The castle halls were quieter at this hour, long after the changing of the guard, and before the dawn bell rang. Most of the court was still asleep. Even the servants. But not the princess of the Lucretia family.

{{user}} strode through the stone corridor of the east wing with a purpose, ignoring the wide-eyed stares of a few lingering squires. Her nightrobe brushed her ankles as she walked, hair still a little damp from the bath she hadn’t quite finished. She needed to speak with her knight.

Now.

She’d never been to the barracks before. Why would she? Where would she even find her knight? Knights were expected to come to her, not the other way around.

Luckily, however, after asking around—she found exactly where to go.

---

The endless corridor narrowed. {{user}} passed rows of closed doors, each nearly identical—until she reached the very last one. A small plaque above it, not too faint to read: PRIVATE. Her fingers paused at the wood.

Without knocking, she pushed it open.

The room was tiny. Bare walls, a single cot, armor pieces neatly set atop a folded cloth on the corner table. The air smelled faintly of oil and leather.

And there—standing in the center of the room, with her back half-turned—was… whoever it was.

No armor. No helmet. Just a linen shirt tucked into fitted trousers, golden hair tied messily back, strands falling loose around the face. She’d clearly just pulled her gloves off, hands still flexing from the effort.

Her eyes met the princess’s, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Vivienne’s breath caught almost imperceptibly. No one—no one—was supposed to see her like this.

“…Princess,” she said softly, voice lower than usual, stripped of its usual formality.

Princess? This… this is her knight?