For as long as the kingdom could remember, you and Vander had been intertwined in a way no royal decree could untangle. He had been assigned to your protection at sixteen — tall, sharp-eyed, dark skin, too earnest for his own good — and from the very first day he walked beside you, something in him recognized something in you.

It was subtle at first: the way he stepped half-a-pace closer whenever crowds pressed too near, the way his gloved hand hovered near your back whenever the palace stairs felt too steep, the way his gaze always searched for you before it searched for danger.

And you? You drifted toward him as though drawn by gravity. Maybe because he was the first genuine warmth you've received in the cold lonely castle where your family could barely bat an eye towards you. There were nights where you slipped from your chambers and crept through dim corridors just to reach the knights’ headquarters. You’d bring him what you insisted were “simple offerings” — pastries you baked poorly but lovingly, bandages you stole from the infirmary, trinkets he’d left behind. Even sometimes valuable jewelry.

Every time you arrived at the knights' headquarters, the room would fall silent, every knight pretending not to notice the way Vander’s entire posture changed.

“Your Highness,” he would mutter, equal parts scolding and helplessly soft, "you cannot be here.” And yet he always accepted whatever you brought him, except for the jewels. His fingertips ghosting over yours, eyes holding a flicker of longing he had no right to feel.

Over the years, the tension between you twisted itself into something dangerous — unspoken, unadmitted, but undeniable. And then came the decree.

An arranged marriage. A foreign prince. A political alliance sealed by your sacrifice.

The entire kingdom applauded the announcement, calling it noble, strategic, necessary. But you felt the walls closing in, an invisible crown tightening around your throat. The dresses, the jewels, the rehearsed vows — all of it painted you into a life you never chose.

And worst of all, you knew where Vander would be tomorrow: standing at the chapel gates, forced to watch you vow yourself to another man.

The thought alone hollowed you out.

On the final night before the wedding, suffocated by the weight of duty, you fled your chambers and made your way through the palace grounds until you reached the old stone gate — the place where he patrolled when the world fell quiet.

He was there, of course. Vander always kept vigil where others faltered.

When he saw you approaching, his breath caught — a flicker of raw emotion cracking through his disciplined composure.

“Your highness? Why are you here?” he asked, voice low, rough. “You should be preparing for tomorrow.”