EPISODE 2

Maria returned to the forest the next evening, her cloak dusted with the gold of sunset. She moved quietly along the narrow path, careful not to disturb the shadows, but her heart was restless, eager for the small world she had glimpsed the night before. The camp appeared through the trees like a small patch of warmth in the cool forest, lanterns flickering against the dark. She slowed as she approached, pretending to inspect the trees, though she knew exactly where Karl would be.

He was standing by the edge of the camp, checking the perimeter, bow in hand, eyes scanning the horizon with the quiet vigilance she had come to recognize. Even in the fading light, he seemed larger than life, calm yet alert, every movement precise and measured. Maria’s chest tightened slightly. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed this—the steady presence, the silent strength that spoke louder than any words could.

“You’re back,” Karl said, his voice low, neutral, but there was something in it that made her pause. His eyes met hers, steady and unwavering, and for a moment the world felt smaller, contained within the space between them. “I didn’t expect—” Maria began, but he raised a hand slightly, stopping her before she could finish. “Sit,” he said instead, nodding toward a fallen log near the edge of the camp.

She did, settling herself carefully, feeling the stiffness in her bandaged foot from yesterday. She glanced at him, noticing the way his jaw tightened when he moved, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, the subtle tension in his shoulders that spoke of constant readiness. “You always do this?” she asked lightly, nodding toward the perimeter. “Check every corner, every shadow?”

Karl’s gaze flicked to hers briefly, then back to the forest. “Always,” he said simply. “You never know what’s out there.” His tone was practical, yet Maria thought she heard an undertone of care, as if he wasn’t only guarding the forest but her as well. She smiled faintly, letting her gaze linger. “You make it seem easy,” she said, almost a whisper, though it carried more than she intended.

He didn’t respond immediately, only tilted his head slightly, the faintest flicker of emotion passing through his eyes. Karl was noticing her now—her hands, the way she shifted when she thought no one was watching, the warmth in her laugh that contrasted with the calm, almost cold composure of her royal demeanor. He had seen many faces in the camp, many expressions, but nothing had lingered in him like this. His chest tightened unexpectedly. He reminded himself of his place: a soldier, not someone who could touch the life of a princess.

Maria shifted on the log, teasing lightly, “Do you ever get tired of being… responsible for everything?” She let the question hang in the air, watching him carefully. Karl’s hand brushed a stray leaf from his cloak before he answered, voice steady but thoughtful. “Responsibility is part of who I am,” he said. “I’ve never questioned it.” There was an honesty in his words, a depth that made her smile, a quiet confidence that drew her in despite herself.

“I think it suits you,” she said softly, letting her eyes meet his. Karl felt a strange warmth creep up his neck, but he looked away, pretending to adjust a strap on his pack. He could feel the weight of her gaze, the subtle teasing in her voice, the small hints that she was drawn to him, and yet… he remained silent. He couldn’t cross the line, couldn’t let his feelings show when he was just a soldier and she a princess.

For the next hour, Maria lingered near the camp, talking lightly about trivial things—forest paths, the way the wind moved through the trees, the distant calls of birds preparing for nightfall. She dropped small hints, laughing a little too freely when he responded, letting her fingers brush accidentally against his arm when reaching for a fallen leaf. Karl noticed everything. His heart beat faster with each glance, each movement, but he stayed quiet, holding back, watching her with a mixture of admiration, longing, and the ache of restraint.

When a cold breeze swept through the camp, Maria shivered slightly. Karl moved closer instinctively, offering his cloak without a word. She accepted it, draping it around her shoulders and letting the warmth seep through. “Thank you,” she murmured. He only nodded, his hand lingering a fraction longer than necessary near her shoulder before withdrawing. Maria caught it and smiled faintly, heart fluttering, but Karl’s expression remained neutral. Inside, however, a storm of feelings raged—protectiveness, admiration, affection—all held back by the unyielding chain of duty.

As night deepened, Maria realized she had stayed longer than intended. She rose, brushing the dirt from her cloak. “I should return,” she said softly. Karl’s eyes followed her, dark and unreadable. “Be careful,” he said, and there was more in his tone than warning—a subtle note of concern she understood perfectly.

She nodded, taking a few steps before pausing to glance back. “Will I see you again?” she asked lightly, though her voice carried hope. Karl hesitated, then gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Yes,” he said. His voice was steady, controlled, yet Maria sensed that beneath it, a tension he couldn’t fully conceal was tied to her presence, to her words, to the small spark that had begun between them.

Maria disappeared into the forest, leaving Karl standing near the camp, silent, struggling with emotions he refused to name. He had noticed her—the way she laughed, the way her eyes lingered, the tiny gestures of warmth she offered—and for the first time, he realized that what he felt for a princess might be more than respect. It might be something dangerous, something that could break the careful rules of his life.

He stayed there long after she vanished into the shadows, staring at the spot where she had stood, feeling the quiet ache of longing and restraint. He would not speak tonight. He would remain silent, as he had always done, but he knew that he could not ignore the pull she had set on his heart.

The forest whispered around him, the lanterns flickered in the camp, and Karl Russo—soldier, protector, silent witness to a princess’s fleeting freedom—felt for the first time the sharp edge of desire and the weight of a love he could not yet claim. And in the quiet, beneath the canopy of ancient trees, a bond was forming, fragile and unspoken, that neither time nor duty could erase.

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