That night, the palace finally fell into something that almost resembled peace. The letters were sealed, the gifts boxed, the ribbons tied, and Rowan had not collapsed face-first into parchment - which counted as a win.
The three sisters retreated to Anastasia's room, as they always did on stressful days. Which is everyday. Someone probably Cinderella had smuggled biscuits from the kitchen, and someone else definitely Anastasia had stolen a small bottle of wine.
"So?" Anastasia demanded the moment Drizella sat on the bed. "Explain yourself."
Cinderella added, with polite menace, "Yes. Be detailed."
Drizella sipped her wine like a lady with nothing to hide. "I confessed. He accepted. We are courting. It was extremely romantic and I was brilliant."
Anastasia nearly choked on her biscuit.
"You confessed in the middle of work?"
"Yes."
"With people listening?"
"Eventually."
Cinderella gasped. "Drizzy! That is bold!"
Drizella tilted her chin proudly. "Bold is effective."
Anastasia dragged both hands over her face. "I am going to die. You're going to marry before me at this rate."
Cinderella nudged Anastasia with her shoulder. "You say that as if you're the sensible one."
"I am the sensible one," Anastasia protested.
Drizella snorted so hard she nearly spilled wine. "You once tried to bribe fate with pastries."
"That was strategy," Anastasia argued.
"It was pathetic," Cinderella corrected, gently and lovingly.
The room dissolved into giggles - the tired, unsteady kind that came after a long day when laughter was the only cure.
Eventually, Cinderella leaned closer, curiosity sparkling. "So how did Rowan react after you confessed?"
Drizella smirked. "He turned red. He also said yes. I am irresistible."
Anastasia pressed a pillow over her face. "Stop being happy out loud."
"But I am happy," Drizella said, and there was no teasing there - only truth, soft and warm.
The pillow lowered. Anastasia stared at her sister, suddenly quiet. "Are you scared?"
Drizella-surprisingly-thought about it. "Yes. But I am more scared of not trying."
Cinderella's smile gentled as she glanced from Drizella to Anastasia. "See? Foolish and brave makes life better."
Anastasia opened her mouth to argue-something about logic, and future, and chaos-but no words formed.
Cinderella poked her arm lightly. "You should be like Drizzy, Anne."
Anastasia froze; even Drizella paused mid-sip.
Cinderella didn't elaborate-she didn't need to.
Anastasia looked down at her hands, cheeks warm, heart louder than she wanted.
For once, she did not deny, and she did not explain.
She simply stayed quiet.
It was close to midnight when footsteps echoed softly outside the sisters' rooms. Candlelight flickered in the hall, long shadows stretching over marble. Drizella had just finished brushing her hair when Anastasia peeked out of the door.
"Rowan's here," she whispered, eyes wide as if announcing a dragon.
Drizella's heart skipped, punched, then leaped somewhere wildly unhelpful.
"What does he want at this hour?"
"Maybe to propose marriage," Anastasia whispered dramatically.
Cinderella pushed her back inside. "Go. Before Anne ruins it with theories."
Drizella smoothed her dress - for absolutely no reason, Rowan had seen it wrinkled - then opened the door.
Rowan stood there in simple clothes, no sash, no orders, no palace weight on his shoulders. Only Rowan - tired but oddly calm.
"May we talk?" he asked.
Drizella nodded, stepped out, and closed the door behind her. They walked toward a quieter alcove, past tapestries and sleepy guards pretending not to notice romance.
Rowan stopped beneath a window where a full moon cut silver light over the stone floor. He looked at her carefully, as though afraid she might vanish if he blinked.
"I want to understand," he began.
"Understand what?" Drizella asked, already half-defensive.
"You," Rowan said, soft but steady. "What made you... confess today. And why you like me. I did not-expect it. I still do not fully believe it."
Drizella blinked. Then shrugged with her honesty held like a sword.
"I confessed because I was tired of waiting for you to notice. And I like you because you are gentle, even when the world is loud. You care about people, not just rules. You listen. You try. And you make me want to try more, too. No one likes an unruly face with an unruly mouth, except you."
Rowan stared at her, stunned - as if her words had simply walked into his chest without knocking.
"That's all?" he asked quietly.
"That's enough," Drizella corrected. "People fall in love over less."
Rowan let out a breath that might have been a laugh or relief. "You are... very direct."
"That is the nicest way anyone has ever called me blunt."
Rowan shook his head, and something in his expression softened until it nearly spilled warmth.
"That is so you," he murmured.
"What, honest?" Drizella guessed.
"Yes," Rowan said. "Honest. Brave. And completely unpredictable."
Silence settled - not awkward, not tense, just full.
Rowan shifted slightly. "I like you," he said again, as though rehearsing the sentence into the air.
"And I have for longer than I realized. You make the palace feel less like duty and more like life. I look forward to speaking to you. To arguing with you. To watching you win arguments you should not win."
Drizella smiled - slow and triumphant. "You do lose a lot."
"I have noticed," Rowan said, but he was smiling too.
He stepped closer, careful, as though she was something breakable and he refused to risk harm.
"Today, when you confessed, I thought-this is absurd. And terrifying. And very, very wonderful."
Drizella's throat tightened unexpectedly. "So we agree then? We are courting?"
Rowan nodded. "If you will have me."
"I already claimed you," Drizella reminded. "Ask the servants."
Rowan laughed - the real kind, full and warm. Then without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close.
Drizella froze only one heartbeat before hugging him back with both arms and half her soul. He smelled like ink and cedar and exhaustion - familiar and safe.
Their foreheads brushed. Rowan whispered, "We will try. Whatever the future brings."
Drizella nodded against his shoulder. "Yes. We will try. And if the future misbehaves, I will yell at it."
"Of course you will," Rowan murmured, holding her tighter - and this time, he did not let go quickly.
* * *
Night settled over the palace like a heavy blanket, quiet but full of thoughts that refused to sleep.
Prince Adrien sat alone in his study. An untouched cup of tea cooled beside him. Papers lay scattered - lists of candidates, letters to finalize, duty stamped in every word.
He was supposed to choose a future queen.
Instead, his mind returned to a market street, to a cart tilting dangerously, to Anastasia's startled breath and the way her eyes widened when he caught her.
He pressed his fingers to his forehead. How can a single moment feel louder than duty?
He imagined the council if they knew. A prince falling for a girl who was not among the top strategic choices. A girl without alliances, without powerful titles. A girl who laughed too loudly sometimes and spoke her mind always. A girl who made him feel... human.
But a king could not choose only with his heart. A king had a country to carry.
Adrien shut his eyes. "This is foolish," he whispered. "There are rules. There is duty. I cannot-"
But the memory of Anastasia's laughter cut through all of it, simple and unpolished, like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Whereas in some room across the palace, Anastasia sat at her window, hugging her knees. The moonlight washed the garden pale blue, quiet and dreamy.
She should have been thinking about letters and gifts and the end of trials.
Instead she thought of Kit - the guard she knew wasn't just a guard. The way he held her when the cart fell. The way his smile reached his eyes. The way jealousy twisted in her chest when he spoke to another girl.
"If this was a book," she muttered, "this would be the part where the transmigrated heroine denies everything."
She rested her chin on her knees. "It's not love," she told the air.
"It's not. It's... inconvenient affection."
But affection alone was dangerous. Kit had a future - titles, expectations, a path decided long before she arrived in this story. A path she was not meant to interfere with.
"What do I do if I like someone I shouldn't?" she whispered.
The moon did not answer, but her heart did - with a fast, traitorous thump that refused to be reasoned away.
Across the palace, prince and girl worried about the same thing:
Feelings do not always obey the rules.
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