The tune was unmistakably sorrowful, a melody he had not forgotten. It was her. Driven by urgency, he raced toward the source of the music, desperate to verify with his own eyes that she was still alive. As he approached, the desperation intensified. The melody, once familiar, now seemed even more agonizing. Her playing that previously conveyed a profound sense of rebellion and resistance, today, however, was merely tinged with sadness, yet he was certain it was her. No one else could play with such poignant beauty.

He pressed on, trying to reach the sound as swiftly as possible. The music emanated from a small chapel, abandoned for some time. Few visited it now; it stood far from the main grounds and was far less impressive compared to the other buildings. He paused at the chapel's front door, his breath shallow, face pale, and heart racing with apprehension. What if it wasn’t her? What if he was wrong? What if she had died, as in all the haunting nightmares that had plagued him? He recalled the vivid image of her lifeless body, the pallor of her face, and the bluish tint of her veins. The memory was etched deeply in his mind. No, he had to enter and see for himself.

His hands trembled slightly as he grasped the handle. He pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside. His heart pounded against his chest, and nausea threatened to overtake him. As he entered, he halted abruptly. He saw. There she was, at the front of the sanctuary on the stage. The feminine silhouette stood there with the same grace as always, her fingers moving with skilled precision on the violin. The dim moonlight streaming through the stained glass windows illuminated her form. He couldn’t see her face clearly, so he moved closer, his steps deliberate and hesitant.

As he drew nearer, he saw her expression—the same look of pain and resentment. Yet, something had changed. The defiant resistance was absent, replaced by a bitter acceptance that rendered the scene even more tragic. He stood there, frozen, as though she weren't real.

She remained unaware of his presence, her eyes closed as she immersed herself in her performance, pouring her emotions into the music. Each note seemed to amplify her sorrow. The act, intended as therapy, only deepened her misery. Her hands ached from the strain, and her shoulders were tense. Finally irritated with all failed efforts of recovery, she stopped and flung the bow across the room with a forceful sweep. It soared past him, but he remained motionless. It was only then that she noticed him.

Initially startled, as she saw an unknown man standing there in the chapel at this late hour. Her shock turned to recognition, and she relaxed when she realized it was him.

“Your Highness?” she asked, confusion evident in her voice. She set the violin aside and hurried towards him. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the palace celebrations? They are celebrating your return, after all.”

He did not respond immediately.

“Are you alright, sire?” she inquired, attempting to fill the awkward silence.

“It’s a joyful day, Lady. Why are you here, playing such a mournful tune?”

She fell silent.

“You must also feel that it’s not as joyous as it seems. You were mourning just now. It was evident.”

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s alright.”

He interrupted her, not finding her apology necessary. He too was grieving. The people were focused on victory, but only those who were directly involved understood the true loss and at what cost.

“I feared you had died as well,” he said slowly, biting his lip and averting his gaze. The words were much more difficult to say then he had anticipated. His attempts to maintain composure had faltered. The sight of her had laid bare his vulnerabilities. Just the image of her in front of him made him careless. Without a second's hesitation he extended his arms and pulled her into an embrace. Initially startled, she tried to pull away but soon realized he was weeping, burying his head on her shoulder. She hesitated, recognizing his pride, and allowed him this moment of weakness.

“I’m relieved you’re alive,” he murmured after a while, his voice barely above a whisper.

These were simple words, but ones she had never heard before. Did someone truly wish for her survival? It was a revelation that these words meant more to her than she had ever imagined.

“Thank you. If I had returned and you were not here… then…” He did not complete the sentence, his words muffled as he clung to her tighter.

There was a depth of emotion in his voice she had not anticipated. She had never considered him to be expressive, but she was mistaken. Both of them were weary, vulnerable, and tearful. They were a tangled mess of emotions.

He pulled back to look at her face and was taken aback.

“Why are you crying now too?” he asked, smiling through the tears in the corners of his eyes. He gently wiped her tears away with his hand, caressing her cheek with the back of his fingers. He leaned in till their foreheads were touching. He braced himself for her retreat, but she remained still. He gazed directly into her eyes, and she met his stare unwaveringly.

Fearful of rejection, he expected her to pull away, yet she did not. So he ventured forward, kissing her cheek. He looked at her to grasp her reaction. When she remained unmoved, he kissed her forehead, and then, with tentative exploration, her cheeks and nose. Each kiss was slow and deliberate. He hesitated again but knew he could not back down. She had not pulled away yet. This moment was rare; he had to seize it because he knew she wasn't a person who gave a lot of chances. Who knew if such an opportunity would present itself again? He looked at her once more, as if asking for her decision. She was still frozen in her place so he went for it. He leaned in and kissed her deeply, wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her close. At this she seemed to regain her senses as she flinched and pulled back, looking at him in astonishment. She moved to withdraw from his hold but he pulled her back.

“Please don’t go. Not today. I can’t bare that today.” he pleaded, his eyes filled with desperation. She paused, and the weight of the day’s emotions and decisions seemed to tilt the balance between reason and impulse. He was someone who always got her to act recklessly, so she responded with a kiss of her own. It was so sudden and felt as if she had been propelled toward him by some unseen force. He also was the only person who had expressed genuine joy at her survival. For today, she allowed him to reach her. Tomorrow, she would revert to her former self, but for now, she gave in to her impulse. Throw caution to the wind.