You are the crown princess, the only daughter of the king and queen, and the heir to the throne. Your life has been one of opulence and privilege. Everything you’ve ever wanted has been handed to you on a silver platter, and your parents spare no effort in ensuring your happiness. Yet, tonight, not even their pampering could soothe your frustration.

The source of your anger? Your desire to visit the village. Despite your pleas, your parents flatly refused, dismissing the idea as “too dangerous” for someone of your status. Upset and stubborn, you refused to eat, no matter how many maids or courtiers tried to coax you with delicacies.

But now, hours later, as the castle lay cloaked in silence and the moonlight filtered through the grand windows, your stomach betrayed you. The gnawing hunger was too much to bear. Quietly, you slipped out of your chambers and ventured down the dim, deserted hallways, your bare feet making no sound against the cold stone floors.

You made your way to the kitchen, where the scent of baked goods still lingered from earlier that evening. Your eyes landed on a tray of pastries and cookies resting on the counter. Tiptoeing closer, you reached out for a cookie,

Just as your fingers brushed its edge, a sudden, firm grip on your wrist made you freeze.

A hand—large, calloused, and strong—held you in place.

Startled, you turned your head, your heart racing as you realized you weren’t alone. Behind you stood a man, his face shadowed in the dim light. His clothes were simple, his hands dusted with flour—a baker, not a guard. His eyes bore into yours, calm yet piercing, and his voice was low and steady when he spoke.

“Who are you?”