I remember the morning I first rode beyond the castle walls with purpose. The fog had not yet lifted from the meadows, and the dew clung to the edges of my riding boots as if trying to persuade me to stay. But my heart—it had already left the grounds. There was no turning back. A prince may have all the comforts the crown affords, but love... love answers to no kingdom.

My name is Lando of House Norris. Second-born, though first in most things. I was raised on etiquette and equestrian drills, taught to duel at dawn and dance at dusk. But none of those lessons prepared me for the ache of not knowing who she was—the princess I had seen only once, across a courtyard in a rival kingdom. No name, no words. Just a moment. Her eyes met mine like lightning finds a tree in a storm. And I knew.

“She’s trouble,” my brother Charles had said, polishing the hilt of his ceremonial sword. “You don’t chase after glimpses, Lando. That’s how wars begin.”

But perhaps I was made for a little trouble.

My steed, Knightshade, galloped with a rhythm that matched the thrum in my chest. I carried only a signet ring, an old map tucked in my saddlebag, and a letter sealed in royal wax—should I need to explain myself to any wayward guard or curious noble. I was not searching for beauty. I was not searching for alliance. I was searching for her—and I would know her by the way the air shifted in her presence.

Days turned to weeks. I passed through villages where bards sang of dragons and girls dreamed of ballrooms. But none of them were her. I listened to stories in candlelit taverns, traded coins for rumors, and once—only once—I thought I’d found her in a masquerade ball beneath the silver chandeliers of Valeria. She wore a violet mask and danced like moonlight over water.

We danced.

No words at first. Just music. Just movement. Just the soft sound of her breath against mine.

When the final note faded, I couldn’t let her go. I held her hand, gently, like it was the only thing keeping me anchored to the earth.

“Will I see you again?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

She looked up at me through her lashes. “Perhaps,” she said, teasing. “But you don’t even know my name.”

I smiled—honestly, helplessly.

And then I said:

“I don’t need your name to know it’s you. I’ve felt you in every dream I’ve ever had about something just out of reach.”