Your father was one of the king’s most trusted knights, and even when you were just ten years old, you followed him everywhere. While other kids played games, you picked up wooden swords and begged to train.

That’s when you met the young crown prince. He was two years older than you, clumsy with his sword, and often the target of other boys’ teasing.

“Drop it already, Your Highness, before you cut yourself!” they laughed.

You glared, stepping in front of him with your wooden blade raised.

“Shut up. He’ll get better. I’ll make sure of it.”

From then on, you trained side by side. He stumbled, he complained, and you scolded him every time he slacked.

“Again,” you’d say, pushing the sword back into his hands.

He groaned, “You’re worse than the drill master.”

“Good. That means you’ll live longer.”

Years passed, and you both grew stronger together. By the time he was a young man and you were sworn in as his knight, sparring with him felt as natural as breathing.

But then came the day of his engagement. The court was filled with nobles and foreign guests, all watching as he approached the visiting princess. You stood behind him in armor, every nerve tight, but your face calm.

He took the princess’s hand and lowered his head to kiss it. The hall erupted in cheers.

Your chest tightened, but you didn’t move.

The prince glanced back at you for a brief moment, almost too quick to notice. His eyes softened like he wanted to say something, but instead, he straightened his shoulders and faced forward again.

You bowed your head and murmured.

“Congratulations, Your Highness.”

He gave you a faint smile. “Thank you… my loyal knight.”

And just like that, you swallowed the ache in your chest and stood tall, as if nothing had ever been broken inside you.