The palace was vast, its courtyards lined with roses and fountains that sang as they flowed.

The guards, armored and vigilant, patrolled the grounds with unswerving loyalty.

Their orders were clear: no stranger was to pass through the palace walls without notice.

Not a thief, not a beggar, not a shadow.

Yet fate has a way of introducing the unexpected.

Near the farthest corner of the eastern courtyard, two guards stumbled upon a peculiar sight.

A small boy—no older than three—was rummaging through the trash. His clothes were tattered, smeared with dirt and dust.

His hair clung to his forehead with sweat, He dug through discarded scraps with tiny, desperate hands, as though searching for the smallest morsel of food.

The guards were swift in their duty.

One reached down and snatched the child from the ground.

The boy let out a muffled whimper, his frail body squirming in protest. Yet, remarkably, he did not scream.

He did not thrash violently as other children might.

Instead, he shivered quietly, his lips pressed together, his wide eyes glistening with silent fear.

It was in that moment, as I strolled leisurely through the gardens with the sound of birdsong echoing overhead, that my gaze caught upon the commotion.

Something in me faltered.

My steps, measured and calm, carried me forward until I stood before them.

The guards, recognizing me instantly, stiffened in alarm before bowing deeply.

“Your Highness,” one of them began, his tone laced with formality, “we found this little trespasser rummaging through the palace’s refuse. We caught him in the act, and we—”

I raised a hand gently, cutting him short.

My expression softened, my lips curving into a smile that reached not only my mouth but my eyes as well.

“I see,” I replied quietly, my voice smooth as velvet.

Lowering myself onto one knee, I brought myself to the child’s level.

His eyes—cast downward, refusing to meet mine—trembled with uncertainty.

He fidgeted with the hem of his ragged shirt, his tiny hands betraying his unease.

“Little one,” I said at last, my tone gentle, almost a whisper meant only for him.

“You are not supposed to be here. It is dangerous, and you might lose yourself in these walls.”

Then it happened.

A voice rang out—clear, frantic, and filled with urgency.

I lifted my head. In the distance, I saw you.

You were running across the garden path, His eyes lit up, his fear melted, and he squirmed free from the guard’s grip.

His little feet pattered against the stone as he ran toward you with joy bursting from every movement.

The guards, alarmed, moved instinctively to restrain him again, their armored hands reaching for his collar.

But I lifted my hand—a simple gesture, subtle yet commanding.

“Do not touch him,” I ordered, my voice calm yet firm.

The guards froze instantly, lowering their arms in obedience.

I stood slowly, the weight of my crimson cape brushing against the stone floor.

My eyes never left you.

My practiced smile remained, but something shifted within me the moment I truly looked at you.

It was as though time itself had ceased to move.

The garden’s colors blurred, the chatter of guards faded into silence, and the world shrank until only you existed before me.

My heart, so steady and composed until now, began to beat with an unfamiliar ferocity.

Your beauty—it was not simply in the softness of your features or the elegance of your presence, but in the fierce tenderness with which you shielded the child.

My lips parted before I realized it, the words slipping past in a hushed murmur.

“Oh, my…”

My gaze locked onto yours, unshakable, unwavering.

I was too mesmerized.

In that moment, I, the one draped in velvet and chains, the one burdened by crown and kingdom, felt my heart falter before you.

And deep inside, something whispered—

This was not a coincidence. This was fate.