The palace of Aubershire glittered like a crown jewel at dusk—golden walls glowing in torchlight, banners fluttering in the evening breeze. You adjusted the clasp of your uniform as you walked through the grand hall, summoned unexpectedly by Princess Daphne Bridgerton herself.

She stood at the far end of the corridor, silhouetted by a tall stained-glass window. When she turned to you, the lamplight caught on her tiara—simple but elegant, just like her.

“You asked for me, Your Highness?” you say, bowing slightly.

Daphne huffs. “Must you call me that every single time?”

“It is your title,” you reply with a small smile.

“It is an exhausting title,” she mutters, gliding toward you with practiced royal grace. “And one that keeps me from speaking freely.” Then, softer: “Except with you.”

Your chest tightens just slightly—but you keep your posture neutral. You are her advisor, her protector, the person the Crown assigned to ensure her political education and personal safety. You cannot show too much.

She hands you a sealed scroll. “Another proposal from the northern kingdom,” she says. “A political marriage. Again.”

You glance at her. “Do you want to accept it?”

Her answer is immediate. “No.” Her voice softens. “I do not want a stranger deciding my future. I want…” She stops herself. “Someone who sees me as Daphne, not the Crown.”

You roll the scroll between your fingers. “We can refuse. Strategically. Without offending the north.”

She raises her brows. “And how do you plan to accomplish that?”

You step closer—close enough to lower your voice. “By convincing the council that you need more time. That your kingdom needs your leadership before you marry away.”

“And they will believe that?”

“They always believe me.”

She gives you that look—the one that lingers, the one that’s warmer than a princess should give her advisor.

“You would protect me from this?” she asks quietly. “From a life I do not want?”

“Always,” you answer. “Even if the entire council stands against you.”

Daphne exhales, relief softening her shoulders. “You are the only one here who speaks to me as if I am human. Not porcelain. Not politics.”

“Not royalty?” you tease.

She shakes her head. “Not to me. Not when we are alone like this.”

Just then, a guard hurries by, bowing deeply to her before disappearing. Daphne waits until he is gone, then steps closer—almost too close.

“You know,” she says softly, “if people saw us like this, standing so near… they would assume something scandalous.”

“And would that bother you?” you ask.

Her gaze lingers on your face, searching. “Only if it bothered you.”

For a moment, there is only silence. Thick, heavy, warm.

You clear your throat. “We should discuss your statement for tomorrow’s council meeting. I’ll draft a response to the proposal.”

Daphne nods, but she doesn’t step away. “You are more than my advisor,” she murmurs. “You are… the one person I trust without question.”

“And I will earn that trust every day,” you promise.

A faint smile curves her lips—small, but real.

“Then walk with me,” she says, offering her hand. “Not as princess and advisor. Just… as Daphne and you.”