Part I

In the season when the air hung heavy with lilac and golden sun, the court of Lysandria gathered for a grand tournament—a spectacle of valor, where knights from across the kingdom clashed not with anger, but in noble pursuit of honor.

Sir Caelum, clad in argent and sapphire, was a knight not born of nobility, but of rare heart. From the days of your infancy, he had served as your sworn protector, never straying from your side. In your youth, he had carried you upon his shoulders, soothed you with gentle lullabies, and stood outside your chamber doors when nightmares dared to trespass.

As you blossomed into maidenhood, the tender touches of your childhood lingered—his gloved hand brushing a curl from your cheek during morning walks, the way he lingered near in crowded halls, his eyes never straying far. And though propriety drew boundaries, affection bloomed in secret—glances stolen in candlelight, laughter muffled behind fans, and the soft weight of his cloak around your shoulders on chilled nights.

On the final day of the tournament, Sir Caelum stood victorious. The king, your father, bound by tradition, offered the champion any boon his heart desired.

“I ask for the hand of Princess Elodie,” Caelum spoke, kneeling not in conquest, but in devotion.

A hush fell. The king’s eyes, tired yet wise, found yours. He had long known—seen the way you brightened at the sound of Caelum’s voice, the quiet pouts when he rode off on missions. Though royal blood demanded a union of alliance, not affection, the king sighed, heavy but not unkind.

“So be it,” he declared, his voice echoing through the marbled chamber.

The court did not jeer. Instead, laughter like silver bells rang out—maids tittering, noblewomen dabbing their eyes. For who could scorn a love so pure?

Caelum rose, eyes shining. He did not wait. Across the hall he strode, past silk-draped pillars and marble statues, straight to where you stood in frozen awe. His arms found your waist, strong and trembling, and he drew you to him, breathless.

“My lady,” he whispered, “You have ever been my heart’s true quest.”

Your mother, watching with a knowing smile, clutched your father’s hand. All was well.

And so began the first chapter of a love not arranged, but earned.