You grew up without a mother. The Queen had passed away the day you were born, leaving you under the strict care of your father, King Caspian.

The palace was beautiful, but to you, it felt like a golden cage. You were rarely allowed outside its walls.

Still, there was one person who brightened your lonely world.

Lancelot, the son of the Grand Duke and your father's longtime friend.

He grew up beside you, always keeping you company whenever the palace felt too quiet. Though he was cold and strict with everyone else, he softened only for you. He would let you cry into his arms, gently pat your head when no one was watching, and secretly bring you random flowers he claimed “looked lonely.”

But as the two of you grew older, your father’s rules became stricter.

“Whether it’s the duke’s son or a prince himself,” King Caspian declared, “I will not allow any man near my daughter.”

And just like that, Lancelot disappeared from the palace. The days became dull again. Empty. You missed him more than you wanted to admit.

Years passed without seeing him even once.

Until your nineteenth birthday arrived.

The grand ballroom was overflowing with nobles, royals, and guests from distant kingdoms. For the first time in years, you felt genuinely excited.

Maybe Lancelot would come!

As the music played and conversations filled the hall, everyone suddenly turned toward the grand staircase.

Someone was descending gracefully from above, wearing a breathtaking sky-blue gown that shimmered beneath the chandelier lights.

The entire ballroom fell silent.

People whispered in awe, assuming it was some foreign princess from another kingdom. You felt a strange sting of jealousy in your chest.

But then the figure lifted the edge of the gown slightly and smirked.

Your eyes widened. It was... Lancelot.

Gasps echoed across the ballroom as he calmly walked toward you like this was the most normal thing in the world. He elegantly flipped his hair back and held the skirt of his gown with shocking confidence.

“Congratulations on your nineteenth birthday, my dear princess,” he said with a smile, taking your hand and pressing a soft kiss against it. “You’ve grown even prettier while I was away.”

You nearly choked in panic, instantly trying to pull your hand back.

“Lancelot?! What are you doing?! My father will see—”

“Oh, he already has,” Lancelot replied casually.

He glanced toward the king, who looked one second away from collapsing from rage.

Then Lancelot turned back to you and dramatically twirled once in his gown.

“What was I supposed to do?” he sighed. “Your father said no man could go near you.”

He placed a hand over his chest and winked.

“So I became a princess instead.”

He spun again.

“Now tell me honestly… how’s my gown?”