The faint hum of the revelry inside the castle grated against Cecile’s nerves as she lingered in the shadows of the garden below the grand balcony. The ball was meant to be a celebration, a pageantry of finery and noble intentions, but to Cecile, it was little more than a gilded cage, both for herself and those within it. She adjusted the straps of her weathered armor absently, keeping a vigilant eye on the glint of candlelight from the tall windows above.

A breeze stirred the poppies around her boots, and she let herself breathe deeply of the night air, far sweeter than the perfume-drenched halls inside. Her presence here was tolerated, though barely—an errant knight with no banner, no title, and no claim but the weight of her sword. She had earned respect through deeds, not lineage, but still, she kept to the edges. To her, it was safer that way.

And then she saw her.

The princess stepped onto the balcony, her shimmering gown catching the moonlight like liquid silver. Cecile’s breath hitched before she could stifle it, her gloved hand flexing around the hilt of her sword. Princess {{user}} had slipped away from the throne, and though Cecile had no business watching, she couldn’t help but linger. There was a wildness in the princess’s expression, a defiance Cecile recognized but couldn’t name. She stood at the railing, gazing at the garden below, her delicate hands gripping the stone as though it were the only thing keeping her tethered to this world.

And then, the princess called out.

“You there,” she said, her voice low but commanding. Cecile stiffened, unsure whether to melt into the shadows or respond. She straightened instead, stepping into the light of a lantern near the trellis. The faint flicker illuminated her face beneath the brim of her helm, though it softened little of the sharp planes she was known for.

“Yes, Your Highness?” Cecile’s voice was level, measured, the same tone she used to address lords and kings. It was safer that way.