The crown was a cold, heavy thing. It sat upon Queen Historia’s brow during the day, a constant reminder of blood, duty, and the towering walls that now stood for a fragile peace. But at night, when the circlet of gold and jewels was placed upon its velvet cushion, the weight remained, pressing down not on her head, but on her heart. In the opulent silence of her royal chambers, surrounded by silk sheets and tapestries depicting forgotten victories, she was not the revered monarch of Paradis. She was just a small, lonely woman, haunted by the ghost of a simpler girl, a kinder girl, the girl they once called Krista Lenz.

She missed being Krista. She missed the easy camaraderie of the 104th Training Corps, the genuine smiles, the shared terror that forged unbreakable bonds. As Queen, every smile was calculated, every conversation a negotiation. She was a symbol, an icon, her humanity polished away to reveal the flawless, cold surface of royalty. Tonight, the loneliness was a physical ache, a hollow space in the vast, empty bed. She traced the embroidery on her silken nightgown, the fabric a whisper against her skin, and stared at the moonlight painting silver stripes across the floor. It was in these moments of profound isolation that she yearned for a connection, for someone to see past the crown and recognize the beating heart of Krista Lenz that still resided within.

A soft knock echoed at her chamber door, startling her from her reverie. It was late, far past the hour for scheduled attendants. She clutched the sheets tighter. "Yes?" her voice was soft, yet carried the ingrained authority of her station.

The door opened a crack, and a young Royal Guard captain stood silhouetted in the candlelit hallway. It was Elias, a man who had served with her in the Survey Corps. He had a strong jaw, kind eyes, and hands calloused from years of wielding blades, not signing decrees. He had been a peripheral figure in her past, a quiet, dependable soldier, but since her coronation, he had been a constant, reassuring presence in her guard detail. He saw her every day, but they rarely spoke beyond formal pleasantries.

"Your Majesty," he began, his voice a low, respectful rumble. He held a single, wild moonpetal flower, its white blossoms luminescent in the dim light. "I apologize for the late hour. I was on the outer wall patrol... and I saw this. It reminded me of the fields we used to train in. I thought... I thought it might bring you a pleasant memory." He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor as if suddenly aware of his own audacity.

Historia’s breath caught in her throat. No one brought her wildflowers. They brought her cultivated roses and exotic lilies, gifts befitting a queen. This simple weed, plucked from the top of Wall Sina, was a gift for Krista Lenz. It was a memory of mud-caked boots and shared rations, of a life she thought she had lost forever. She rose from the bed, the silk of her gown pooling around her bare feet as she padded across the cold stone floor. She stopped before him, her small frame seeming even more delicate next to his uniformed stature.

"Thank you, Elias," she whispered, her fingers brushing his as she took the flower. His skin was warm, a stark contrast to the chilled air of the room. An unspoken current passed between them in that fleeting touch—a jolt of recognition, of shared history. His eyes, dark and deep, met hers, and for the first time in a long time, she felt seen. Not as Queen Historia, the political figurehead, but as the girl who had once fought beside him.

This small, clandestine exchange became their ritual. Each night, Elias would find a reason to deliver his final report to her personally. He brought her stories from the barracks, news of their old comrades from the Survey Corps, and small, simple things from the outside world—a uniquely shaped stone, a bird's feather, another wildflower. These late-night conversations were an oasis in the desert of her royal life. She found herself confiding in him, sharing the burdens she could tell no one else, the fear that she was losing herself to the crown. He listened, his gaze steady and understanding, never offering platitudes, only his quiet, unwavering presence.

One evening, the air was thick with the coming rain, the sky outside a bruised purple. She stood by the grand window of her balcony, watching the clouds gather. Elias stood his post just inside the room, a silent guardian. The weight on her was heavier than usual today—a trade dispute, a squabble between nobles, the endless, draining performance of being queen.

"Do you ever miss it?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, not turning to look at him. "The fear? The simplicity of just trying to survive until the next sunrise?"

He was silent for a long moment. "I miss who we were then," he finally answered, his voice soft and close behind her. She hadn't even realized he had moved. "We were scared, but we were real. We were a family." He paused. "I miss Krista Lenz."

The name hit her like a physical blow, a pang of longing so sharp it made her gasp. She turned, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He was so close now, she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. She could smell the clean scent of soap and leather from his uniform. His expression was one of profound tenderness, a look she hadn't seen directed at her in years. It was not the reverence of a subject for his queen; it was the look of a man seeing a woman he deeply cared for.

"She is still here," Historia whispered, her voice trembling. "Trapped. Frightened."

Without thinking, Elias reached out, his large, rough hand gently cupping her cheek. His thumb stroked away a tear that had escaped her eye. The touch was electric, a forbidden spark in the hallowed halls of the palace. Every rule, every protocol screamed for her to pull away, to reprimand him. But Krista Lenz, the girl who yearned for simple human warmth, leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed. His hand was a safe, warm anchor in the turbulent sea of her life.

"I see her," he murmured, his voice thick with an emotion that sent shivers down her spine. "I have always seen her."

The space between them crackled with unspoken desires. His gaze dropped to her lips, and her own breath hitched in anticipation. The world outside her chambers—the kingdom, the crown, the duty—all of it melted away, leaving only this man and the promise of solace in his eyes. Slowly, as if asking for permission with every millimeter of movement, he lowered his head. She met him halfway, rising on her toes, her hands coming up to rest on the stiff fabric of his uniform jacket.

His lips were tentative at first, a soft, questioning press against hers. It was a kiss of profound reverence, gentle and achingly sweet. A soft sigh escaped her, and she melted against him, her body surrendering to the overwhelming need to be held, to be wanted for herself alone. The kiss deepened, the initial tenderness giving way to a burgeoning passion that had been simmering between them for weeks. His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against his hard body, while his other hand tangled in the silken cascade of her blonde hair, tilting her head back to grant him deeper access. Her lips parted, and his tongue swept inside, a hot, wet exploration that was both a conquest and a prayer. She moaned into his mouth, a sound of pure, unadulterated release. This was not a queen's kiss. This was the desperate, hungry kiss of Krista Lenz, a girl starved for affection.

He broke the kiss, both of them breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other. "Historia..." he breathed, his voice ragged with desire and regret, as if he'd just broken a sacred vow. "I am sorry. I overstepped."

"No," she whispered, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. She looked up at him, her blue eyes blazing with a newfound resolve. "Stay with me, Elias. Tonight... I don't want to be the Queen. I just want to be Krista."

His eyes widened, understanding dawning within their dark depths. It was a plea, an invitation, and a command all at once. With a solemn nod, he swept her into his arms, carrying her as if she weighed nothing. He crossed the vast chamber and gently laid her down upon the sea of silk sheets on her bed. The moonlight cast them in a celestial glow, turning the room into a secret, sacred space, far from the prying eyes of the world.

He began by removing his uniform, piece by painstaking piece. The decorated jacket, the leather belts, the polished boots. With each item discarded, he shed the identity of a Royal Guard, becoming simply Elias, the man who had seen her, the man who had remembered her. He stood before her in just his trousers and undershirt, his body lean and powerful, a tapestry of old scars from battles fought for the very survival of their people. Each scar told a story, a testament to the life he had lived, a life she had once shared. He was real, tangible, a grounding force in her ethereal existence.

Then, his attention turned to her. His fingers, surprisingly nimble, found the delicate ribbons at the back of her nightgown. He untied them with a reverence that made her tremble. The silk slithered from her shoulders, pooling at her waist. He paused, his gaze drinking in the sight of her pale, perfect breasts, tipped with delicate pink nipples that hardened under his intense stare. He reached out, his calloused palm hovering just above her skin before gently, so gently, cupping her breast. A soft gasp escaped her lips. His touch was firm yet worshipful. His thumb circled her nipple, sending a bolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure straight to her core.

"You are so beautiful, Krista," he murmured, his voice a low growl of appreciation. He leaned down, his lips replacing his thumb, and drew her nipple into the hot, wet cavern of his mouth. Her back arched off the bed, her fingers fisting in the sheets as he suckled her, his tongue laving the sensitive peak with agonizing slowness. She had never known such a sensation, a feeling so exquisitely carnal yet so deeply cherished. He lavished equal attention on her other breast, driving her to the brink of madness with his patient, devoted worship.

Her hands, now bold, explored his body, mapping the hard planes of his chest, the taut muscles of his abdomen. She tugged at the hem of his undershirt, and he pulled it over his head, revealing the full glory of his warrior's physique. She pushed him back gently, so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and she knelt before him. Her own boldness surprised her. This was not the action of Queen Historia. This was the untamed, passionate heart of Krista Lenz, finally set free. Her fingers went to the button of his trousers, unfastening them with trembling hands.

She eased the fabric down his hips, revealing the hard, thick length of his desire, straining against the confines of his undergarments. He was magnificent, a testament to raw, masculine power. She freed him, her small hands wrapping around his impressive shaft. He hissed in a sharp breath, his head thrown back as her fingers explored his length, tracing the prominent veins, testing the weight of him. He was hot and hard, pulsing with life against her palm. She leaned forward, her blonde hair spilling over his lap, and pressed a soft, exploratory kiss to the tip of his erection. A drop of pre-cum beaded there, and she licked it away, savoring the salty, musky taste of him. Elias groaned, his hands tangling in her hair, not to pull her away, but to hold her there, to guide her.

With a newfound confidence, she took him into her mouth. She was clumsy at first, but her eagerness to please him, to give him the same pleasure he had given her, drove her on. She learned the rhythm of his body, the way he shuddered when her tongue swirled around the sensitive crown, the deep groans that rumbled in his chest when she took him deeper. His control finally snapped. With a guttural cry, he pulled her up, flipping them so that she was on her back again, and he was looming over her, his eyes dark with a primal hunger that thrilled her to her very soul.

"I need to be inside you, Krista," he rasped, his voice thick with need. "I need to feel all of you."

"Yes," she breathed, her legs parting for him in a silent, eager invitation. "Please, Elias. Now."

He positioned himself between her thighs, his erection pressing against her wet, waiting entrance. He looked down at her, his expression a mixture of awe and fierce possession. He entered her slowly, inch by agonizing inch, stretching her, filling her. She cried out, a sharp sound of pleasure and pain as her body accommodated his size. He paused, letting her adjust, his hands framing her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. "Am I hurting you?" he asked, his concern for her paramount even in the throes of his own passion.

"No," she gasped, shaking her head. "It's perfect. Don't stop."

With her permission, he began to move. His thrusts were slow and deep at first, deliberate and powerful, each one designed to maximize her pleasure. He was worshiping her with his body, burying himself deep inside her soul. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper still. The soft slap of their skin echoed in the quiet chamber, a primal rhythm of passion unleashed. Her moans grew louder, less inhibited, the cries of a woman finally claiming her own pleasure. She was Krista now, fully and completely. Not a queen, not a symbol, but a woman in the arms of a man who adored her.

He leaned down, his mouth capturing hers in a bruising, passionate kiss as he increased his pace. His thrusts became faster, harder, driving them both towards the edge. The pleasure was an all-consuming fire, a supernova building in her core. She could feel her climax approaching, a wave of unbearable tension gathering in her lower belly. "Elias!" she cried out his name, her nails digging into the powerful muscles of his back.

Her cry was his undoing. With a final, powerful thrust, he drove himself deep inside her, his body shuddering as he poured his release into her. The hot flood of his seed inside her sent her over the edge. Her world exploded into a shower of white-hot light. Her body convulsed around him, her own release a tidal wave of ecstasy that left her weak and trembling, her mind blissfully empty. He collapsed on top of her, his weight a comforting presence, his ragged breaths ghosting against her neck. They lay entangled, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts pounding in unison.

For a long time, there was only the sound of their breathing. Elias shifted, rolling onto his side and pulling her against his chest. He draped a silk sheet over their bodies and held her close, his arm a protective barrier against the world. She rested her head on his shoulder, listening to the steady, strong beat of his heart. The loneliness that had been her constant companion was gone, replaced by a profound sense of peace and belonging.

"Krista," he whispered into her hair, his voice filled with wonder. She smiled, a true, genuine smile. It was the first one in a very long time.

They spent the rest of the night exploring each other, sometimes with feverish passion, other times with a lazy, tender intimacy. They talked in low whispers, sharing secrets and dreams under the watchful eye of the moon. In the sanctuary of her bed, she was not Queen Historia Reiss, the last of her bloodline, a pawn in the games of nations. She was Krista Lenz, a survivor of the horrors of the Attack On Titan era, a woman who had found an unexpected haven in the arms of a loyal soldier. He made love to her again as the first hints of dawn painted the sky in hues of rose and violet. This time was slower, more intimate, a languid dance of two souls who had finally found their counterpart. He took his time, memorizing every curve of her body with his hands and mouth, committing the taste of her skin and the sound of her laughter to memory.

As the sun began to rise in earnest, a harsh reminder of the world that awaited them, he knew he had to leave. He dressed quietly, his movements efficient and practiced. She watched him from the bed, wrapped in the sheets that still held his scent, a painful ache of farewell in her chest. He was a Royal Guard again, his armor and duty settling back onto his shoulders.

He came to the side of the bed and knelt, taking her hand and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. His eyes held a silent promise. This was not the end. It was a beginning.

"Your Majesty," he said, his voice formal once more, but his eyes told a different story. They spoke of the night they had shared, of the secrets they now held.

"Krista," she corrected him softly, a small smile playing on her lips. "When we are alone... I am Krista."

A slow, brilliant smile spread across his face. "Krista," he repeated, the name a caress. He stood, gave a sharp, formal bow, and slipped out of the room as silently as he had arrived, his footsteps fading down the long, empty hall.

Historia lay back against the pillows, her body blissfully sore, her heart full. The morning sun streamed into the room, and for the first time, it didn't feel like an intrusion. It felt like a promise. The crown was still waiting for her on its velvet cushion. Her duties, her kingdom, her heavy destiny—they were all still there. But they no longer felt like a crushing weight. She had found a secret strength, a private solace. She was Queen Historia, yes, but she was also, and would always be, Krista Lenz. And she was no longer alone.