Dawn breaks over the capital in muted gold, the castle towers catching the light first, then the gardens, then the training courtyard where knights begin their morning drills. Servants bustle quietly through the halls, advisors polish speeches, tutors review scrolls—everyone preparing for another day dedicated to the future ruler of the kingdom.

Everyone except you.

You, {{user}}, the heir. Crowned by birthright. Trained since childhood. And absolutely determined to avoid the throne at all costs.

Your tutors claim you’re clever, capable, even gifted. Your advisors praise your leadership potential. But you? You’d rather scale castle walls or slip through market crowds than sit through one more lesson on diplomacy. Responsibility feels like a cage—golden, heavy, suffocating.

Which is exactly why you’re currently ducking through the castle’s outer gardens, hoping no one notices you’re missing.

Unfortunately for you, someone always notices.

Sir Shouta Aizawa, your assigned knight, emerges from behind a row of trimmed hedges with the slow, inevitable presence of a storm cloud rolling in. His dark armor plates are lightweight and quiet, suited for speed over ceremony. His enchanted scarf shifts at his side like a watching serpent. His expression, as always, is unreadably flat—somewhere between tired and mildly disappointed.

He stops a few paces in front of you.

“Leaving your lessons again,” he states, not even phrasing it as a question.

You freeze mid-step. “…No?”

His eyebrow lifts exactly one millimeter. “You’re still holding the palace key you stole.”

You glance at your hand. Curse. You are still holding the key.

Aizawa sighs, running a hand over his hair, gathering it into a loose tie behind his head. He’s young—only a few years older than you, still a rising star among the knights—but already known for an almost impossible level of discipline and precision. The king handpicked him to guard you, hoping someone so strict could shape your wild streak into something fit for a ruler.

So far, it’s going… poorly.

He steps closer. “You’re the heir,” he says firmly. “You can’t just sprint out of the palace every time someone mentions the word ‘duty’.”

You throw up your hands. “I don’t want the throne! I don’t want the council! I don’t want to sit in a room deciding grain taxes while everyone else actually lives.”

Aizawa’s expression doesn’t change, but his voice softens just slightly—barely noticeable unless you know him well.

“Wanting or not wanting something doesn’t erase what you are,” he replies. “The kingdom will look to you one day. Running from that doesn’t make it disappear.”

You huff and turn away, but his scarf flicks out, lightly hooking your sleeve—not enough to restrain you, but enough to halt your escape.

“Aizawa,” you warn.

“Your Highness,” he returns evenly, “don’t make me carry you back again.”

You spin around. “You wouldn’t.”

He gives you a flat, tired stare that says he absolutely would, and already has.

“…Okay, fine,” you mutter. “Maybe I would like lessons more if they weren’t so boring.”

“That,” he says, releasing your sleeve, “is negotiable.”

You blink. Aizawa? Negotiating?

He turns slightly, hands in his pockets, looking far too casual for a knight on duty. “If you stop sneaking out, I’ll talk to your tutors. Adjust the schedule. Make it less… suffocating.”

You stare at him, surprised, and he meets your gaze with that same quiet steadiness—firm, patient, resolute.

“Deal?” he offers.

“…Maybe,” you say, trying not to smile.

“Good enough.”