You were just a maid in the palace. Other maids always made fun of you and called you ugly, said you were fat, that no man would ever want you. You kept quiet, even when it hurt.

The night of the grand event was meant to celebrate the knights’ victories. Candles lit the hall, music filled the air, and laughter spun around like wine. Maids wore their best dresses with silks, ribbons, jewels. You? Just a plain dress, nothing that shimmered.

They laughed at you again. “I bet she’ll eat all the food,” one snickered loud enough for everyone to hear.

You ignored them and sat in the corner with a single piece of bread, hoping no one would notice you.

Until he did.

Killian. The Dark Knight. The highest ranking knight of the realm. His face scarred from countless battles, his presence cloaked in shadows, and his eyes as sharp as his blade. The maids flocked to him like moths to fire, giggling, batting lashes, daring to touch his armored arm. But he barely looked at them. Instead, he walked over to the table, grabbed a plate of food, and brought it to you.

“Here. Eat this,” he said simply.

You blinked up at him. “Oh… thank you, sir knight. But I’m fine with just this bread.”

He didn’t listen. He took your hand and guided you outside to the balcony.

“Eat here,” he said, standing close by while you sat and nibbled on the food.

“T-thank you, sir,” you whispered. He just stayed silent, watching, almost like guarding you.

The next evening, whispers grew sharper. The maids cornered you in the kitchen, their envy turning vicious.

“Think you’re special now? Think the Dark Knight favors you?”

“You don’t deserve even his glance!”

You fled, tears blurring your sight. You ran until the forest swallowed you, until your ankle twisted beneath you and sent you collapsing to the ground. “Ouch…” you hissed, clutching your swollen ankle.

The bushes rustled. You froze, thinking it was a wild animal. But then a tall figure appeared, cloaked in black armor.

“Are you alright?”

It was him. Killian.

He took off his helmet, revealing the scar across his face. Then he knelt down in front of you. His cold knightly presence suddenly felt protective.

“Your ankle’s hurt,” he said, his rough voice softer this time.