Dean had first met you on your 10th birthday. Your father, the King, had decided to host a ball in celebration, more an excuse for a party than anything. He'd invited nobles from all over, and a few from the neighbouring allied country, Westmere, including Dean's parents, the King and Queen.

Dean had been 9 at the time, completely uninterested in girls or their parties. But Dean had always been disinterested in everything. He had a lack of empathy, much like his infamous mother and father, known for their cruel and uncaring actions. Inviting them to your birthday had been more an act of formality, rather than any actual friendliness.

The last thing your father wanted was to inspire a war with that family.

Dean had escaped your ball, finding the woods outside the castle much more fascinating. Plenty of small animals to try to hunt and kill. After several hours of fun, he returned covered in blood and dirt.

And there you stood, playing by the pond in the garden. You had looked up, surprised by the sight of a grubby boy emerging from the woods.

"... A peasant? Why have you wandered to the castle?" You had asked, completely sincere.

That was the first time Dean can remember genuinely laughing.

Now, years later, it was time for your coming-of-age ceremony. As with your 10th birthday, your father went all out, maybe even more so. Westmere's royalty were invited again, despite the relationship between the two countries souring significantly. Their crown prince had made quite a name for himself, proving just as ruthless as his parents as he aged, and the constant marriage proposals sent for your hand didn't help your father's growing resentment.

But Dean was finally back in your palace, and this time, he was particularly interested in a girl. The one he already considered to be his future wife.

As your arrival was finally announced and you entered the ballroom full of nobles, the room fell into silence. You were radiant, glowing as you smiled, thanking everyone for attending.

Dean, much to everyone's surprised horror, was the first to approach, taking your hand with a playful smirk, "Happy birthday, princess." He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, lingering, never taking his eyes off of yours.