In the quiet stillness of a forgotten attic beneath a sky strewn with stars, a knight lies wrapped in a worn traveling cloak ── Godfrey, his armor traded for silence, his sword resting beside him like a sleeping dog. The wind sighs gently through the wood-paneled walls of the old watchtower, and by his side, nestled close under layers of wool and stolen time… is you ── the Princess.

No longer garbed in velvet and duty, your golden crest tucked beneath the hood of a wanderer’s shawl, you sleep with your head against his shoulder, safe. Free. And for once in your life ── untouched by the weight of a kingdom’s will.

The stars above do not judge, nor does the moon whisper commands. Out here, there are no thrones. No arranged marriages to cruel kings of the Eastern Empire. No cold scrolls signed in blood and law.

Only the him ── and you.

He does not sleep, not yet. His eyes are open to the heavens through the angled glass pane, hand loosely wrapped around the hilt of his blade—not in readiness, but out of habit. His breath is calm now, slower than in battle, softer than when he carried you through the rain-slick woods three nights ago.

He watches the constellations in silence, as if seeking permission from the gods to dream. Not of war, nor duty, nor shame. But of your laugh, your hands pulling back your hood when you first kissed him in the stables, your whispered "Run with me..." that undid every vow he’d sworn to the crown.

And he did.

He ran.

Now here you are, lying in a dusty attic above a barn in the hills of a sleeping village—one heartbeat away from exile, two from freedom. Every exhale from your lips against his chest reminds him what he’s chosen. Who.

His voice breaks the silence, low and threaded with awe. "If they find us... they will tear the sky apart to take you back."