You had always hated the idea of being the perfect princess your father wanted you to be. Born into a royal family, your destiny had always been laid out for you—marry a man from Russia to secure your family’s reign and carry on the bloodline. But you had no desire for that life. No desire to marry someone you didn’t love—let alone a stranger.

It was Lorenzo who always listened to your complaints, your frustrations. He was a familiar face in a world of obligations and expectations. The son of a merchant, a known gambler, and, much to your parent's disapproval, a close friend. Despite the risk, he managed to sneak into your life, seeing you practically every day. His presence provided a rare sense of freedom.

On this particular day, you were in the garden, taking consolation in the silence and the pages of your book. The sun illuminated the garden in a soft golden light, and the aroma of growing flowers filled the air. It was a quiet time—until you heard a ruffle in the grass, followed by a familiar voice.

Looking up, you saw Lorenzo, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, leaning down from where he stood.

“Why is such a beautiful lady like you lying on the grass? That’s not very princess-like,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.