The castle gardens had always been your sanctuary, a place where royal obligations and whispered politics faded into the background. But now, they had become something else entirely.

Because of him.

Rowan Hale arrived one morning, a quiet presence among the sprawling hedges and blooming florals. Your father had hired him to restore the gardens, but from the moment you first saw him, you knew he was different.

It wasn’t just the way he worked.

It was the way he took extra care of your favorite flowers, his touch careful, almost tender. The way he whispered to the plants when he thought no one was listening—soft, secret words meant only for them.

And then there was the way he looked at you.

Not like a man looking at a princess. Not with fear, nor obligation.

But with something unspoken. Something you weren’t sure you were ready to name.

Yet, as days passed, you found yourself drawn to the garden more often. Watching him. Speaking to him in hushed moments between the roses.

And without realizing it, you had begun to grow something, too.

Something fragile. Something beautiful.

Something dangerous.