She hadn't meant to hold him like that. She hadn't meant to let her guard down. She hadn't meant to let herself go, to drink and dance and laugh without the weight she always carried. She hadn't meant to forget. And yet she did.

She lay on her back as the other maids bustled around her, getting ready for the day. She could still feel the warmth of his chest against her cheek and the steady beating of his heart in her ears, and though she hated to admit it, she wanted to feel it again, to be that close to him again. She closed her eyes, the ache in her chest persisting without relief. She wanted to laugh or cry or both at once.

Her arm ached too, where the Virethorn frost had touched her. Pulling back her sleeve, she examined the purple blotches on her skin, wincing at the sting it sent throughout her body whenever she touched it. He had held her there last night, over her sleeve, unknowing of the pain that lay below. She had almost forgotten it herself, being so caught up in the moment. It hurt even more now, knowing what she planned to do. That glass vial remained tucked among her few belongings under her bed, just waiting to be used. The girl she was a few months ago would have emptied it into his drink and served it to him without a second thought. But now, she could barely even look at it.

Magnus moved slowly that same morning, as if caught between reality and fantasy. Part of him wondered if last night had happened at all or if it was just the most pleasant dream he had had in a while, but he could still feel her hand in his, hear the brightness of her laugh, and see the radiance of her smile. He couldn't forget how she'd looked at him, like he was more than the crown prince of Cordia or the boy his father had tried to break. It was as if she could see the man he really was and the man he was trying to be.

He certainly felt something for her. There was no denying it now. At the beginning, he just wanted company. And then it was the need to protect her. And then they became close, talked more, spent more time together, even took risks together. And now, it was something even more than that, something unlike anything he had felt for anyone before.

Deep down, he knew exactly what it was. Why else would talk about having one of the golden haired princesses from Kithage as his wife feel especially bitter? But what was he supposed to say? That he wanted to have his maid as his queen? Princes of Cordia had always married princesses. The late queen hailed from the kingdom of Vignor, an island to the south. Of course, his father had taken many other lovers, but just the idea of treating Mina like that made Magnus sick. For a moment, he wished he wasn't the prince, that he wasn't burdened with expectations that kept him from living the life he wanted. Everyone talked about the limitless possibilities afforded to him as royalty, but no one mentioned how suffocating it truly was. As gilded as the cage was, it was still a cage.

Magnus had told her to sleep in, so by the time she reached his room, he was already gone. As she went about tidying up his belongings as usual, she found something that made her heart skip a beat. It was a beautiful brand new set of carving tools, sharp and ready for use. On it was a note in his careful handwriting that she managed to read by carefully whispering the words out loud.

Dearest Mina,

Here is the carving set I promised you. I can't wait to see the finished piece!

- Magnus

She pressed the note to her chest as she poked through her new collection of tools. All she really needed was a good knife, sturdy mallet, and something to sand the edges, but this was more than anything she could have ever dreamed of. She laid them all out on the floor and drew the unfinished carving from her pocket, the beginnings of a songbird that she had seen depicted in many of his paintings. It was his birthday soon, and she figured the least she could do was give him something, though it could in no way match the overwhelming kindness he had shown her.

Her fingers moved quickly and deftly over the rough wood, carving out each feather with painstaking detail. She turned it over and over in her hands, searching for uneven sections and smoothing the sharp edges. She wanted it to be perfect, but she could already feel the doubt creeping in. There already were so many other beautiful carvings furnishing the castle, bigger ones with more detail and artistry than anything she could ever manage. He might smile and thank her for the gift but then tuck it away on a shelf and forget about it. But a stronger feeling deep in her heart convinced her otherwise, and she kept going.

He came back to the room earlier than she expected, so she rushed to hide the carving in her pocket. He looked puzzled but opted not to question it, putting the pieces together about what she might have been doing.

"Do you like it?" he asked, nodding to her collection of tools.

She nodded emphatically. "It's wonderful, thank you."

He beamed. "I'm glad."

A small smile came to her lips. She really wanted to show him her work, but she wouldn't unveil it until she was sure it was perfect.

"What brings you back so early?" she asked, dusting off her hands and cleaning up her workspace.

The smile slipped off Magnus's face. "My father asked to have dinner with me. He noticed I haven't been showing up to the dining hall lately."

She frowned. "Ah."

"And," he sighed. "I need some help with this."

It was only now that she noticed how he had positioned his hair just so to help cover the mark on his face. He had put some powder to hide the redness, but it was obvious if one looked closely.

She nodded, immediately retreating to the bathroom to wash her hands and retrieve the things she needed. She reemerged a few moments later with a small jar of salve, a clean cloth, and a pouch full of makeup, finding him sitting at his desk, leaning his head on his hand. Silently, she crossed over to him, setting her materials down and leaning over to get a good look at his face. His eyes were downcast, so she gently tilted his head up so he would look at her.

"Hey," she murmured. "Are you alright?"

His eyes gleamed. "Would you think less of me if I said I was afraid?"

Her breath caught. "Magnus..."

He looked away again. "I can't face him without trembling. I'd give myself away."

She cupped his face tenderly and brushed the hair away from his eyes. "You're braver and stronger than most, Mag. You faced those two men yesterday without even flinching despite the danger."

Magnus shook his head. "I can't fight him like I can the others. I can't keep you safe from him."

Even through his own terror he was still thinking about her. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine, as long as you are."

He wished that could be true. Taking her hand from his cheek, he pressed it to his lips. She almost forgot to breathe.

Without another word, she got to work, cleaning off the old powder before spreading the salve across the wound with her thumb. Then she focused on covering up the mark, trying to make it blend in with the rest of his skin as best as she could. Although her fingers were rough and callused, her touch was gentle and soothing.

Once she was done with the makeup, she adjusted his hair, having a few soft curls hanging loosely over left eye. This readjustment exposed the old scar at his temple again, but she tried her best not to look at it for too long. She straightened his crown, making sure it sat proudly atop his head and wouldn't fall.

He didn't take his eyes off her the whole time, as if she'd disappear if he dared let her out of his sight. Their faces were so close, they'd be touching if one of them moved the slightest bit forward, but neither of them dared.

"That's...the best I can do," she finally sighed, leaning back to examine her work. She couldn't tell if she had applied too much blush or if his cheeks were just red for other reasons.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice still small and uneven.

She nodded. "You'll be alright. He won't notice anything."

He rose to his feet, but he still felt unsteady. She had to help him don his deep blue and gold coat, and his hands trembled as he reached for his gloves. She watched him, her brow creased with concern. It almost felt like sending him off to war.

Glancing at the clock, he hesitated, turning back to her. His gaze fixed on the loose strand of hair that always fell in front of her eyes.

"May I?" he offered.

She paused. "Do what?"

"Braid it. I'd like to do something for you."

She felt her cheeks redden a little. "You would?"

He nodded, not taking his eyes off of her. "Only if you want me to, of course. It's just...relaxing for me and I have a few more minutes before I have to go."

After a moment, she silently agreed, taking a seat and shifting her body so he had easier access to hair. She bit her lip, knowing he was getting a good look at the uneven patches left behind from her hair pulling habit, but he made no mention of it. His touch was feather light, pulling the loose strands away from her face and weaving it into a simple braid along the side of her head. He repeated it on the other side before tying the two sections together with a ribbon at the back.

"There," he murmured, pulling away after a bit.

She turned to face him. "Where did you learn that?"

"My mother," he replied simply. "She had beautiful hair."

Mina nodded, remembering the painting and feeling the weight of the memory. "Thank you."

He mustered up a small smile. "Of course."

She took his hand in hers. "I'll be here when you return. You can do this."

He squeezed her hand like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.