I fumble with the car keys, my hands trembling with anger. Finally, I manage to unlock the car and with a burst of frustration, I throw my jacket into the backseat. The sound of the jacket hitting the leather echoes in the tense silence.

The anger boils inside me as I try to make sense of what just happened. How could the king be so reckless?

As I lean on the car with my arms crossed, I can feel the weight of the betrayal. The king's words echo in my mind, but they only fuel my frustration. I can't believe he would bet his daughter in a poker game. It's unfathomable. I can't believe he would do business with a shady diplomat that is on a watch list.

I shake my head, unable to comprehend the king's motives. This monarchy has more secrets and ties than I ever imagined. But that doesn't excuse his actions. He had a choice, and he chose to sacrifice his daughter for the sake of power.

I turn to walk to the driver's side of the car, and a voice inside me whispers a warning. This monarchy is more dangerous than I thought. I stop as I see the King walking towards me.

"What the hell were you thinking in there?" I raise my voice slightly, leaning on the car with my arms crossed over my chest.

"You don't understand." He says.

"You're right. I don't understand how you could bet your fucking daughter in a poker game with a four-of-a-kind. Is that all she's worth to you?" ... "With that piece of shit of all people?"

"This monarchy has more bitter secrets and ties than you'd realize. I had no choice."

"Bullshit," I shake my head, "You had a choice and you roped me into fixing your mess. You knew from the moment I sat down that the man wasn't going to leave with his life and that was your plan."

He doesn't say a word.

"Don't use your daughter as a porn in your game," I mutter.

"I can't allow the monarchy to end with her, I can't allow the wrong people to get a hold of the power she will possess. I have to have a safeguard to keep the monarchy ruling."

"Shady poker games aren't the way to stop that, and neither is your family," I comment, "If you can't handle your diplomats, dismiss them. I can't keep doing your dirty work for you." ... "Don't ever put me or any of the others in this position again."

"There are political complexities and delicate international relationships. These diplomats have powerful allies and connections that make it challenging for me to remove them without causing significant repercussions. You know how this works!"

I give the King a cold stare, my voice filled with anger. "I don't want to hear it. You fucked up, you're a fuck up of a king." ... "You don't play games with men like that, you moron."

He responds with a dismissive tone, "You're fired."

I scoff at his words, looking him straight in the eye. "No, I quit, asshole. Sort out your mess with parliament and diplomats, and stop fucking Pippa," I mutter under my breath.

As my phone vibrates in my pocket, I gesture towards Matthew who's walking out of the underground area. "Anna is calling. Your best bet is to tag along with Matthew because you won't make it home sitting in my car," I say, making it clear that I won't be swayed by the King's attempts to condone his actions. I don't want him in my car. I want to strangle him with my bare hands— I just might.

I swiftly grab my phone and answer the call, mustering a smile in my voice. "Hey there, sweetheart," I greet, my tone laced with a hint of annoyance that I'm trying to conceal. Deep down, I'm still reeling from tonight's events, but I don't want to burden her with them. She does not know what is happening.

"Hi," her voice travels through the phone softly, "I thought you'd at least be on the plane by now?"

She's starting to be more intent with asking questions and keeping tabs on me now that I seem to be flying around a lot more. I don't blame her for being curious, after all, the monarchy is a snake pit and I'm sure she thinks I'm one of the snakes.

"I'm sorry, things went over time."

"What happened?"

I grow withdrawn for a moment and clear my throat. I don't want to tell her, but I don't want to lie. "Don't worry about it. I'm getting in the car now," I inform her, sliding into the car and taking a breath. Your Dad fired me," I chuckle, somewhat finding it amusing as Louis steps closer to the car.

"I was told to ride with you," he informs me. And you forgot your friends," he reminds me of the men's lives I spared. Matthew is going to put them in his back seat, and the King—he isn't happy."

I heavily sigh, "I'll deal with that later." ..."Anna, we are about to drive to the airport. I'll be home soon." I politely end the phone call as Alaric gestures for me to give him attention as he walks back towards me.

"What do you want now?" I question harshly, crossing my arms over my chest.

"So, you're married?" Alaric questions.

"It would appear," I respond, keeping my eyes focused on him, looking for any hint of irritation.

"You know marrying a commoner doesn't automatically secure the crown. It can create more challenges and opposition from those who believe in maintaining a strict royal bloodline. Anna's marriage to a commoner would likely face resistance and scrutiny from the royal court and the public?"

"We didn't get married for the throne." I mutter, "Why does everyone assume everything has to do with the fucking crown?"

Is it really that hard-pressed to believe that we would get married for purposes other than the fucking crown?

The crown means jackshit to me, it is just another thing that is on my shoulders.

"Because it usually does," Louis pipes up, "I don't think this is what her father meant when he said he needed her married." Louis gestures towards Alaric, and I sideeye him.

"I don't think he has any right to comment considering he tried to bet her in a poker game, Louis. The crown isn't of my concern right now," I respond, shaking my head. "Let's just drop it." I end the conversation bluntly.

This is not how my night was meant to go.

"We aren't married," I inform them, "But it is good to know if we were married it would be warmly welcomed," I sarcastically respond.

"If we are done talking about Anna and this godforsaken crown, I have to get to the airport," I dismiss Alaric, getting in the car and closing the door.

I reach for my phone and speed dial five. The phone rings a couple of times before a familiar voice answers, a voice that is soothing yet at the same time painful. "This is either really good news or really bad," the woman on the other end chimes, "And considering it is at this hour, I assume it is bad."

"Have someone meet me at the airport. I'm thirty minutes out. I have two things that you might want."

"I can't just send someone out because of a might want object."

"Send someone, please. I would like to get this over with so I can go home."

"What is it?"

"Ophelia," I sigh, "I am not in much of a good mood, trust me when I say you want to send someone to get them. I know you have someone available. You can thank me later," I inform her, promptly hanging up my phone, and focusing on the drive to the airport.

***

The cold bites at my fingers through the steering wheel as I ease the car onto the tarmac. The heater hums, but it's no match for the damp chill that seeps through the windows. Patches of fog roll across the ground, curling around the tires and swallowing the edges of the road. The blue and yellow lights along the path blink faintly through the haze, just enough to guide me forward.

The air is eerily still, broken only by the low rumble of the engine and the distant murmur of airport activity. Headlights cut through the mist, catching the occasional glint of wet asphalt. Shadows of grounded planes loom in and out of view, their hulking forms ghostly and silent.

Finally, the private jet comes into view, its sleek shape glowing under the soft beams of overhead lights. I slow down, steering closer. The tires crunch softly against the damp ground as I park beside it. For a moment, I sit in the quiet, the world around me muffled by the fog. My breath clouds the glass, and the stillness feels heavy, almost expectant.

"I'm a prince and don't have access to any of this," Louis points out, "How the fuck do you?"

"Stay in the car with these two dipshits," I instruct Louis.

"I don't have anything to defend myself," Louis' eyes grow wide, "I'm a prince, not a fucking hostage sitter."

I roll my eyes and look into the back seat at the two men, Matthew's handcuffs on each of their wrists, "Louis, pal, I know you were in the military and have the training, you can handle these two," I respond, placing a pistol in his lap before getting out of the car and closing the door, my jacket in my hands.

I slide my jacket up my arms, pulling it around my body as I walk towards two men who are leaning against a blacked-out SUV. The light shines perfectly on the men, their features radiating. I softly smile as I meet my Father's green eyes, "Who'd have thought I would be meeting you at this hour," he chuckles, pulling me in for a brief hug.

Oh, how I have needed this.

It has been a while since we've been in the same vicinity and even longer since I've managed a hug. I've missed this, deeply. Part of me doesn't want to pull away. For the first time in a long time, I feel calm.

"Who'd have thought Ophelia would have sent you," my lips curve into a smile. I truly didn't expect Ophelia to send my Father. "Two men are in the back seat, Matthew cuffed them. They were working with the diplomat you have been watching." I inform my Father, and he gestures for the other man to head to the car to retrieve them. The man's footsteps echo against the wet pavement and my Father turns his attention back towards me.

"Where's the diplomat?" My father asks.

I lift my shoulders into a shrug, "Mmm, I don't think it's necessary we talk about that."

He raises a brow, "I take it as he was handled?"

"You could say that." I respond, "Once again, I did your job for you," I joke, winking at him halfheartedly. "I have to go before everyone starts asking questions."

"Just five minutes?" He offers.

I frown for a moment, wrapping my jacket tighter around me, "You know we aren't allowed."

"You're not allowed to be with Anna and you still are," he points out, causing me to chuckle as he smiles. "I'll take the downfall, I promise. Your secret is safe with me."

I nod my head, "You need to call my sister."

The choices my father has made for his career have impacted my sister more than anything.

"I know," he agrees, "I finish this assignment in two weeks, I'll come home for a little while."

"Enough of work, heard you're with Anastasia."

"That seems to be the common consensus everyone's realizing tonight."

My Father shrugs his shoulders, "Heard you want to marry her?"

I nod my head. My mother probably told him.

"You know they're not happy about it."

I shrug my shoulders, "They can get over it. I am tired of this bullshit and running in fucking circles."

My Father chuckles, "They aren't clearing you just yet. Are you going to come back?"

I shake my head, "I don't plan to." ... "I don't care whether they allow it. We both know they are never on board with anything unless it suits them. Give it a few weeks and they will force me into something new"

"We better split ways. Say hi to your sister for me."

I nod my head, both of us going for a warm hug before I step away from him, allowing him to force the men up the stairs to the plane.

***

Anna's pov

I don't know what's wrong with me. I feel—trapped, I guess. My life's a manuscript someone else wrote, and I'm just flipping through the pages, pretending I know how it ends— pretending I'm okay with the ending. But I don't. And maybe that's the problem. Maybe I don't want to know. I want to change something—everything—but I don't even know what.

Maybe I'm insane for feeling the way I do. Hell, I'm probably insane for thinking a Queen can have a relationship with a commoner who is also part of the security team. But I've floated that dream for a while, perhaps the rest will come together.

I glance over at my perfectly monogrammed suitcase and raise my brow, the idea of packing some clothes and running away from this lavish lifestyle glistens in my eyes. But what am I truly running away from? The monarchy? Myself?

There's no denying the outcome— I will be Queen.

I stop pacing and notice Harry. He's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me with that steady patience I sometimes resent because I can't seem to find it in myself. I used to be the more patient kind, the one who had logical reasoning and now I couldn't find a logical reasoning if it hit me in the face.

"Say something," I blurt out as if he can hear my thoughts.

He doesn't. Not right away. Instead, he tilts his head, like he's waiting for me to keep going—like he knows there's more. And there is more, but the words tangle in my throat, and I suddenly feel foolish. Have I been talking out loud?

"Anna," he says finally, soft and careful, like I might break. "You don't have to figure it all out right now."

But that's just it. I do. Because the crown is coming whether I'm ready or not, and no matter how many times I try to rewrite the story in my head, it always ends the same. My father, Syrus and this monarchy are all playing a game I don't want to be a pawn in.

"Don't stop on my account," Harry says softly, his voice cutting through the silence. "You can figure it all out if you'd like. But I don't think pacing around at three in the morning is going to do it." He pauses, studying me with that sharp, knowing look that always makes me feel like he sees too much. "And from the look in your eyes, you're either about to pack that bag and disappear or completely snap."

I shrug, trying to keep my voice light even though my chest feels tight. "Both?" I say, but it comes out more like a question, and I hate how uncertain I sound.

Harry exhales, the sound heavy in the quiet room, then slips his hand into his pocket. A second later, he pulls out a set of keys and holds them up. "Come on." He nods toward the door like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I blink at him. "You want to leave? Now?" My voice rises slightly, part disbelief, part hope.

He doesn't answer right away, just gives me that look again—the one that makes me feel like maybe I'm not as invisible as I think I am.

"Am I even allowed to?" I add, my tone turning sharp, bitter. "God forbid I step outside these walls." The words hang there, heavy and sour, and I glance away, already regretting them. But I don't take them back. Because most days, I despise this place. And he knows it.

"You can either come with me or be bitter, your choice," Harry responds, stepping into the hallway and out of sight.

I decide to follow him through the warm and quiet palace and he leads me out a side door where a few black cars are parked perfectly in a row. His finger presses a button on his keyfob and a set of headlights flash. "Huh, so you finally decided to drive your Audi?" I question as I walk closer to his car.

"It's on rare occasions I have a few minutes to drive it. Get in." He signals, opening the door to his car for me.

"Isn't an alarm going to sound that I have left the prison?"

Harry rolls his eyes, "Can we keep the sarcasm to a minimum? I haven't slept in twenty-four hours."

"I don't think you should be driving then," I point out as I take a seat. He doesn't respond, instead he sighs and closes the door.

I hear the sound of paper crumbling and I look down to see a white paper. I clasp the crumbled paper with my hands and bring it into view.

I look down at the paper, and frown for a moment— confusion knocking at my senses. Rent?

I glance over at Harry as he turns the ignition on, "Snooping, are we?" He asks nonchalantly.

"You have a house in the U.S.?"

"It's an apartment," he responds, taking the paper from my hands.

"I uh— well..." I trail off, "I know I'm just your secret girlfriend but why didn't you tell me?"

"You're not just my girlfriend and we are a secret because of you, darling," he promptly begins. "It never really came up in conversation."

"Five thousand dollar a month rent doesn't rattle your brain sometimes?"

Harry shrugs, "No, not really."

"Why do you have it? Is it an investment property?"

Harry sighs and again shrugs, "My father and I split the apartment. He does a lot of business in DC."

"I thought he was a businessman? And why would you need it?"

"He is, he does it internationally. I use it when I fly in and out of the U.S. without you."

"Mhm," I hum, "Again with secrets."

"Again with this conversation that's never going to settle," Harry murmurs— he has a point, perhaps this will never settle— perhaps I will never fully trust him.

"Is there another girl?" I softly ask, "I guess it would explain the rent," I gesture towards the paper, "The constant leaving and flying to random places."

Is this what it has come to?

"Oh, this is not what I had hoped for after tonight's events." ... "No, there is nobody else. I can barely keep up with one girl let alone multiple."

Do I trust him or do I trust the idea of him?

Before I can speak, his phone vibrates and he answers his phone at this odd hour— And then he wonders why I question if there is someone else.

"What do you want?" Harry mutters quietly, his eyes focused on the road.

There's a moment of silence as I heavily sigh and stare at the man I love but who seems to be someone I can't read.

"Read me in," Harry sighs... "Actually," he begins, "I'm busy right now, I'll call you when I'm home I have something else that takes priority." He ends the phone call swiftly. Harry takes a breath, "Anna," he begins. "If you want a ring from me like you say you do, you're going to have to trust me, and I know trust isn't something we just hand out, but I'm on your side. If you want to get married I need you to trust me, even when I'm travelling you're going to have to trust me."

"You're asking for blind trust," I respond, unsure of what I'm supposed to do at this point.

Harry nods, "Perhaps, but if you want to survive this monarch and you want a marriage as much as you say you do, you'll trust me and you won't make it any harder than it needs to be." ... "I can only do so much to protect you and give you what you want." ... "It'll make sense, one day."

"Blind trust is easier said than done," I point out before the conversation goes silently.

***

"Where exactly are we?" I ask softly as Harry parks the car. After only a few turns, I'd stopped paying attention, letting the quiet streets lull me into a haze. I have no idea how long we've been driving.

"Just a quiet spot I come to when I need to clear my head," he says, shutting off the engine.

I glance over at him, his tired eyes meeting mine. He looks worn out, yet here he is—awake, present. "You're exhausted," I point out, tilting my head. "Why are you still here with me?"

Harry smirks, leaning back in his seat. "Sometimes—and I mean sometimes," he says with a wink, "you're more important than sleep or whatever else is on my schedule."

I smile despite myself. "I'm glad it's only sometimes."

His grin softens, and for a moment, he looks more serious. "I know life gets crazy. We get caught up in everything, and I don't always show up the way you need me to. But I can tell when you need me to stop and listen—to really listen. So here I am. Dead tired, but still hopelessly in love with you, ready to hear whatever it is that's keeping you up at this ungodly hour."

He's sweet when he wants to be. Not usually this soft, especially not at three in the morning. After a day like his—whatever that entailed—he's usually grumpy, short-tempered, and craving sleep. But right now, he's calm. Collected. And it throws me off. What happened for him to be calm and collected?

I sigh, leaning my head back against the seat. "It's the same old story," I murmur. "Same plot, same ending. Nothing ever changes."

Harry turns to face me. "Well," he says, voice steady, "stories are meant to be told more than once. So go ahead—tell me what's on your mind."

I hesitate, my fingers fidgeting in my lap. The truth is, I don't think anyone wants to know what's on my mind. I don't even want to know. A penny for my thoughts feels like an unfair trade—too heavy a weight for something so small. But still, I can feel the words pressing, begging to be let out.

Do I want to trade my thoughts for a penny?

"I'd give you my heart if you needed it. Would you do the same?" I ask, my voice quieter than I intended.

Harry exhales, almost like he's bracing himself. "Is this a poetic thing?" ... "Have you been drinking?"

"Answer the question."

"You already know my answer," he says, meeting my eyes.

"Why would you?"

He hesitates, then leans back, his fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel. "Fine, I'll play into this for a second. Because I love you," he says simply. "And even though my life might be a little less chaotic without you in it, it'd be dull—empty. Waking up beside you, when I can make it happen, is still the best part of my day."

I let out a soft, hollow laugh. "Sometimes I don't know what all this agony is for," I murmur. "It feels redundant—pointless. I question my sanity daily for putting up with it. And I question yours."

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Why mine?"

"Because you haven't left." My voice catches, and I hate the way it makes me sound. "You're still here, living through this ridiculous monarchy tale with me. Nobody in their right mind would do this."

He shrugs like it's simple. "I've done harder things in my life."

I don't respond right away. My thoughts are too tangled, too heavy. I stare out the windshield, watching the darkened streetlights blur as I blink. "I never thought my life would be like this," I whisper.

"How'd you think it would be?"

I hesitate, swallowing hard before answering. "I don't know," I admit, and it feels heavier than it should. "I thought by now the transition to the throne would be easier. I thought the rules would be less complicated—less suffocating. I thought I'd be allowed to love freely, have a kid if I wanted one, and make my own choices." I shake my head. "I never thought it would feel this hard. Or this lonely."

"Anna..." Harry's voice softens, but there's a nervous edge to it. "Please tell me this isn't leading to some kind of revelation that you want a baby right now, because I can't do that—I can't add that to my plate."

"No," I say quickly, rolling my eyes even though it's half-hearted. "You missed the point entirely."

"Oh, no. I'm just crossing the big one off the list first," he says with a slight grin, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I can't fill that hole you're feeling with a baby."

I don't smile back. My chest feels too tight, too heavy. "I feel like I'm holding up this crown," I murmur, "but at what cost? I'm not even sure who I am anymore without it." I pause, but he doesn't interrupt, and I keep going. "You're being vague and hiding things. Syrus is out there, waiting—always waiting. Watching me, testing me. And I can't help but think this is all a game I'll never win." My voice cracks, and I hate how small I sound. "A game I was never even meant to play."

Harry doesn't say anything right away. He just looks at me, and for once, his calmness doesn't ground me. It terrifies me. Because no matter how much I love him, even he can't fix this. And maybe—just maybe—no one can.