The morning arrived in hushed gold.

Sophie stirred slowly, not pulled from sleep by sound or thought, but by warmth. The kind of warmth that didn’t come from blankets or sunlight — but from presence.

Alexander was still asleep beside her, one arm resting loosely across her waist, his face half buried in the pillow, hair slightly tousled. He looked younger like this. Less guarded. Less princely. As though the world had finally stepped back and let him be just a man.

Just hers.

Sophie lay still, studying the ceiling — high, pale wood with beams that gave the room a cathedral quiet. For a long time, she didn’t move....