Valeria's POV

I wake up to the dim glow of the bedside lamp, my body aching, my throat dry. The room is silent except for the soft, rhythmic breathing beside me.

I blink, adjusting to the low light, and my gaze lands on Emilia. She's curled up in the chair beside my bed, her head resting on her palm, her body slumped in an uncomfortable position.

Has she been sleeping like that all this time?

"Emilia," I rasp, my voice barely above a whisper. No response.

I try again. "Emilia."

Her eyes snap open instantly, panic flashing across her face as she jerks upright. "What's wrong? What happened?" she rushes out, already leaning forward as if ready to catch me.

I frown, watching her closely. "Why are you sleeping here?" My voice comes out rough, weaker than I'd like.

She shifts in her chair, looking almost... guilty? "S-sorry," she stammers, rubbing her arms. "I didn't mean to be in your space. I thought you might need me..." She hesitates, glancing at the door. "I'll go."

She starts to stand, and before I can think, my body moves on its own. I reach for her wrist, but the movement sends a sharp pain through my side, making me groan.

"Valeria!" She rushes back, alarmed, her hands hovering over me. "What are you doing? You shouldn't be moving!"

I grit my teeth, hating how weak I feel. "I..." I struggle to find a reasonable excuse.

"Tell me," she urges, her concern only deepening.

I clear my throat, forcing a casual tone. "Lucia's probably asleep, and I wanted some water."

She blinks. "Water?" I nod, hoping she'll drop it.

"Right. Yes. Water. Of course," she mumbles before bolting out of the room. I stare after her, stunned.

A minute later, she's back, holding a jug of water and an empty glass, slightly out of breath.

I eye her, still in disbelief. Emilia Hayes herself fetching me water? The thought makes me uncomfortable, unsettled in a way I can't explain.

"Yourself, princess?" I mutter dryly as she approaches the bed. "Be careful. Wouldn't want you to break a nail."

The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Her hand trembles slightly as she sets the glass down, her expression faltering.

Still, she doesn't snap back. Instead, she reaches for the glass, then hesitates, glancing at me, then at the pillow beside me, as if unsure of what to do next. She puts the pillow back down, grabs the glass again, pauses, looking completely lost.

I watch her struggle, unsure why she's making this so difficult. A quiet chuckle escapes me before I can stop it. She freezes, blinking at me, embarrassed.

"You're thinking too hard about this," I tease, my voice still hoarse but softer.

She sighs, then finally smiles—small, hesitant, but there.

Emilia's POV

I freeze, my face heating up as I clutch the glass of water like it's some complicated puzzle I can't solve. My mind races, overthinking every possible way to help her without making a fool of myself.

Valeria just laughed at me. Not a mocking laugh, not bitter or cold—just... amused.

I clear my throat, trying to ignore the way it makes my stomach flip.

Carefully, I sit on the edge of the bed. "Can I?" I ask cautiously. She doesn't say anything. She just watches me with wary eyes, like she's debating whether or not to fight me on this.

I slip a hand behind her back, gently helping her sit up against the pillows. Her body tenses at the contact, but she doesn't protest. I'm close enough now to see the faint crease between her brows. We've never been this close before. Her features are sharper up close, striking, yet there's a softness to them that I can't look away from. I hold my breath, afraid that if I exhale too loudly, she'll somehow hear the truth in it—my feelings, my thoughts, the way my heart races whenever she's near. But, as usual, she seems unfazed by my closeness, more bothered by the pain than my touch.

I hold the cup up for her. "Drink."

For a second, she doesn't move. Then, begrudgingly, she parts her lips, allowing me to tilt the glass.

It's awkward—painfully so—but she drinks, taking slow sips as I try not to focus on how soft her lips look against the rim of the glass. My eyes drift to the curve of her neck, to the way her collarbone peeks from the loose fabric of her shirt. Her skin looks soft, warm. I wonder how it would feel to bury my face there, to just exist against her.

I swallow hard, clearing my throat and forcing myself to look away. "Better?" I ask, my voice slightly strained.

She exhales, leaning back against the pillows. "Yeah." I nod, placing the cup on the nightstand, but I don't move away.

For a moment, we just look at each other. She's exhausted, her eyes heavy, barely holding my gaze. I wish she wouldn't look away so easily. It's so easy for her to look away, and yet it feels impossible for me.

"You shouldn't be here," she mutters suddenly, breaking the silence.

I frown. "What?" She gestures weakly toward the chair where I had been sitting. "Sleeping there. It's uncomfortable."

I shift, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I didn't want to leave you alone."

Valeria stares at me, something flickering in her expression. Then, she looks away, exhaling slowly.

"...This is your room. And you're used to fancy sheets, princess."

I roll my eyes at the nickname, but there's no bite in her words. She's trying to deflect. I know that.

I adjust her blankets and sit beside her on the bed. "Get some rest," I say softly. She doesn't respond right away. Then, after a long pause, she says, "Lie down."

I freeze. "W... what?" I stammer.

She raises an eyebrow, amused. "Are you going to act like I didn't catch you sleeping next to me when I woke up?"

My face burns. "I didn't mean for that to happen. I just... I was exhausted, and I—" I fumble, fiddling with my hands, feeling like I've been caught.

"This is your bed, your room. I'll ask Lucia to move me to my own room tomorrow. But for now, just lie down." Something in my chest tightens. My fingers clench into the sheets.

She's already planning to leave. Already trying to put distance between us.

"Please..." I exhale shakily, my voice barely above a whisper. These past few days have been nothing but heartache. "Please don't do that... you're breaking my heart."

Her eyes widen slightly, caught off guard.

I swallow, forcing myself to continue before I lose my courage. "Let me take care of you."

She exhales, her fingers gripping the edge of the blanket as if debating something. Her gaze flickers toward me, cautious, unreadable, before she looks away again. A muscle in her jaw twitches, and for a second, I think she's about to say something else—but she hesitates.

I can feel the weight of her silence pressing between us.

Then, slowly, deliberately, she shifts. It's a subtle movement, barely noticeable at first, but then she adjusts her position, making just enough space beside her. Her breathing is slow, measured, as if she's choosing her words carefully.

"...Lie down," she murmurs again, quieter this time. Not a command. Not a request. Just... something in between. A quiet offer.

She doesn't look at me when she says it, but there's something vulnerable about the way she grips the sheets, like she's bracing herself to bring her walls down. Like she's afraid of it.

I hesitate, swallowing against the lump forming in my throat. The room suddenly feels too small, the space between us too heavy. My fingers twitch against the fabric of my dress, itching to move, but I don't know if I should.

Does she really want this?

She's always been a storm—wild, unpredictable, fleeting. She runs before anyone can hold on to her. But right now, in this quiet moment, she isn't running. She's here, looking at the empty space beside her, offering me something I don't quite understand.

I take a breath. A slow, steady breath. Then, carefully—almost cautiously—I move.

I sit on the bed beside her first, testing the moment, watching her for any sign of regret, any flicker of discomfort. But she doesn't pull away. She doesn't push me back. Her body remains still, though the way her fingers curl into the blanket, her knuckles turning white made my face heat up as I imagined this to be a different situation.

I lower myself onto the bed, keeping a small distance between us, my body stiff, my breathing uneven. I expect her to take it back. I expect her to tell me to leave.

But she doesn't.

Instead, her eyes flicker toward me, just for a second, just enough for me to see the exhaustion swimming beneath them, the quiet surrender in the way her muscles relax.

I hold my breath.

She exhales, closing her eyes.