I sat stiffly in the grand study, my hands gripping the fabric of my skirt as the King—no, as he—stared me down from across his massive desk. His piercing gaze held none of the usual teasing amusement, none of the exasperation at my antics. Instead, it was distant. Cold.



Like we were strangers.



"What is my punishment, Your Majesty?" I finally asked, my voice quieter than I intended.



The tension in the room was thick, suffocating. I expected him to demand endless massages or to make me brew tea until my hands fell off. Maybe force me to write a ridiculous essay on "Why One Should Not Run Away from the Palace." But instead, he merely sighed and leaned back in his chair.



"You're leaving the palace."



My heart stopped. "What?"



"I am sending you back home, Thalia." His voice was firm, brokering no room for argument. "For good."



My breath hitched. My mind scrambled for an explanation. "Why? What did I do? If this is about my brilliant escape attempt, I—"



"It's not about that," he cut me off, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. "It's about keeping you alive."



I blinked. "Alive?"



That was when the truth unraveled before me.



The nobles didn't just want me gone because they were jealous. No—this went beyond petty rivalries. I had unknowingly become an obstacle in a much bigger game. The subtle shifts in power, the alliances forming in hushed whispers, the nobles who glared at me not just with disdain but with purpose.



They weren't just trying to remove me.



They were trying to weaken him.



I wasn't just a nuisance in their eyes. I had somehow become a threat.



The King was silent as I pieced it all together. He let me reach the conclusion myself before delivering the final blow.



"They will use you against me, Thalia," he said quietly. "And if that happens, I will not be able to stop them without making things worse."



I shook my head. "But—I don't care about any of that. You're the King! You can handle them, right? I can just—"



"No," he said simply. "Not when it comes to you."



The words knocked the air out of my lungs.



He was protecting me. The only way he knew how—by pushing me away. By severing our connection completely before the nobles could exploit it.



My hands clenched into fists. "You don't get to make this decision for me."



"I already have."



I gritted my teeth, wanting to scream at him, to demand that he let me stay, but I knew better. This wasn't an argument I could win. I could see it in his eyes. He had already decided long before this moment. And so, for the first time, I felt it—a shift I hated.



The distance. The finality of it.



Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Instead, I lifted my chin and forced a smirk. "Well, if you're kicking me out, I expect severance pay."



He let out a sharp exhale that could almost be mistaken for amusement. "You'll have enough to last a lifetime."



The next day, I was gone.



Life back home was...quiet.



For the first time since my reincarnation, I was living a life that was normal. No dramatic palace shenanigans, no dodging nobles, no being manhandled by the King. Just me, my parents, and our newly renovated house.



With the massive sum of money His Majesty had given me, I was able to ensure my parents could live comfortably. I even suggested they start a business, though my mother thought it was suspicious that I had acquired such a fortune from mere "maid work." My father, on the other hand, was just happy I wasn't in danger anymore.



But still.



I missed him.



I missed them—the chaos, the ridiculous requests, the banter, the way I somehow always found myself at the center of everything despite wanting a peaceful life.



And most of all, I missed him.



The realization hit me like a wagon. And it was embarrassing.



One moment, I was sipping tea, reminiscing, and the next, I was clutching my face and groaning.



"Oh my god. I like him."



My mother turned her head from the other side of the table. "Like who?"



"No one!" I shrieked, immediately standing up and walking outside to touch grass.



But the moment of horror didn't end there. Because as I continued spiraling into my own thoughts, another, even more horrifying question popped into my mind.



"Wait...how old is the King?!"



I had never once asked. And now, I wasn't sure if I wanted to know.



Thus, the real tragedy of my life revealed itself—not the kidnapping, not the exile, not even the political schemes.



No.



It was the fact that I, Thalia Windrose, might have just fallen for a man whose age was a complete mystery to me.



And that? That was unforgivable.