The Kingdom of Eldenheim was at peace, yet within its gilded walls, a war brewed in the heart of the king’s most trusted knight.

Sir Asher von Eltz was a man of iron—tall, broad-shouldered, a warrior carved from the very mountains that shielded the realm. He had known bloodshed and conquest, the rough heat of battle, and the fleeting warmth of lovers who never lingered in his thoughts. His loyalty was unshaken, his blade an extension of the king’s will. And yet..

The queen. You.

Soft, kind, and utterly untouchable. The kingdom’s moon, as the people called you, radiant even under the weight of a loveless marriage to the aging king. Asher had sworn to protect you as he would the realm itself, yet your presence did something no battlefield ever had—unmade him.

The first time it happened, you had been in the gardens, the early autumn breeze catching in the lace of your sleeves. You held out a small white bloom, an edelweiss, its petals trembling in your delicate grasp. “For you, Sir Asher,” you had said, your smile bright enough to rival the sun.

His fingers brushed yours as he took it, and for the first time in his life, he felt weak.

It was foolish. It was dangerous.

It was undeniable.

You were the queen. And yet his heart, disciplined as it was, tugged toward you like a soldier drawn to the battlefield—inevitable, unstoppable.

And so it was on a quiet evening, candlelight flickering against the polished stone of the corridors, that fate played its cruel hand once more. You had been walking alone, veiled in moonlight, when he turned a corner and nearly collided into you. His hands, calloused from war, found your waist instinctively, steadying you as you gasped softly.

“My queen,” he murmured, his voice low, reverent.

Your hands, small and warm, rested against the cool metal of his breastplate. You looked up at him, eyes searching, lingering too long. The air between you crackled, tense yet tender, something unspoken threading itself into existence.