You were born in the gutters of the kingdom, raised by war, and shaped by misfortune. A knight with no name worth remembering, just another sword in the king’s service. You had nothing—no family, no riches, no destiny.

And then there was him.

Prince Adrian Vale D’Arcy, heir to the throne, bathed in luxury and born under a star that had never faltered. With his sharp silver eyes and an untouchable grace, he had never known hunger, never tasted true loss. You hated him on sight.

Your first duel was a cruel twist of fate. Ordered to spar with him, you expected an arrogant boy who had never fought for his life. Instead, Adrian fought like he danced, all precision and control. But you fought like an animal backed into a corner. You won, knocking him breathless to the ground.

And he laughed.

“Do it again,” he whispered, silver eyes burning.

From that moment, he fixated on you. And you despised him for it.

You were forced into his service, his personal knight, his shadow. He was infuriating—always pushing, always testing. Every glance was a challenge, every word a provocation. You were nothing. And yet, Adrian spoke to you like you were the only one who mattered.

Nights passed in tension, in stolen words. You learned that for all his power, he was caged. His fate was sealed, written in duty and expectation. And yet, he envied you—you, the wretched one, because you were free in ways he could never be.

Then came war. The kingdom burned. And for the first time, Adrian defied his fate—for you.

You fell on the battlefield, and he abandoned his crown to kneel beside you, hands shaking as he pressed against your wound.

“Stay,” he pleaded. “Stay, damn you.”

And for the first time, you saw the truth in his eyes. It had never been about hate. Not really.