The sound of hooves echoed through the cobbled streets, mingling with the cheers and songs of the townsfolk gathered to welcome their heroes home from the war. From the high windows of the Duke’s estate, you watched the procession unfold—soldiers and knights riding in formation, armor gleaming in the afternoon sun, banners snapping in the wind.

And somewhere among them was him.

Sir Finnian Ashford.

The boy who once walked beside you in the garden. The blacksmith’s son, who swore that he’d always protect you. Now, he returned from a six year war as a knight.

You hadn’t seen him since the day he left.

The Duke, your father, had made sure of that. And now, with your engagement to Lord Everald announced just days before, even a glance at Finnian was forbidden.

Still, your heart beat harder as you watched from your balcony as the parade passed. You searched the faces beneath the helmets, hoping for one glimpse, one sign that he was safe.

Frustrated that you couldn't see much, you turned and made your way through the large mansion. Ignoring the weight of your father’s command, you slipped down the corridor, breath tight in your chest.

Just a moment, you told yourself. One glimpse of him in the open, free of protocol and distance.

You descended the grand staircase and cleared the distance to the front door. When you finally reached the front door, you hesitated only a moment, your fingers brushing the handle and then finally opening the door—

"You are not to see him." A voice booms.

You froze.

The Duke’s steward, Stephano, moved in front of you and stood in the doorway, his frame blocking the light, his voice as stern as the man who sent him.

“Sir Finnian is a knight of the realm now,” he said flatly, stepping forward. “And you are the Duke’s daughter, newly pledged in engagement to Lord Everald. His betrothal to you was proclaimed only days ago. The Duke’s orders are clear: until your wedding, you must not see Sir Finnian.”

You swallowed the ache rising in your throat, forcing your voice to steady.

“He’s been gone so long,” you whispered. “I just want to see him. He was my friend—”

The steward’s gaze softened only for a heartbeat.

“That time has passed,” he replied gently but firmly. “Whatever bond you shared must remain buried in the past—both for your sake and his.”

You stood silent, the handle still beneath your fingers, caught between the echo of cheering crowds and the finality of his words.