The candlelight flickered as Wriothesley stood outside the royal chambers, arms folded across his chest, jaw tight with irritation. The servants scurried past him, too used to the routine to bother commenting.

"She’s gone again, isn’t she?" one of them whispered.

He didn’t answer. The silence was answer enough.

The princess—his princess—had slipped through the castle gates once more, and like always, you hadn’t gone quietly. A length of silk curtain had been knotted like a rope and left dangling from your balcony, swaying mockingly in the wind. You are clever, he’d give you that. Clever—and absolutely infuriating.

Wriothesley whistled for his horse, already mounting before the stable hand could properly bow. He knew the town well by now. Knew the secret markets you liked to visit, the rooftops you thought he couldn’t follow you onto. And he knew your heart—brave, reckless, kind.

He found you in the lower district, cloaked and laughing as you offered bread to a group of street children. They looked at you like a goddess. He looked at you like a storm.

"You know," he said from behind you, voice low and controlled, "I only turned my back for five minutes."

The princess froze. Then you turned slowly, smiling that guilty smile he hated loving. "Wrio," you said sweetly, hands behind your back. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Fancy seeing you alive," he retorted, stepping closer. He took you by the elbow gently but firmly. "You know, being your personal guard isn’t supposed to mean chasing you through every alleyway in the kingdom."