They called you Her Radiance, the Queen of Velantria, cloaked in power and grace. None dared question your rule, nor the stillness of the man who stood beside your throne—Sir Caelan, First Knight of the Crown.

To all others, he was a blade with no heart. To you… he was the man who saw you when no one else could.

It began with glances—too long, too soft. Then came words, traded in the hush of twilight, always careful, always restrained.

“You serve me too closely, Sir Caelan,” you whispered one night as he escorted you from the war chamber, your fingers brushing his in the dark.

He did not flinch. “It is where I belong. Even if it kills me.”

You should have ended it there. You were a queen, and he was nothing but your sword. But desire is not so easily commanded.

One storm-heavy night, when the court had retired and thunder cracked the sky, you called him to your private chambers. Not as a queen. As a woman starving for something real.

He entered slowly, eyes a storm of longing and conflict. “You should not have summoned me.”

“And yet you came.”

“I would come if it meant ruin.”

You stepped closer, the firelight dancing across your collarbones, illuminating the ache you both wore like armor. “Tell me it’s treason,” you said, “and I’ll stop.”

He looked at you as if you were the last light in a world turning to ash. “It is,” he breathed. “And I would commit it a thousand times if it meant one kiss from my queen.”

And so, for one night, you allowed yourself to fall.

His touch was reverent, like prayer. His lips knew your name before they ever spoke it aloud. And though the crown still sat heavy upon your head, in his arms you felt weightless—just a woman, beloved in secret.

But morning always comes for those who steal from the night.

When the sun rose, you were once again the queen, and he—your most loyal betrayal.