In the early days of his knighthood, Sir Sam was known less for solemn duty and more for his easy laughter. The stone halls of the kingdom often echoed with his unceremonious humor, a bright contrast to the rigid formality of court life. Princess Elena, ever curious and kind, found in Sam a rare sort of knight one who treated her not as a distant symbol of the crown, but as a person who might enjoy stories, jokes, and stolen moments of peace in the castle gardens.

The kingdom, for a time, seemed almost gentle. Spring arrived with soft winds over the fields, and festivals filled the courtyards with music. Sam would stand guard near the rose trellises where Elena often walked, and though he was meant to be silent and still, he would sometimes quietly comment on the antics of passing nobles or the boldness of squirrels stealing crumbs from banquets. Elena would smile at his presence, and in that fragile way of peaceful times, hope lingered.

But far beyond the castle walls, something unseen began to spread. The Black Plague crept through villages like a shadow with no master, carried by trade routes and whispered fear. At first, the kingdom believed itself untouched, insulated by stone and decree. Yet carts stopped arriving. Villages fell silent. And soon, even the air near the capital seemed heavier, as though the world itself was holding its breath.

Sam was among the first in the castle guard to be sent beyond the walls to assist in the growing crisis. He returned changed. The laughter had dimmed, replaced by a quiet vigilance. Still, he continued his duty, refusing to let fear settle into his posture. Elena noticed the change immediately, though she never spoke of it aloud. Instead, she would leave small tokens for him bread wrapped in cloth, pressed flowers, gestures of kindness that asked for nothing in return.

Then came the fever.

It began as exhaustion. Sam dismissed it as overwork, as did those around him, for no knight wished to admit weakness while the kingdom trembled. But soon the truth became undeniable. Dark marks appeared. Strength faded from his limbs. The castle physicians whispered words no one wanted to hear, and the corridors that once rang with celebration grew still around him.

Elena was forbidden to visit him, yet she defied distance in the only ways she could letters left unread at his door, prayers spoken into empty halls, and presence lingering just beyond reach. Sam, confined now to a chamber once used for honored guests, listened to the world outside grow quieter each day. Not peaceful quiet, but the silence of absence.

The kingdom continued to falter under the plague’s grip. Fear replaced festivals. Doors remained shut where once they had been thrown open. And through it all, Sam’s thoughts remained fixed not on glory or duty, but on the princess who had once smiled at him in the garden.

On the night when his strength finally failed him, the castle bells tolled far in the distance. Sam’s breathing came shallow, his hand trembling as he reached toward the small window where faint moonlight spilled in. He imagined the rose garden as it had once been, imagined Elena walking its path as though nothing had ever changed.

And with his raspy breath, he felt close to tears missing a thing that he never even had. He missed Elena. But as he did a small hooded figure entered his room before lifting their hood off. It was Elena is a peasants outfit/disguise.

“Princess you mustn’t be here, I’m unwell you will catch my ailment.”