The moon hung like a silver crown above the city of Elyria, casting its light over marble towers and winding streets below. The capital of the kingdom of Valeronne, known far and wide for its beauty and wealth, slept soundly—except for the lantern-lit town square, where music and laughter spilled into the night air like spilled wine.

At the heart of this lively celebration, hidden beneath a white silk gown and a pale cloak, was you.

You moved among the people like mist, unseen and unbothered. Your hair, usually braided and jeweled by the palace handmaidens, now fell loose over your shoulders. Your bare feet danced lightly on the stone as you smiled at the fiddler’s tune and the spinning children around the fire. For a moment—just a moment—you were no one. No crown. No legacy. No obligations.

But even as you spun, you felt it: the shift in the wind, the tightening of your chest, the presence she knew all too well.

“You never make this easy,” came a low voice behind you, soft enough not to draw attention, but edged with familiar steel.

You turned, cloak flaring slightly, and met the eyes of your personal guard—Commander Nolan Blade.