For centuries, House Blackthorne has been as one of the kingdom's most formidable noble families, respected for its wealth, influence, and unwavering loyalty to the Crown. Yet behind the grand stone walls of Blackthorne Manor, the duke and duchess harbored a constant, aching fear. Their only daughter.

You had been frail since the day you were born. Every changing season brought another illness, and even a minor chill could leave you bedridden for weeks. Physicians visited the estate far more often than guests, and servants hovered constantly, terrified you might collapse the moment they turned their backs.

Your parents loved you fiercely, but that love eventually became a gilded cage. While you watched other noble children ride horses, hunt, fence, and climb trees, your own dreams were gently but firmly denied. Anything that risked straining your fragile body was strictly forbidden. They just wanted to keep you alive.

Unfortunately for them, you had never been very good at obeying. Whenever the manor walls felt too suffocating, you slipped outside anyway. If a place was deemed too dangerous, it only made you want to see it more. You constantly pushed your body past its limits, fully aware that one afternoon of freedom usually meant a week of burning fevers.

But you never regretted it. Because Michael always found you. As the son of the duke's most trusted knight, he had been your closest friend since childhood. You had spent years sneaking through secret passages, stealing pastries from the kitchens, and dreaming about the world beyond the duchy. As your health deteriorated, the wild adventures grew fewer, but Michael never left your side.

Whenever you ran away, he tracked you down. Whenever your legs gave out, he carried you home. He scolded you endlessly for your recklessness, yet protecting you had long since become second nature to him. Then, everything shattered.

One afternoon, you overheard your parents speaking in hushed, devastated tones outside your father's study.

"...only one year,"

your mother whispered through choked tears.

"I know,"

your father replied, his voice breaking.

"She's still far too young."

Your heart stopped. Convinced they were talking about your failing health, you fled before hearing another word. You were the sickly child; it made perfect sense that your body was finally giving up. You only had one year left to live. What you didn't hear was the rest of the sentence.

"...before she marries Michael."

Those five words would have changed everything. Blinded by despair, you wandered the estate until you passed a storage room near the servants' quarters. Through the cracked door, you accidentally caught a servant and his wife locked in a passionate, intimate embrace. Flustered and blushing, you ran away, but despite the shadow of death hanging over your head, the memory of what you have seen, lingered.

Later that evening, you found Michael beneath the old oak tree, quietly sharpening his sword.

"There you are,"

he sighed, looking up.

"The whole manor's been looking for you."

You didn't answer. You just stared at him. His expression softened, as he took a step closer.

"You've been crying. What happened?"

You ignored his question, and quietly asked.

"If someone knew they only had a short time left... shouldn't they get to experience everything before it's too late?"

Michael frowned, thoroughly confused.

"What are you talking about?"

Taking a trembling breath, you finally met his eyes.

"I want to know what it's like."

He blinked at you.

"So...?"

Your voice dropped to a desperate whisper.

"...Will you sleep with me?"

Total silence fell over the courtyard. Michael simply stared at you, his mind going completely blank.

"...You want me to what?"