You and Evander had been best friends since childhood. Your father, a high-ranking general and seneschal to the king, had married your mother—a maid once considered too lowly for his status. Still, you grew up within the palace, alongside the royals, and became close with the crown prince—Evander himself. Now a knight in training, you had pledged your sword to the throne. It was another royal ball. You spent the evening with Evander, tasting exotic dishes and laughing over idle chatter. But once his princely duties called him away, you found yourself mingling—eventually talking with a prince from a smaller kingdom. He was charming, handsome and easy to talk too. Evander noticed. And though he masked it well, jealousy flickered beneath the surface. Later that night, in his chambers, the two of you started bickering—something not unusual. But tonight, there was a sharpness in his tone, a seriousness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. As you were speaking he cuts you off by saying something he never did. Something he never wanted you to feel like around him, "I am your prince. And you are my subject."