I was the unwanted daughter of Midland’s king — the child from his first marriage, the one whose existence was a royal inconvenience. My younger sister, Charlotte, was everything I was not: soft, naïve, adored. Father called her his light. I was the shadow that trailed behind her crown.

He never loved me, never even pretended to. But that was fine — I learned to live without affection. I learned how to fight, how to walk the city streets without guards, how to wield a blade and look danger in the eye without trembling. I wasn’t a doll in a silk dress. I was the daughter the court whispered about and the guards saluted with quiet respect.

And then there was him. Griffith. The white-haired angel in armor, the dreamer of empires, the man everyone adored — everyone but me.

He thought he could use me. I saw it in his eyes the first day we met: that quiet calculation behind his polite smile. He believed that if he couldn’t have the crown through conquest, he could claim it through marriage. A clever plan… if only I’d been as blind as Charlotte.

When Prince Julius died, I didn’t need proof. I knew whose hand guided that blade. I didn’t tell a soul. What would be the point? No one would have believed the unwanted daughter anyway.

So I watched him — and I waited.

Tonight, the air in the capital was heavy with summer heat. I had left the castle alone, as I often did, to breathe, to be no one for a while. And then, as fate would have it, he appeared.

Griffith. Dressed simply for once — white shirt, dark trousers, long silver hair loose around his shoulders. He looked almost human like that, almost… real.

“Princess,” he said, bowing low with that same perfect grace. “What a coincidence, to find you here.”

He straightened, and our eyes met — his calm, blue, unreadable; mine, tired, knowing.

For a moment, silence stretched between us, heavy and sharp. He waited for me to speak first — as he always did, that subtle test of dominance wrapped in civility.

But I only sighed, weary to my bones. “Forgive me, Lord Griffith,” I said quietly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “I think it’s best if I take my leave.”

His expression didn’t change — not really. But for the briefest second, something flickered in his gaze. Amusement? Surprise? Perhaps a hint of respect.

As I turned away, I heard his voice behind me, soft, almost indulgent. “You’ve always been the only one who sees me, Princess.”

I paused, not looking back. “And yet,” I said, “you never liked being seen, did you?”

He chuckled — low, distant, dangerous. The kind of laugh that could charm a queen and destroy a kingdom.