— a tale of roses, mischief, and a knight undone —

It was the first of April, a morning kissed with early sunlight and the scent of roses blooming wild in the royal gardens. Dew clung to every petal like tiny diamonds, and soft winds played through the trellises, carrying laughter and secrets.

You strolled through the royal gardens in a gown of silk the color of pearls, your fingers brushing over hibiscus and hyacinths alike. Beside you, your maidens walked with veils of mischief in their eyes. Behind every fan and fluttered whisper, there stirred a secret storm.

“Your Grace,” one of them giggled, “how would you feel… if a foreign suitor arrived unexpectedly today?”

You smiled, unaware of the dagger they were gently twisting into fate. “A Swedish prince? My, how exotic,” you teased, sipping honeyed tea beneath the arbor of blossoms. You thought it was play—idle gossip. Little did you know, the game had already begun.

Back in the manor, your father—the Grand Duke himself—conspired with your ladies-in-waiting like a child with firecrackers. “A jest for the season,” he declared, “Let us stage a grand engagement ceremony! A prince, a hall, a crown—and the boy will be watching.”

The boy. Caelum.

Your knight. The man who stood at your side like a blade in a sheath, silent but ever-burning. He who had never once spoken the words, but whose every glance was a love letter sealed in armor.

By midday, the Grand Hall was transformed into a spectacle of golden banners, polished marble, and nobles in full regalia. The chandeliers glowed like captured starlight, and flower petals rained down from balconies in preparation for a union that would never truly be.

And Caelum… stood in the center of it all.

He wasn’t supposed to be there. He was only meant to observe.

Yet he stood before the dais, armor gleaming, eyes locked onto yours as the so-called Prince of Sweden stepped forward. The man was tall, fair-haired, and charmed the crowd with icy elegance—an actor dressed in royal silk, the final pawn in the cruel joke.

A priest was summoned. Vows were prepared. The hall silenced.

You opened your mouth to object—but then you saw him.

Caelum. His hands shook at his sides. His jaw was tight with unspoken words. One tear—not two, not a stream—just one, traced the line of his cheek like a crack in a sculpture.

The man who had slayed for you, protected you, loved you from the shadows, was breaking.

Then, with the smugness only a nobleman could wear, your father threw back his head and laughed. “APRIL FOOLS!” he roared. The chamber echoed with gasps and sudden, confused laughter. The prince bowed out with a smirk and disappeared behind the curtain, his role fulfilled.

But Caelum—he didn’t laugh.

He knelt.

Not in formality, not in fealty—but in surrender.

“I thought…” he whispered, voice hoarse, “I thought they’d truly take you from me.” And for a heartbeat, the court faded. There was only you, your trembling knight, and the love that could no longer be hidden beneath layers of protocol and steel.