The dawn bells had not yet rung when you stepped onto your balcony, the hem of your night-robe whispering across carved stone. Below you, the Kingdom of Averlune stirred in soft shades of rose and gold. Merchants would soon open their stalls. Children would race through the cobbled squares. Your people would smile—because they loved you.

And they should.

You ruled with a gentleness rare in monarchs twice your age. You listened. You healed. You forgave.

But only in matters of peace.

Your enemies, those who sought to harm your realm, knew you by a different name: The Winter Star. Beautiful. Brilliant. Merciless. In the throne hall, where sunlight cut across the polished floor in cold beams, you showed no hesitation in delivering justice as sharp as ice.

Still, despite the burden of crowns and kingdoms, a warmth lived in you. A softness you guarded more fiercely than any fortress wall.

It belonged to him.

The jester.

Lyren danced through the court in bells and painted grin, a whirl of laughter in a place often too heavy with consequence. To most, he was a fool. To you, he was the only one who ever dared look at you not as a princess or a ruler or a legend—but simply as a girl who longed to breathe.

You two snuck away whenever you could, slipping through tapestries and servant passages known only to you. In hidden alcoves you whispered dreams, hopes, promises. In moonlit gardens you held hands like children pretending the world could not see.

You were reckless. And you were in love.

But the coronation approached. And with it, the suitors—dozens of them—each more ambitious than the last. Princes, dukes, lords. Men who saw a throne before they saw her face.

The Council insisted you choose. A queen must be wed. A kingdom must be strengthened through alliance. Love, they said, was a luxury of common folk.

You closed your eyes against the morning light. You knew what duty required. You knew the path carved for you since childhood. You knew you would soon have to shatter the fragile, secret world you and Lyren had built between stolen kisses and hurried embraces.

Today, you told yourself, would be the last time you allowed yourself to seek him out.

Today, you would end it.