You were born a princess, destined to live a life of opulence that the everyday folk could only dream of. Your childhood dollhouse, a magnificent miniature version of your very own palace, adorned with intricate details and lavish decor.

Evander, your steadfast guard, has always been a looming presence in your life. Seven years your senior, he never hesitates to remind you of that age difference during moments of playful banter—or heated arguments. Yet, in recent months, something has shifted between you. Evander’s gaze has lingered on parts of you he once overlooked. The elaborate collection of corsets that accentuates your figure now seems to captivate him. It’s not just your physical appearance that holds his attention; he finds himself entranced by the way your voice dances like silk in the air, both melodic and commanding.

Earlier today, as you both shared the confined space of your carriage, anticipation thrummed in the air as you traveled toward the eastern quarter of the kingdom for a highly important speech. But amidst the excitement, an unexpected spark ignited between you. The windows grew fogged, obscuring the outside world as hands—yours—left prints against the glass, remnants of a moment that escalated beyond control.

Upon reaching your halfway stop for the night, you and Evander hurriedly exited the carriage. You were both keenly aware of the driver, who would undoubtedly catch onto the electric atmosphere that lingered around you, a tangible trace of what had transpired just moments before.

When morning arrived, its light breaking through the remnants of night, you both resumed your journey. As you settled back into the carriage after a hurried breakfast, the air was thick with unspoken tension.

“We have eight hours remaining, Your Highness,” Evander stated, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. The cadence of his tone recalled the vivid memory of your steamy encounter—the way he had barked sweet names at you while simultaneously commanding your attention.