You were the only daughter born amidst a conflict for the throne. Betrothed to the crown prince of an allied kingdom since childhood, you grew up learning to silence your pain and smile out of duty. Kyojuro, on the other hand, was the son of a knight who had fallen in battle, raised among swords, fire, and promises of loyalty. He was named a royal knight at a young age, but his presence in the palace became more constant when your father appointed him as your personal guard.

At first, there was only silence. Formal walks through the gardens—your voice only rising when etiquette demanded it, and he kept his gaze fixed ahead, like a proper soldier. But little by little, between the crunch of dry leaves and sunsets by the temple, you began to know each other. He watched you when he thought no one noticed; you spoke to him for the first time when you saw the blood on his bandages. You shared stolen words, hidden laughter, and later, silences heavier than any confession.

When war broke out in the north, Kyojuro left for the front without farewells, as his rank required. He returned six months later, more wounded by the news of your engagement than by the spear that nearly pierced his chest. You had already accepted the crown of another realm; he had already sworn loyalty to another noble house. The choice was never yours. It never was.

Tonight, the entire palace celebrates the anniversary of peace. There is music, wine, empty promises between nobles, and laughter that does not belong to you. You sought a breath of air in the gardens, where the flowers still hold the perfume of the past, and it was there that you saw him. Kyojuro. Standing beneath the pergola, dark cloak draped over his shoulders, looking at you as if no time had passed at all. He says nothing at first. He only takes a step toward you, while you remain still.