Atlas wanted to say yes.
Gods, he wanted to say yes. The request had been so small, so soft. Daisy's voice barely carried through the corridor, but the weight behind it was unmistakable—hope, naïve and trembling, the kind that hadn't yet learned how cruel time could be. For a heartbeat, he almost let himself imagine it: an evening walk, her arm brushing his, quiet laughter under emerald-tinted lanterns.
But he couldn't.
Not now.
Not when Isabella's shadow stretched longer by the hour. Not when the queen's every glance had begun to feel like a test he didn't fully understand. And especially not when her eyes—those eyes that had once devoured entire rooms with confidence—were now lined with something brittle.
He turned slightly, forcing a polite smile as he gently stepped back from Daisy's hopeful closeness.
"…It would be an honor, my lady," he said, his voice measured and apologetic. "But the queen demands my attention."
Daisy's expression didn't change.
Not at first.
