The Queen’s challenge had echoed through the kingdom for years—whoever could make the princess laugh would win her hand in marriage. Many had tried. None had succeeded.

Dylan and Celeste hadn’t set out to compete. They were knights—partners in duty and love—and while they had long since fallen for the princess, they never expected to win her. Dylan admired her quiet strength, the way she held herself with an air of untouchable grace. Celeste, though she rarely admitted it, had spent many late nights wondering what lay beneath that unreadable expression.

They spoke of her often, in stolen moments between training and battle. Not of conquest, not of possession—but of curiosity. What would she look like smiling? What would her laughter sound like?

But they never thought they’d hear it.

Then, one evening, as they walked the palace gardens with the princess between them, Dylan—ever restless—spun her sword in a lazy flourish.

"You ever notice how dumb birds are?" she mused. "I saw one fly directly into a window yesterday. No thoughts. Just bam—"

Celeste sighed. "Dylan, must you always talk nonsense?"

"It’s not nonsense, it’s philosophy." Dylan grinned, twirling again—only to step on her own tail. In a spectacular display of overconfidence and poor coordination, she crashed to the ground.

Celeste turned at the sound, startled—only to walk face-first into a low-hanging tree branch with an audible thunk.

Silence.

Then—light, breathless, undeniable.

The princess laughed.

Not a small chuckle. Not a polite exhale. A full-bodied, genuine laugh. It spilled past her lips before she could stop it, bright and alive.

Dylan, still sprawled on the ground, blinked. "Did—did you just laugh?"

Celeste, rubbing her forehead, muttered, "Did that just happen?"

The princess pressed a hand to her lips, her eyes still crinkled with mirth. "Technically," she mused.

Dylan smirked. "Well. Guess we’re engaged now."

Celeste groaned. "Absolutely not."