The man's voice cut through the air like a blade, and for a moment, everything seemed to freeze. Andrei's eyes flicked to the source of the shout, his jaw tightening as he saw the man stumbling toward them. The man was large, his rough hands gripping the back of a chair as he swayed unsteadily, his breath smelling of stale liquor and sweat. His eyes were bloodshot, his face flushed with drunken anger.
Yelena didn't flinch. She didn't even look at the man as he approached. Instead, her gaze remained locked on Andrei, unreadable, her expression a mask of indifference. The smile that had once graced her lips had vanished, replaced by something colder—something distant. But there was still a flicker of something in her eyes, something that made Andrei feel both invisible and exposed at the same time.
The man reached them, his eyes narrowing as he looked from Yelena to Andrei. His gaze lingered on the prince for a moment, and Andrei could feel the contempt radiating from him, like a tangible force in the air. The man's voice was low, thick with venom.
"Who's this? A royal guest, is it?" he sneered, his hand gripping Yelena's arm with surprising force. "I didn't know the prince liked to slum it with the likes of her."
Yelena didn't react to his touch, but Andrei could see her body stiffen, her muscles tightening as if preparing for a confrontation. He wanted to step in, to say something, to defend her—but something held him back. This was her world, not his, and in it, he was just a visitor. A stranger who didn't belong.
Yelena finally broke her silence, her voice a low, deadly whisper. "Let go of me, Ivan," she said, her tone carrying a weight of authority that surprised Andrei. There was no fear in her voice, no hesitation. It was a command, not a plea. "I don't belong to you."
Ivan's grip tightened, but he didn't say anything right away. Instead, he sneered and looked Andrei up and down, sizing him up as if he were nothing more than a passing curiosity. "You think she's worth your time, Prince?" he spat. "She's nothing but a whore, just like all the others in this place. Don't think you can save her."
The words stung, not because they were untrue—Andrei knew exactly what Yelena's life was, knew the darkness that clung to her—but because they were a harsh reminder of the world she inhabited. A world he had no right to enter.
Andrei's fists clenched at his sides, his pulse quickening with a sudden, overwhelming anger. The nerve of this man to speak to her like that, to treat her as if she were less than human. He finally opened his mouth to speak.
"Let go of her," he said, anger evident in his voice. "Or I'll make you."
Ivan sneered, his face contorting with rage, but he released her arm with a sharp, dismissive grunt. "Fine. But don't forget your place, Yelena," he muttered, glaring at her one last time before turning and stumbling away, his heavy footsteps echoing in the dim light.
Yelena stood still for a moment, her gaze following Ivan as he disappeared into the shadows of the tavern. Her breathing was slow, controlled, but Andrei could see the faintest tremor in her hands. She didn't look at him right away, but when she did, her eyes were like glass—shattered, but not yet broken.
"Thank you," she said softly, almost as if the words were foreign to her. "But I didn't need your help."
Andrei stood there, at a loss for words. He could feel the weight of her gaze, heavy with unspoken emotions, but it was hard to read her. Was she angry with him? Grateful? Both? He didn't know, and it frustrated him. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, until Andrei finally spoke.
"I couldn't just stand there," he said, his voice low, almost unsure. "No one should treat you like that."
Yelena's lips twisted into a wry smile. "You're too naive," she said, her voice laced with a bitterness that made Andrei's heart ache. "You don't know what this world is like. You think that because you're a prince, you can just walk in and change everything. But it doesn't work that way. Not here."
Her words stung, but Andrei didn't back away. He couldn't. He had seen her strength in that moment, had felt the way she commanded the room without ever raising her voice. There was power in her, a power born from survival and from pain, and it made him want to understand her more. Even if it meant facing the harsh realities of her world, even if it meant exposing himself to a side of life he had never known.
"I don't want to change it," Andrei said quietly. "I just want to be a part of it. If you'll let me."
Yelena's gaze softened, just for a moment. It was a fleeting look, one that Andrei knew he would remember for the rest of his life. But then, just as quickly, the walls went back up. The hardness returned to her features, the icy distance that had always been there.
"I don't let people in," she said, her voice flat, emotionless. "Not like this. Not even you."
Andrei nodded, the sting of her rejection sharp but not unexpected. He had known, in the deepest parts of himself, that she would never be easy to reach. She wasn't like the women he was used to, women who smiled and curtsied, who were eager to please. Yelena was different. She was a woman forged in the fires of a cruel world, and Andrei couldn't imagine what it must have taken to build the walls around her heart. But he knew one thing for certain.
He wouldn't give up. Not on her.
"Maybe not now," he said, his voice steady, unwavering. "But I will. I won't walk away."
Yelena's eyes flickered, a hint of something like amusement—or was it disbelief?—in her gaze. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, the door to the tavern swung open with a loud crash, and a group of drunken men stumbled in, laughing and shouting.
The moment was broken.
Yelena turned toward them, her face hardening once again, her posture shifting into that familiar, defensive stance. Andrei's chest tightened as he watched her retreat back into herself, the woman he had glimpsed moments before—the woman with vulnerability and strength, with untold stories buried deep inside her—disappearing behind the mask she wore for the world.
"I'll be going," Yelena said, her tone no longer soft or introspective, but cold and professional. "Don't follow me."
Andrei opened his mouth to protest, to ask her to stay, but the words died on his tongue. She was already turning away, moving toward the group of men who had entered, her body language shifting once again. He watched her go, his heart sinking in his chest.
He had only just begun to understand her, only just begun to see past the walls she had built around herself. And yet, here she was, slipping further away from him with each passing moment.
But Andrei knew one thing for certain—he wasn't ready to let her go. Not yet.
---