harry, she doesn't want to be Queen. She never has wanted this. She wants to abolish the monarchy, she isn't fit to be Queen at the moment. Syrus will play on that."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Pippa gives a nonchalant shrug, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "I see what's on the horizon," she says coyly. "Consider yourself forewarned."

"That's cryptic," I remark, unamused by her vagueness.

"Oh, a little charm might loosen my lips," she suggests with a playful wink. "Perhaps we could continue this conversation in a more private setting?"

I narrow my eyes, uninterested in her game. "Or, you could show yourself out and leave me in peace," I retort firmly.

Pippa's smile widens as she steps closer, her red nails tracing a line down my white button-down shirt. "Oh, but baby, what fun would that be?" she purrs, her fingers deftly flicking open one of my buttons. "Nobody's down here, we could..." Her voice trails off, replaced by a mischievous grin.

I meet her advance with a sarcastic smile, nodding. "We could continue your little game," I say, my hands gently grasping her wrist and guiding it away from my shirt, "But I'm not interested."

"Oh, why?" She teases, her voice a playful taunt. "The palace staff all say you're single."

I chuckle lightly, shaking my head. "The staff also place bets on who can eat the most scones at tea time, so I wouldn't put much stock in what they say."

"So, you're not single?" She raises an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

"That's none of your business," I reply firmly, setting clear boundaries in our interaction.

"I will be in touch soon, will you be escorting me out?" Pippa asks and I shake my head.

"I cannot, Oliver will escort you out, he is at the door, I will let you out," I inform her, walking towards the steel door and swiping my card through the system to open it.

"Oliver," I seize his attention and he walks closer to me, "Please escort the Prime Minister safely to the car in waiting, when you are done, you will come back," I command Oliver intently before descending back into the security room and closing the door, more than delighted to have a few more minutes to myself to recompose the thoughts that are racing through me.

Later That Night.

I unlock the door to Anastasia's bedroom and am taken aback to find her propped up in bed, her back against the headboard, completely absorbed in a book.

Quietly closing the door behind me, I proceed into the room, busying myself with removing my watch and emptying my pockets. Anastasia doesn't look up, her gaze fixed firmly on her reading.

"You know, most people say hello when someone walks into the room," I chuckle, drawing her attention away from the pages.

"I'm sorry, I was—" she begins.

"In another world," I interject with a laugh, "It's all good," I reassure her. "Haven't heard much from you today, how are you doing? Besides recovering from last night's tequila."

"It feels like I'm living The Life of Saint Barbara," Anastasia says, gesturing broadly before tossing her book aside.

I pause, puzzled by her reference, "I'm not following. Who's Barbara?"

Rolling her eyes, Anastasia explains, "Her father locked her in a tower to keep her isolated and away from any suitors, and she was eventually executed for her faith."

"Oh," I exhale, "Feeling a bit like Rapunzel, are you?" I attempt to keep a straight face; the comparison seems a bit much.

She shrugs nonchalantly, "Something like that."

I can't help but chuckle. "Lucky for you, you can't just let down your hair for men to climb up here." I glance around the room. "Besides, you know you're free to leave your room."

"And do what? Wander the palace grounds?" she retorts. "You've got the place on lockdown."

"Well," I admit, "you disappearing didn't exactly help."

"You're making it sound like I should keep drinking," she half-jokes. "You also gave me permission."

"Only after I found you and could keep an eye on things," I point out. "You wanted a bit of normalcy, so I relaxed the rules to give you a few more moments to enjoy." I pause for a moment. "Comparing yourself to a beheaded saint might be stretching it a bit," I comment.

She shrugs again, "Maybe I am a bit dramatic."

My gaze drifts to where the tea cart usually stands, equipped with coffee, tea, and sometimes a little something stronger. "Where's the tea... and the alcohol?"

"They were removed—just in case I tried to escape. No alcohol is allowed in here anymore. The lady's maids took everything away."

I raise a brow and take my phone out of my pants pocket, my fingers swift to unlock my phone but I look towards Anna, "How do I signal for your lady's maid at this hour?" I question, unsure of how to contact them without physically walking to find one.

Anastasia points to a button on the wall next to her bed, and I raise an eyebrow, "Isn't that supposed to be for emergencies?"

"No, that one summons the staff; the red button is for emergencies."

"I'm aware of the red one," I reply curtly. "Go ahead and press it, call your staff up here," I suggest, shifting my attention back to my phone.

She presses the button and then looks at me quietly. "I've talked to Pippa."

"I'm aware," she acknowledges.

Before she can continue, there are two soft knocks at the door, and a lady-in-waiting enters with a polite smile. "Your majesty," she says, positioning her hands in front of her, ready for instructions.

"Hello," Anna greets her. "He asked for you, not me." She gestures toward me.

"I'd appreciate it if you could bring back the tea and whiskey that were previously here, along with any other items that have been removed," I request with a friendly smile.

"Sir, I'm not permitted to serve alcohol to the Princess."

"It's not for her," I clarify, "It's for me. I've had a rather taxing day and could use a strong drink. She isn't too be treated like a caged animal, bring her what was taken."

"Of course, sir, I'll bring it right up," the lady responds promptly, exiting the room.

Turning back to Anna, I ask, "What prompted you to go to a bar and drink?"

Anna falls silent for a moment, her shoulders lifting in a hesitant shrug—a behaviour uncharacteristic of her usual openness. "Anna? What happened?"

"Pippa threatened to expose our relationship if I didn't comply."

"She set you up?"

Anna nods. "I think someone is pressuring her to push me into acting out of character."

"What leads you to believe that?"

After a moment of silence, Anna exhales deeply. "I overheard Syrus berating her earlier in the tunnels." ... "Can we just go to bed?" Anna dismisses the conversion, not giving me much of an option when it comes to discussing things further

I take a breath as a woman knocks on the door, stepping in and handing me a glass of whiskey, "As you like it," she smiles before placing a bottle of whiskey on the cart.

I nod, "Thank you," I watch as she walks out of the quarters, and I take a sip of my drink. "Anna," I grapes her attention as she pulls at the covers and wiggles amongst the sheets of the bed. "We can't just ignore everything."

"I'm not." She responds, "I don't want to be a part of this world anymore, but I have no choice and it's only going to drag you down. So, I don't want to talk about any of this at the moment. Can we pick it up in the morning?" Anna offers, another sip of whiskey gracing my lips and I nod.

All I can do at the moment is nod— I'm going to be dragged down but I am not going to give up without a fight