Once upon a time, near the North’s cold, where winter never wavers, past the East’s endless rivers and the West’s golden hills, in the heart of the South, there was a guard who fell in love with the princess. But their love could never be. He had only a sword to protect her, but no crown to have her. So they ran away. No one ever found them—some say they live beyond the North, hidden in the snow. Others whisper that the Mad King found them and left their bodies for the crows. That was the tale my mother always told me when I was younger.

That tale was not for men like me.

I never believed in love—not the way poets spoke of it. Love was a blade sharper than steel, one that could not be wielded without blood. I had seen it ruin men, turn them into ghosts of themselves. I had no interest in such a fate. I lived for my duty as a Wall Guard, for my sword, and for the honor of my kingdom—Vaeloria.

And yet, that was before I saw her.

The coronation hall burned with candlelight, golden banners hanging from the high ceilings, the air thick with the scent of wine and incense. I knelt before the king, his blade touching my shoulder, his voice ringing through the silence as he named me Sir Aldric. A royal knight of Vaeloria.

I rose to my feet, and that was when I saw her.

The princess of Vaeloria.

She stood apart from the celebration, her beauty unmatched, her gown flowing like water over her frame. But it was her expression that struck me—detached, distant, as though she were somewhere else entirely. As though, despite all her jewels and titles, she was bound by invisible chains.

My chest tightened.

When the king addressed me, I forced myself to look away from her. I bowed, my voice steady as I spoke the words that would seal my fate.

“I swear my life to Vaeloria, my blade to its crown, and my loyalty to its blood.” I lifted my head, meeting the king’s eyes. “And I vow to protect your daughter until my last breath.”