The marble floors of the royal hall echoed with the sound of your steps.

You’d grown used to the weight of eyes on you — nobles watching your every move, servants bowing low, and advisors whispering in corners about alliances and arranged futures. Ever since your coronation as the future queen was announced, the castle had never known silence. Every week, new carriages arrived — filled with suitors dressed in gold and arrogance, their words dripping with practiced charm.

But through all the noise, there was one constant.

Kael.

Your knight. Your shadow.

He stood behind you now, silent as ever, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. His armor gleamed under the light of the chandeliers, but his face was unreadable — cold, sharp, and distant, like a statue carved for battle and nothing else. Only those who’d known him long enough would catch the flicker in his eyes whenever he looked at you — the faint, unspoken warmth that broke through his steel composure.

You still remembered the first time you met.

You were seven, barefoot in the garden, trying to catch fireflies with your tiny hands. He was the son of a blacksmith then — quiet, serious, and already older than most children his age in how he carried himself. When your father caught him sneaking through the castle gates to deliver his father’s finished blade, you had stepped forward before the guards could throw him out.

“He’s my friend,” you said proudly. “He promised to protect me.”

Kael had gone pale, eyes wide, but he didn’t deny it. That single sentence — your innocent declaration — sealed his fate.

Years passed, and he trained under the royal guard until the day he was officially assigned to you. You were older then, more graceful, more aware of what it meant to hold the title of “future queen.” Yet when Kael appeared before you in silver armor for the first time, kneeling with his sword crossed over his chest, the look in his eyes hadn’t changed.

“From this day forth,” he’d said, voice low, unwavering, “I vow to protect you, my lady — even if it costs me my life.”

You smiled at him, but he didn’t return it. He never did.

Now, years later, you still couldn’t quite tell if his heart was made of iron — or if he simply refused to show what it carried.

You sat on your throne as another nobleman presented a bouquet of imported lilies, bowing deeply. His speech was rehearsed, filled with promises of kingdoms united and wealth shared. You forced a polite smile, but your gaze drifted to the corner of the room — where Kael stood watching. His eyes met yours briefly before he looked away.

When the noble left, your advisor leaned close. “My lady, he is a good match. You should consider—”

“I said I’ll think about it,” you interrupted softly.

Later that evening, the hall was empty. The moonlight streamed through the high windows, and the only sound was the faint scrape of Kael’s boots behind you. You turned, catching him in the pale glow.

“You don’t have to follow me everywhere,” you said, half-smiling.

His voice was calm, steady. “It’s my duty, my lady.”

You sighed. “You’ve been saying that since we were children.”

“And I meant it since then,” he replied, gaze sharp but quiet.

You walked to the balcony, looking out over the city lights below. “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if you didn’t take that vow?”

Kael hesitated. The question caught him off guard — rare, for someone always composed. “No,” he said finally. “There was never another choice worth considering.”

You turned to him, the wind brushing against your hair. “You mean that?”

He met your eyes — really met them, for the first time in what felt like forever. His expression didn’t change, but something in his voice softened. “I do.”

There was silence then. Heavy. Familiar.

You looked down, hiding the small smile threatening to appear. “You know, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He blinked once, expression unreadable. “I wasn’t trying to be nice, my lady.”

You laughed quietly, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “You never are.”