The palace was never warm, but after sunset it became something worse — a place of shadows and echoes, where the cold crept into your bones no matter how many layers of silk you wore. The towering halls whispered as the wind slipped through cracks in the old stone, carrying the scent of rain and secrets no one dared to speak aloud.

You had lived here your whole life — the perfect princess in the eyes of the kingdom, a jewel to be displayed, a vessel for alliances. But beneath the gold and lace, you were nothing more than a bird in a gilded cage.

And then there was Roan Vezila.

Your knight. Your shadow.

You first noticed him in the training yard, his armor catching the morning light like it was forged from the sun itself. But it wasn’t his armor that stayed with you — it was his eyes. Steel-gray and sharp enough to cut, yet warm when they rested on you. He carried himself with discipline, every movement calculated, every word measured. And yet… every time he bowed before you, his gaze lingered just a heartbeat too long.

The love you shared was built in stolen fragments of time — in the quiet moments between duty and danger. When he adjusted your stirrup before a ride, his gloved fingers brushing your ankle. When his voice, low and steady, told you to be careful before a journey. When his hand brushed yours in a corridor and neither of you pulled away fast enough.

It was a dangerous love, one you both knew could end in ruin. For a princess to love her knight was treason against the bloodline, a betrayal to the crown. And your mother, the Queen, was not a woman who forgave betrayal.

When she discovered you, her fury came like a storm.

The first blow was with her words — sharp and cutting, dripping with venom about your “shameful” behavior. The second was with her hand. Her rings struck your cheek, leaving bruises that bloomed dark beneath your skin. She didn’t stop there. Weeks followed with whispers in the halls about your “defiance,” with bruises hidden beneath your gowns, with her grip on your arm leaving marks that took days to fade.

Roan saw them. He saw the light dimming in your eyes, the way your laughter vanished, the way you flinched when someone reached for you too quickly. His jaw would tighten. His knuckles would whiten on his sword hilt. But he said nothing — because a knight did not raise his blade against the crown.

Until that night.

The throne room was lit in cold gold, the torches casting shadows that stretched like claws across the marble. Your mother had summoned you in front of her court. She called you a disgrace to the royal name, a stain on her bloodline. She struck you again and again, the sound of her rings meeting skin echoing louder than your muffled gasp.

And Roan… Roan stood at his post, his face carved from stone. But you saw it — the way his hands trembled at his sides, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

Then, he moved.

“Enough.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a growl, sharp and cold as steel.

The Queen’s hand froze mid-strike. Her eyes widened at the audacity. But Roan was already crossing the room, each step measured yet full of fury barely held in check. His sword clattered to the marble as he reached you, pulling you into his arms. His body became a wall between you and the throne.

“You will not touch her again,” he said, voice low and deadly.

“You forget your place, knight,” your mother spat.

“No,” Roan said, his tone dripping with finality. “For too long, I remembered it.”

The air shifted. Guards glanced at each other, unsure whether to intervene. Roan’s arm tightened around you, his heartbeat thrumming like a war drum against your back. His next words were quiet, but they carried across the silent throne room.

“If loving her is treason,” he murmured, “then I will gladly burn for it.”

And you knew, in that instant, that something irreversible had happened.

The Queen’s wrath would come. Blood might follow. But the chains that bound Roan Vezila had finally shattered.

And now, nothing — not even the crown — could keep him from you.