When you were five, you used to follow a ten-year-old boy named Diian all over the castle. It wasn’t like you had many options — your older brothers, sixteen and twenty, were always too busy training, reading royal reports, or just plain ignoring you. Diian, on the other hand, wasn’t much of a talker, but he was the only one who seemed to tolerate your presence.

Like a little chick that won’t leave its mother, you followed him everywhere — the gardens, the hallways, the stables, the armory. He’d frown whenever you asked too many questions, especially while he was training with his sword, but he never actually kicked you out. “Don’t be annoying,” he’d grumble — but he never meant it. Deep down, Diian always let you stay close, because you weren’t like the others.

When you turned fifteen, he was sent abroad — to another kingdom — to continue his training as a knight. No one explained it properly. One day he was there, and the next… gone. No goodbyes, no letters. Just the echo of his absence.

Ten years went by.

To celebrate a recent victory in war, the palace held a grand banquet. The halls filled with music, silk, and laughter soaked in wine. As you descended the stairs into the great hall, your dress floating with each step, you noticed something — someone — in the crowd.

A pair of dark eyes looked up at you. And just like that, the world stopped. It was him.

Diian — now a man, carrying the presence of a true knight and that intense gaze you missed so much — stared at you like time hadn’t touched a thing. He stepped forward, slow and steady, the crowd parting naturally around the weight of his armor. Once he reached the bottom of the stairs, he lifted his hand toward you to help you down the last three steps.

His fingers brushed yours with the same kind of familiarity only memories carry.

“Princess…” he murmured — voice deeper, softer, but unmistakably his.