Damian walked to the edge of the balcony and gripped the railing.
The frigid night air was refreshing, every breath slowly easing the fiery pain roiling in his stomach. He stared down at the sprawling city of Rosweiss, the River Rose spread out like a satin ribbon. Flame-blessed lights shone with a consistent warmth across the city, while dim gas lights in Tenebrae peaked out of the inky darkness of the night.
What am I even doing?
Damian raised his head to the sky. It was nighttime, and clear, with only a crescent of the moon hanging midway between the horizon and the impassive blackness of the heavens.
"Do you believe? About the stars?"
A gentle voice startled him.
He turned to see a young woman in a maid's outfit sitting with her legs scrunched up to her chin. Tears carved mascara-laced tracks down her cheeks, and her eyes were puffy and red.
"I'm sorry—I didn't notice you there. Do you… Do you want me to leave?"
The maid hiccuped and sniffed, using a handkerchief to dab her eyes. She gave a quiet, self-deprecating laugh.
"It's fine… First time I meet the Crown Prince, and I'm a blubbering mess. That bloody well tracks, doesn't it?"
The girl had a rather thick accent, marking her from somewhere downtown among the commons. She shuffled her knees closer to her chest as another cold breeze blew across the balcony. She wore only the traditional Royal Maid's outfit—a black skirt with white frills and padding over her chest, offering little defense against the night.
The strange maid cleared her throat and asked again.
"So, do you believe?"
"Believe in what?"
"The stars, you dummy. Oh—sorry, I mean, Your Highness. I—I'm new to this. Sorry."
She stammered out her apologies, interrupted by hiccups, her cheeks flushing bright red in embarrassment.
Damian smiled despite himself.
There was something oddly charming and rather mysterious about this young maid, crying to herself on a balcony all alone. The knot that had formed in his chest started to ease, and he turned his gaze back to the inky expanse of the heavens.
"Well… There are many ancient records from before the Starfall that speak of thousands of pinpricks of light—stars—in the sky at night. Drawings and paintings, too, that survived the Dark Age. But…"
"…Seems kinda hard to believe, right?"
The girl eased herself to her feet, still sniffling as she shuffled towards the railing.
Up closer, Damian saw her blonde hair was neatly curled into spirals, and her eyes—still quite puffy from crying—had a charming green hue to them. Attempting to be something of a gentleman, he forced his eyes away from her chest, but not before registering just how large her breasts were—for a girl scarcely over five feet, it made quite the impression.
"It's like, what's harder to believe, though, right? That there was once a ton of stars in the sky, or that there's none at all? They say the sun's a star, right? So, why not have more? Why only one?"
"The Angel of the Flame teaches us that the stars fell from the sky, and the Deep ushered in an era of darkness."
Damian found himself repeating scripture that he—and every child of the Flame—had learned at a young age.
"The stars fell, and after the world was plunged into darkness, humanity lost much of our knowledge and science. But the Flame guided us out of the darkness and ushered in our new way of life."
"Seems like a tall tale, if you ask me."
The maid gave a hollow laugh, and she slumped over the railing. Her uniform was dirty all over, and it seemed like she'd given up on wiping her cheeks clean of smudged makeup.
"I suppose as Crown Prince, you have to believe in the Angel and all that, right? Gotta prattle on about whatever the church wants you to?"
Damian hesitated. Just who was this strange girl, and why was she able to talk to him like he was some common gutter rat?
And why is that I don't mind?
Usually, Damian would be the first to scold someone for their lack of royal etiquette. But tonight, here on the balcony, looking up at the stars, he found that he didn't care. Perhaps it was because, compared to the grand expanse of the empty heavens, his own problems felt so—small.
"I don't really know what I believe, honestly. I'm sure you've heard the stories. The playboy prince; the powerless prince. Heir apparent with barely a lick of the Flame's Blessing. Even with years of training from the best Priests in the Order, I can scarcely manage a decent shield, or maybe a projectile. Based on that alone, I have to assume I don't have much faith—why else would the Angel reject me?"
The maid said nothing, only stared absently at the city far below them. With the sudden lull in conversation, Damian decided to ask the most pressing question on his mind.
"What were you doing out here, all alone?"
The girl looked his way. She really couldn't have been older than seventeen, but she held herself with the air of an adult—not the pompous, self-important air of a noble, but the slightly sombre repose of someone beyond her years.
"Can't you guess?"
She gestured to her outfit. There were stains all over the white bodice, and a small rip running down the inseam of the black uniform.
"My first day on the job and I'm making a fool of myself… And now I've gone and run my mouth to the Crown Prince. Hah! At this rate, I don't think I'll have a job for much longer."
Gunther's words drifted back to Damian, and he suddenly connected the dots.
"You're Mariabelle's new hire?"
"The one and same," the girl said glumly. She drew herself up to her full height and gave a low curtsy, pulling out the hem of her tattered, dinner-stained uniform.
"Tia Alessia, apprentice maid, at your service, Your Highness."
"Tia…"
Damian rolled the name around his mouth, finding himself pleased by the slight trill it left on his tongue. As Tia remained in a curtsy, his eyes drifted over the stains and scuffs on her dress, and he let out a low chuckle that slowly turned into a belly-aching laugh.
"Oi, what's so funny!"
Tia's cheeks turned red. She straightened up and poked a finger into Damian's chest, heedless of the difference in their station.
"Don't go laughing at me now! I've had an awful bloody day, you hear!"
"I know, I know! It's just—well, you should see yourself. I think we might need another maid just to clean you up!"
Tia's cheeks took on an even deeper shade of red.
"Oooh I'm warning you!"
She stomped a few paces away, then realized that the balcony was rather small, and turned back around, her cheeks puffed out. She probably meant to look irate, but coupled with her height—a full head shorter than Damian—she just looked adorable, like an angry hamster.
Damian wiped a tear from his eye.
"Thank you, Tia. I needed a good laugh."
"Oh well then, very glad I could be of service Your Highness."
Sarcasm dripped from her every word.
Damian looked up at the empty expanse that was the night sky, and let out a long sigh. His breath steamed in the night air, and for the first time, he realized just how cold it was. How lonely he was. How much he desired warmth and joy and something—anything—to chase away the melancholy threatening to steal back his heart.
He turned and took a step towards the young maid.
"We should go back inside and get you cleaned up."
Tia's eyes flicked to his, then dropped to the ground, then darted back up again.
"Well—well yes, I suppose I should try and get back to work."
"I think your shift is over for the night. Prince's orders. But… I do know a place where it's lovely and warm, and there are some excellent drinks."
Tia smirked, but her cheeks flushed deep red. She gazed up at Damian as he took another step closer, now just a foot away, an inch…
"You know, I really could go for a drink."
Tia's voice was a quiet, low whisper.
Damian kept his gaze fixed on her eyes, on those deep pools of green. This strange maid, this anomaly that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks messy, her uniform dirty; and yet, right then and there, there was nothing quite so intoxicating to him as her voice and the ripe plumpness of her lips.
He leaned in close, his nose brushing against hers.
He was aware of the alcohol pumping through his system; aware of the anxiety and fear and worry all knotted in his chest; he was conscious of everything good and bad colliding within his heart—
—and then, all of a sudden, none of it seemed to matter anymore.
There was just the two of them, on the balcony.
A prince and a maid, together beneath a starless sky.
Their lips pressed together, their tongues entwined, and their bodies crushed close together. Out here, away from the noise of the party and dozens of watchful eyes, there was only the two of them.
And for Damian, that was enough.