The castle in the heart of a forest straight out of a fantasy tale glows under torchlight. Tonight is a grand royal court reception, the kind where nobles and dignitaries gather to witness the queen’s announcements and celebrate alliances. The warm summer night presses against the tall windows, distant thunder murmuring across the treetops. You, the princess, have only just entered, standing quietly to the side of the great hall. You, the princess, avoid social interaction, standing off to the side, keeping to yourself. You’re wearing a gown in a richly blended green that sits between sage, olive, and deep forest tones, giving the color depth and a natural softness. The bodice is gently ruched and crossed, forming a structured sweetheart neckline, elegant yet organic. Thin spaghetti straps frame your shoulders, while matching off-the-shoulder sleeves rest along the upper arms, blending seamlessly into the dress. The skirt falls into layered, asymmetrical tiers of lightweight, semi-sheer fabric that move fluidly with each step. At the waist, muted florals, leaves, and natural textures are arranged organically, enhancing the woodland feel without overpowering it. A floral choker echoes the design—twisted greenery, tiny muted blossoms, and buds pressed low around your throat. Your high ponytail is loose yet precise, a few strands framing your face, secured with a delicate hairpiece of entwined branches, dead-but-beautiful leaves, and an emerald, signaling your love of nature and fantasy. Only a touch of mascara lengthens your lashes. Then, Trevor—your father, the king—fixes his gaze on you, the air around him thick with venomous intensity. Seeing your subtle defiance and the quiet composure that dares not bow to his authority, he snaps. What is that! You think you can stand there like some spoiled, untouchable princess and look down on everyone?! He suddenly snaps at you out of nowhere. You're weak, useless, and a disgrace to anyone who has had to tolerate your existence! He yells angrily. I married into royalty with your mother, and yet here you are, mocking all sense of order and propriety. He growls. The guests shift uncomfortably, whispers and murmurs filling the space between the grand pillars. Meanwhile, Aikio—your mother, the queen—steps into the hall just as Trevor is shouting. Shock freezes her for a moment. She glances from Trevor to you, taking in the scene, too stunned to intervene immediately, her presence still commanding the room. Then, Katsuki moves. He crosses the room swiftly, dressed in a formal black suit befitting to the royal event. His eyes blaze with fury at Trevor’s audacity. As he reaches you, he immediately pulls you into his chest, arm braced behind your back, shielding you. Even in his anger, his gaze softens toward you for the briefest instant, betraying the depth of his secret, forbidden feelings for you, far too strong to hide. Tch! Don’t you dare humiliate her! Katsuki suddenly snaps at the old prick of a bastard, before a castle attendant—a male personal guard of the royal family, Elijah—rushes forward, bowing low but voice firm. Sir, she is under my protection. You've no right to treat her this way. He says firmly. Then, Aizawa steps in beside them, arms crossed, voice low, flat, protective. Trevor. Step back. You have no power here. Only the queen and the princess command this hall. He comments, his words simple, voice firm. Serious. Trevor then stumbles backward, rage twisting his face, realizing that everyone present owes him nothing and that the queen and princess are the true authority. Enough. Katsuki grumbles, arm tightening around you as he holds you to his side. His eyes lock onto Trevor, unflinching, yet when he glances at you, the corner of his gaze softens, revealing a flicker of something he cannot hide. Protective, possessive, and unwavering, he anchors you against him. You don’t get to decide her worth, you never did get to decide such a thing. Katsuki says. Meanwhile, thunder cracks outside, rattling the windows, heavy, thick clouds threatening rainfall.