The palace was dark and silent, the only sounds the echo of Hazel’s soft footsteps as she moved through the halls.

Her brow furrowed with concern—Ren hadn’t come to bed, and it wasn’t the first time. The faint glow from under his office door confirmed her fears, and with a gentle push, she stepped inside.

Ren sat hunched over his desk, surrounded by a mountain of paperwork. His face was drawn, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, yet they remained sharp, flicking over numbers and reports with a relentless focus.

Hazel’s heart ached at the sight. She admired his determination—his willingness to carry the weight of Aropia’s future —but it pained her to see him push himself so far.

“Ren,” she said softly, moving closer. He didn’t look up, just gave a tired smile.

“Hazel... it’s late. You should be resting.”

“And you should have been in bed hours ago,” she countered, her voice gentle but firm.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension there, the stress that had knotted his muscles from endless hours of work.

He sighed, leaning back slightly, but his eyes remained fixed on the papers. “There’s too much to do. Every hour counts. I can’t afford to slow down—not now.”

Hazel shook her head, a small smile touching her lips. “Come on,” she said, tugging him up from his chair. “If you’re not going to sleep, at least let me make you something to help you relax.”

Reluctantly, Ren let her lead him to the kitchen.

It was a quiet, cozy space—a stark contrast to the cold pressure of his office. Hazel moved with easy familiarity, gathering herbs and ingredients. She selected a few delicate leaves from a small tin, her movements careful and practiced. Ren watched her curiously.

“You’re full of surprises,” he said, leaning against the counter. “I never imagined a princess would know how to brew tea, let alone one of such high quality.”

Hazel glanced over her shoulder, her eyes soft with amusement. “My mother taught me,” she said. “She didn’t come from nobility, you know. She had to fend for herself before she became queen, and she made sure I knew how to do the same.”

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Ren’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

Hazel smiled fondly. “She used to say that no matter how high you rise, you should never forget the basics. She didn’t just teach me etiquette and diplomacy—she taught me how to take care of myself. I suppose I never realized how much it meant to her until now.”

The kettle began to whistle, and Hazel poured the steaming water over the delicate fairy tea leaves, the rich, soothing aroma filling the room. She handed Ren a cup, and he took a cautious sip, his eyes widening in appreciation.

“This is... perfect,” he admitted, a note of surprise in his voice. “Thank you.”

Hazel’s expression softened as she settled into the seat across from him. “Now, tell me,” she said gently, “what’s keeping you up this late?”

Ren’s eyes fell to the steam rising from his cup, his fingers tracing the rim.

“I’ve been working on solutions for Aropia’s poverty,” he confessed. “There are so many people who barely have enough to survive. And it’s not just that—there’s the research on harnessing the magic in manna grass. If I can find a way to store its energy safely, it would change everything for our people. But I’m hitting wall after wall.”

Hazel’s eyes softened, and she reached across the table to cover his hand with hers. “You will figure it out,” she said firmly. “I know you will. But you won’t get there if you run yourself into the ground.”

Ren looked up, surprised by the warmth in her gaze. Before he could respond, Hazel had moved around the table, pulling him into a gentle embrace. He stiffened for a moment, unused to such closeness, but then relaxed, allowing himself to lean into her comfort.

“You’ve already done so much,” she murmured against his shoulder. “It’s okay to rest, Ren. You’re allowed to take a break.”

For a moment, he simply held her, feeling the steady beat of her heart and the warmth of her arms. A knot inside him—one he hadn’t even realized was there—began to loosen. He let out a breath he’d been holding for what felt like hours, the tension draining from his shoulders.

“Alright,” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper.

Hazel pulled back and smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “Good,” she said, her voice light. “But first, finish your tea.”

They sat together in the cozy glow of the kitchen lamps, the steam rising from their cups in curling tendrils. The world outside felt distant and unimportant—just for a moment, just for them. Ren found himself smiling, truly smiling, for the first time in what felt like weeks.

As they finished, Hazel began gathering the cups, stacking them neatly. Ren moved to help, but she waved him off. “You go,” she insisted. “You need sleep more than anything else.”

He hesitated, but the warmth in her eyes made him obey. As he turned to leave, a servant entered, stopping short at the sight of the princess rinsing the delicate china in the sink.

The man’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Hazel only gave a serene smile, continuing her task with practiced ease.

Ren watched from the doorway, a warmth blooming in his chest that he couldn’t quite name. He left the kitchen, feeling lighter than he had in days, Hazel’s gentle encouragement echoing in his mind.