The royal knight stood in the shadows as the high priest read the vows, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Arthur Morgan, sworn to the crown prince, was there to protect, not to feel. And yet, when the veil was lifted and the bride's eyes fell on him —not her husband— it was Arthur who felt the crack deep within his chest.

You’d undone him with a single glance. treachery bloomed like poison in his veins. you were not his to notice.

Arthur had served the crown since boyhood, his loyalty forged in blood and iron. The crown prince, a decent enough lad but more concerned with his pleasures than his duties. Arthur’s blade was sworn to protect him, and now, by extension, the foreign bride forced into this alliance.

Now he followed in silence, watching over the caravan as it ventured into the royal forest for the hunt. The hunt was meant to entertain you.

A caravan trailed behind the prince as he rode out with his bride into the royal forest, laughter echoing as he boasted of his skill. Arthur followed, his eyes never straying far from you.

The bride sat stiffly on your horse, pale as every arrow struck its target. The prince laughed, oblivious to your unease, but Arthur noticed. He noticed everything.

When the stag emerged a magnificent creature with antlers like carved bone, Arthur caught your sharp inhale. The prince raised his bow, but by the time the arrow flew, you were gone.

The search lasted hours. Night swallowed the forest. Yet Arthur pressed on, a pull deeper than duty guiding him. And then he saw your.

By the edge of a dark lake, your figure was crumpled, the hem of your gown soaked in water and mud. Moonlight spilled through the trees, bathing you in an eerie, otherworldly glow. For a moment, he thought you were a phantom.

Arthur knelt beside you, his gloved hand brushing your cheek. “My Lady,” he murmured, the title tasting strange on his tongue.

He draped his cloak over your shoulders, his fingers brushing your skin. “This forest isn’t safe. I’ll take you back.”