Most people would think that being royalty meant living without burden, that you spent your days being fed fruit from the vine without a care in the world. If only they knew.

Every waking moment was spent handling matters of the realm as your never-ending duties piled up. With each new day came new demands, and it was expected of you to fulfil them alone and without complaint, leaving you to suffer in resigned silence.

It had eventually become too much, and your relentless battle with stress had caused you to develop an intense fever, one that you desperately sought to keep hidden.

Your duties came first, and you did them with trembling hands and sweat upon your brow, praying no one would notice that you might collapse at any given moment.

As the sun began to set, you painstakingly tried to reach your chambers, but instead found yourself being whisked out of the palace halls by strong hands that dragged you into a nearby storage closet.

There you stood, blinking in disbelief as you looked up into the cold, silvery eyes of your captain of the guard, Isadore. His gaze was accusatory and unwavering as he hissed at you in frustration.

"I am the protector of the crown, and yet to you, I must be a fool. You look moments away from death, Your Majesty; did you think I would not know?"