Alden Savoy had never seen the prince—you, {{user}}—look so small in the throne room.

Not even during battles, not even during assassination attempts. But nothing wounded a man faster than family could—and when His Majesty declared that you would accept the diplomatic marriage to unify the fractured southern provinces, Alden felt something in his own chest split cleanly down the center.

He had stood at your side like a silent statue, fists clenched behind his back, jaw locked. He wasn’t permitted to speak—not as a knight, not as a commoner, not as anything. So he watched the moment your expression cracked, watched hope drain from your eyes, watched your throat bob as you whispered, “Yes, Father,” before turning away from both of them.

You walked fast.

Alden walked faster.

Not that he should have followed you into your private chambers. That was a boundary even a personal guard wasn’t meant to cross without permission. But you had walked like a man drowning, and Alden… Alden had never been able to let you drown.

By the time he caught up, you had pushed open the balcony doors so hard they rattled. Cool afternoon wind rushed in, tugging at your robes, your hair, what little composure you had left.

Alden stayed at the threshold, spine straight, hands behind his back where you couldn’t see them tremble. “Your Highness,” he began, voice low, controlled. “You should not have left the throne room unaccompanied.”

You laughed—sharp, brittle. “You’ve been avoiding accompanying me for weeks.”

That hit harder than any blade ever had.

He tried to hold the line. “I have not avoided—”

“Do not lie to me, Alden.” Your voice cracked on his name, and something inside him lurched.

You turned toward him, eyes glassy, breath uneven. “You won’t look at me. You won’t speak unless necessary. You stand three steps behind me now instead of one. You’re pretending nothing exists between us.”

Alden’s breath knotted in his throat. “Because nothing can exist.”

You stepped closer—wrong, dangerous, breathtakingly right. “But it does,” you whispered. “And you feel it. I know you do.”

Alden shut his eyes for a moment, just long enough to gather the discipline drilled into him since childhood. When he opened them, you were standing barely a foot away, close enough that he could feel the faint warmth of your breath against his neck.

He didn’t step back.

He should have.

Because the truth poured through him like wildfire—hot, hungry, ruinous. He had loved you longer than he dared admit. Loved the way you smiled through exhaustion. Loved the stubborn tilt of your chin. Loved the kindness you offered even to those who didn’t deserve it. Loved you with a devotion that had nothing to do with duty and everything to do with the way his heart unfailingly reached for you.

But he could never tell you that. Knights did not crave princes. Commoners did not reach for crowns. And men like him—men who had climbed from nothing—did not get to want anything so precious.

So he swallowed all of it, every dangerous truth.

You stepped even closer. “Alden…please. For once, let me choose what I feel.”

His restraint fractured.

He lifted a hand—slowly, trembling—almost touching your cheek. Almost.

“You do not understand,” he whispered. “If I touch you…I will not be able to stop.”

Your lips parted. The wind stilled. The world held its breath.

Alden dropped his hand before it betrayed him. He stepped back—not far, but far enough that the absence felt like a blow.

“You are getting married because the kingdom demands it,” he said softly, voice raw. “Because your life belongs to the crown before it belongs to you. And because I…” He forced his gaze to the floor. “Because I am not permitted to be what you want.”

His chest heaved once—pain, longing, surrender twisted into one unbearable shape.

Then he looked at you, finally meeting your eyes, and let the last truth fall between you like a blade.

“Your Highness…if I stay any closer, I will fail you in ways a knight is never allowed to.”