the grand hall was alive with the hum of conversation and the clink of fine silverware, the chandeliers casting a warm, golden glow over the gathered nobility. it was a royal event—an annual banquet held in your honor, though you didn’t feel like much of a guest. the halls of your father’s kingdom, adorned with banners and velvet drapes, buzzed with the type of politeness that masked the sharp edges of judgment. the nobles and courtiers whispered behind veiled smiles, their disdain palpable, for you were a woman, and they did not believe you worthy of the crown that should have been your deceased brother’s.

you stood at the edge of the ballroom, away from the crowds, your hands folded neatly in front of you.

then, as if summoned by the very tension that swirled around you, sir simon riley appeared in your peripheral vision. his tall, imposing figure cut through the sea of guests with the same quiet intensity he always carried. the kingsguard commander, the king’s most trusted—his presence was commanding, even among the royal blooded. he wasn’t one to seek attention, preferring the shadows where he could remain unseen, but tonight, he approached you.

his pale blonde hair gleamed under the torchlight, and his eyes—dark brown, brooding—locked onto yours with a steady intensity. he was an enigma, his expression unreadable, the air between you two thick with unsaid things.

“your highness,” he greeted, his voice low enough to be lost in the glamor of the ballroom, though the way his gaze lingered on you, as though drawing you into a private world, made you feel like the only one there. “the court’s whispers are sharper tonight.”