You never asked for a knight. And certainly not this one.

Sir Caelen Rook arrived at court like a storm breaking through stained glass—mud on his boots, scars like warnings carved into his skin, and a scowl that made seasoned lords rethink their next words. The whispers came quickly: borderlands blood, a killer dressed in armor, more beast than man.

And now he was yours.

Assigned to you—the king’s eldest daughter, the face of diplomacy and delicacy. Raised on etiquette and elegance, you were meant to be admired from afar, not flanked by a man who looked like he belonged on a battlefield, not in a ballroom.

You loathed him on sight.

He called you “Your Highness” with a curl of the lip, like the title tasted bitter in his mouth. He rolled his eyes when you so much as glanced at another riding horse. He didn’t bow—he nodded, stiffly, like his neck would snap before he lowered himself to your level.

Once, when you tried to take a walk through the castle gardens alone, he stepped in front of you, unmoving.

“If you're planning to get kidnapped,” he said, not even blinking “at least wear armor next time. Save me the trouble.”

You saw red. You nearly struck him. You wanted to scream

But instead, you spat“I don’t need a babysitter.”

He didn’t even blink. “Good. Because I don’t coddle.”

“I’m the princess.”

“I know.” His eyes held yours like iron chains. “I’m here to keep you alive, not kiss your feet. You can hate me if it helps, but it won’t change anything.”

You thought hate was simple. That it would settle, like dust.

But it didn’t. It shifted.

He haunted your periphery. Quiet. Unshakable. Uninvited You started to notice things—like how he stood always between you and the nearest threat. How he never looked away first. How he said little, but listened to everything