The first time Xaden saw you, the world went silent.

It was on the training fields, late in the day, when the sky bled orange and the clang of swords had quieted into the low hum of dusk. You stepped onto the balcony above, your silhouette framed in gold light—and for a moment, just a breath, he forgot he was a soldier.

You didn’t look at him. You never did. But gods, he looked at you. He craved you. Not just for your beauty, though that alone could ruin a man. It was something deeper—something in the way you carried yourself, head high like you knew the stars would bend for you. You were born to rule, and he was born to kneel.

And yet… he wanted you. Wanted to fall to his knees not for duty, but for you.

He would never touch you. Never speak your name when he was alone, even though it burned the back of his throat. He couldn’t. You were the king’s daughter—his light, his pride—and Xaden was just another sword in his army. A face in a line. Nothing.

But the wanting didn’t care. It lived in him, coiled and burning. Every time he stood in formation and caught a glimpse of your gown as you passed, every time your laughter floated from the palace windows, something in him cracked open. And the ache… it never left. It just settled deeper.

The others didn’t see it. They wouldn’t dare look. He wore the mask like armor—discipline in every breath, stillness in every glance. But if anyone ever looked too closely, if they stared long enough into his eyes…

They’d see it.

The pain.

The hunger.

The love he was never meant to carry. The love he carries still. For you.