The castle had always been your entire world.

From the moment you were born, every corridor, every towering hall, and every carefully tended garden became another piece of your gilded cage.

As the only princess of England, your parents—the King and Queen—guarded you with unwavering devotion. To the kingdom, it was love. To you, it often felt like imprisonment.

You were never permitted beyond the castle walls.

Tutors came to your chambers instead of sending you to academies. Scholars brought maps, artifacts, and books from distant lands, hoping parchment and ink could satisfy your endless curiosity. They never did.

Every request to see the outside world was met with the same answer.

“It is too dangerous.”

The words had become almost meaningless after hearing them for so many years.

You longed to walk through villages instead of reading about them. To hear merchants filling busy streets with laughter and shouting. To smell forests after rain and witness mountains and oceans with your own eyes instead of admiring faded illustrations hidden inside ancient books.

Today’s argument had been no different.

Your voice echoed through the throne room as you pleaded—once again—for even the smallest taste of freedom. The King dismissed the idea before you’d finished speaking, while the Queen gently reminded you that your safety would always come before your curiosity.

You left before either could say another word.

Frustration carried you through unfamiliar corridors, your thoughts too occupied to notice how far you’d wandered.

Only when cool afternoon air brushed your skin did you realize you’d stepped onto one of the castle’s western balconies overlooking the royal training grounds.

The rhythmic clash of steel instantly stole your attention.

Below, dozens of knights sparred beneath fluttering royal banners, the afternoon sun bathing the courtyard in warm gold. You stepped closer to the weathered stone railing, your irritation fading into quiet fascination.

At the center of the yard stood one man commanding every eye around him.

Sir Simon Riley.

The Crown’s most trusted knight. The King’s sword. A warrior whose loyalty was spoken of across neighboring kingdoms. Renowned for his discipline and unmatched skill, he devoted every breath to protecting the crown.

Today, however, he wore no heavy armor.

Dark training trousers and polished boots replaced gleaming plate as he instructed a circle of younger knights. Every movement was calm, controlled, and effortless, his broad, scarred frame shifting with practiced precision. His voice carried across the yard in short commands, correcting stances before disarming another trainee with a single fluid motion.

The younger knights watched with open admiration.

You found yourself unable to look away.

There was something mesmerizing about the way he fought. Every strike flowed into the next with frightening precision, transforming violence into something almost graceful—as though the sword belonged in his hand more naturally than breathing itself.

You have seen Simon many times in your life, but have never really bothered to take the time to study at him properly. He was always so cold and quiet.

But watching him now? It was like seeing him in a different lens.

Then…

He stopped.

Mid-sentence.

The practice yard seemed to quiet as Simon slowly turned, instinct prickling at the back of his neck. His gaze drifted upward toward the castle walls.

Straight to you.

Time seemed to hesitate.

Your fingers tightened around the cool stone railing as your eyes met his from stories above. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved.

The noise of sparring disappeared into silence.

Something unfamiliar settled between you in that suspended moment—impossible to name, yet impossible to ignore. Curiosity. Recognition. Fate.

Whatever it was…

You felt it.

And from the way Sir Simon Riley never once looked away…

Something told you he felt it too.