I was jolted from my thoughts by his calm voice. "Come closer." His tone was steady, yet there was an undeniable warmth beneath the words. I lifted my gaze and saw him seated on the sofa, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Your Highness," I murmured, forcing a smile, though tension coursed through me.

Slowly, I approached, unsure of how to proceed.

"As you can see," he gestured to his hand, and only then did I notice that the other was wrapped in bandages. "I had a minor accident while hunting. But," he met my eyes, "I insisted on meeting you tonight, even if it’s only for a brief conversation."

I was taken aback. His hand—injured and bound—was dismissed as a trivial 'accident,' but there was something more in his tone. And then, there was the fact that he even wished to meet me. We’d barely exchanged two words.

Focus, Charlotte.

Calm down, you're here for a reason.

"So," his voice broke through my thoughts, "you may sit." He gestured to the space beside him. I nodded, sitting carefully, still processing the weight of his words.

"Did they instruct you not to speak?" he asked, his smile widening, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

I glanced around, taking in the rich decor before turning back to him.

"It's a lovely room," I said. "Fahriye Kalfa gave me many instructions, though I fear I was too nervous to remember them all."

He placed his hand gently over mine. "There’s no need for nervousness," he said, his tone warm. "They have a tendency to complicate things unnecessarily."

I smiled faintly, struggling to maintain my composure. "Thank you." What am I even saying? I thought. I used to be more poised than this... or did I?

He nodded thoughtfully before asking, "And what is your name?"

Focus, Charlotte.

I inhaled deeply, steadying my voice. "Mary, Your Highness."

"Mary," he repeated, the name rolling from his lips with a softness that made it sound almost like a secret. "Feel free to explore the room if you like. I would hate for you to grow bored."

Bored? I thought, surprised.

A subtle weight lifted from my shoulders as he made it clear the evening was to be no more than a simple conversation. I gave him a brief, polite smile before rising to move around the room.

On his desk, I noticed a small box. Curiosity tugged at me, but I hesitated before reaching for it, unsure whether it would appear intrusive.

"You may examine whatever catches your interest," he said, standing to join me. He opened the box, revealing small, black pieces I didn’t recognize.

"Your Highness," I asked, brow furrowed in curiosity, "What are these?"

"I use them for drawing," he said, handing me the box. He picked up one of the pieces with his uninjured hand and, while seemingly searching for something, added, "Wait a moment."

"Do you enjoy drawing?" I asked, watching him intently.

He nodded, still preoccupied. "Very much." He opened a nearby closet and retrieved a large sheet of paper, turning back to me with a smile. "Name something, and I will draw it."

The request caught me off guard. Only one word rose to my lips. "Butterfly."

He smiled once more, his gaze locking with mine. "It appears there's already a butterfly in the room."

It wasn’t until he placed the paper on his desk and began sketching that I understood his meaning. My cheeks flushed, and I averted my gaze, trying to hide the warmth creeping across my face.

"While I finish," he said casually, "feel free to explore the books over there."

I crossed my arms, feigning a cool demeanor. "Why? Is my presence making you nervous?"

His smile deepened, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Not at all." His gaze never wavered, the playful glint in his eyes making my cheeks redden further. "And what about you? Are you nervous?"

With a dramatic sigh, I turned away, pretending to remain unaffected. He’s winning. I began perusing his books, impressed by his refined and eclectic collection.

"It’s done," he said, and I turned to see the finished drawing. I approached and admired it.

"This is extraordinary," I remarked, brushing my fingers lightly over the paper. "I’ve seen many artists, but never one who uses this technique."

"This technique is known as 'drawing without color,'" he explained, presenting the paper to me. "You are welcome to keep it."

I nodded, still in awe. "Thank you." I gazed at the drawing once more—its simplicity was captivating.

He settled back onto the sofa, his eyes tracking me carefully. "Has anyone ever drawn you before?"

I hesitated, carefully choosing my words. I’ve been drawn countless times, but I must maintain the illusion.

"No, Your Highness. I’ve never been drawn."

"Your beauty deserves to be immortalized in art," he said with a smile that held more than a hint of sincerity.

"Thank you," I replied, setting the drawing aside. I moved to sit beside him. "So, how did you come to be injured?" I asked, my voice tinged with genuine concern as I glanced at his bandaged hand.

I instinctively reached out to touch it, but as soon as my fingers brushed against his skin, a brief flicker of pain crossed his features. I quickly withdrew. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you pain, Your Highness."

"No, it’s alright," he said with a soft sigh. "I was hunting when an arrow struck my hand. The one responsible has been caught, a traitor."

I blinked in disbelief. "Why would someone do such a thing?"

He met my gaze steadily, his voice low. "Mary, there are many who would like to see me gone. You cannot imagine the number of spies and traitors who skulk in the shadows."

My heart skipped.

Does he know who I am?

I swallowed, fighting to maintain my composure.

"May you live long," I said, trying to mask the anxiety creeping into my voice. "You will soon be a father, and a bright future awaits you."

He smiled softly, the warmth in his gaze steady and reassuring. "God willing," he murmured, his voice low and full of meaning. After a brief pause, he added, "And how are things in the harem? Have you managed to memorize your passages yet?"

I responded quickly, trying to keep my composure, but I couldn’t quite hide the nervous flutter in my chest. "Yes, it’s... going well. I’m enjoying it," I said, though my voice betrayed a hint of uncertainty.

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, clearly aware of the facade I was trying to maintain. "Tell me the truth. You needn’t fear for your head."

A soft laugh escaped my lips, and I couldn’t help but feel a little lighter at his words. "There’s just a lot of noise and work," I admitted, the tension slipping away with the truth.

Without warning, he reached out and gently cupped my cheek with his hand. My breath caught, and for a moment, I froze, unsure how to react. His touch was tender, yet it sent a jolt of warmth through me.

"Don’t worry," he said, his voice soft and reassuring, his thumb grazing my cheek in a comforting motion. "I’ll have Fahriye Kalfa arrange a room for you on the favorites’ floor. You won’t have to work anymore, nor endure the endless noise."

His words settled over me like a balm, and I felt a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. I found myself lost in his eyes, the intensity of his gaze disarming me.

Finally, I took a steadying breath, composing myself with a soft smile. "Your Highness, I’m truly grateful. Thank you," I whispered, unable to hide the sincerity in my words.

He rose gracefully from his seat, his movements smooth and fluid. Taking my hand in his, he murmured. "There is no need for thanks," he said with a gentle smile. "You should rest now. We’ll meet again soon," he added, his eyes flicking down briefly to his bandaged hand. "Perhaps under better circumstances."

My smile softened, and I met his gaze with a quiet sincerity. "Take care of your hand... and your health," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

In an impulsive moment, I leaned forward, my lips brushing the side of his cheek in a gentle kiss.

It was something I felt compelled to do, an instinctual act that seemed to tie me to him in some way. I needed to give him something, something that would linger in his memory, something that would make him yearn for more than just a fleeting touch.