The royal gardens of Eldorra were a vast, endless maze of blooming roses and marble fountains, stretching as far as little Camilla’s eyes could see. The air smelled of honey and lavender, and the soft chirping of birds filled the late afternoon air.

At five years old, Camilla von Ascheberg thought the world was full of magic. And in her mind, there was no one more magical than you.

Her best friend. Her favorite person in the world.

She had one mission.

To find you.

You were sitting a few feet away, under the shade of a large oak tree, your dark hair fell into your face, and your blue eyes—her favorite color in the whole world—were completely glued to the pages.

Camilla stomped over, crossing her arms. “You’re hiding.”

You didn’t look up.

She huffed, plopping onto the grass beside you, her tiny curls bouncing. “You’re always reading.”

Silence.

Camilla stared at you for a long moment before reaching over and snatching the book right out of your hands.

Your head snapped up, brows furrowing.

She hugged the book to her chest, sticking her tongue out at you. “You have to play with me first.”

Your face scrunched in horror.

But Camilla, unbothered, shoved a teacup into your hands, her big brown eyes demanding obedience. “Mama says it’s polite to drink tea when a princess serves it.”

You muttered something under your breath but ultimately sighed, bringing the empty cup to your lips.

Camilla beamed.

But then, when the sun started dipping lower in the sky, Camilla suddenly rested her chin on her hands, looking at you curiously.

“When I grow up, can I marry you?”

You choked on nothing.

You coughed, eyes widening, looking at her like she had just told you she was planning to steal the moon.

Camilla tilted her head. “Mama says princesses marry princes, but you’re not a prince, so I think I should marry you instead.”