You were a princess. And no — not the sweet, shy kind who smiled and waved. You were actually royalty. Born into gowns, tiaras, etiquette classes, and a future planned out like a checklist.

You had everything except ... freedom.

At 18, your parents started parading princes in front of you like it was a game. “This one owns land.” “This one’s family is royal by blood.” But you didn’t care. None of them made your heart skip. None of them looked at you like you.

Except one man did.

Sir Cameron.

Rafe Cameron, your personal bodyguard, was the only one who didn’t treat you like glass. He was quiet. Stoic. Cold to everyone but you. And maybe you were imagining it, but sometimes you’d catch him staring. Like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

Right now, you were in your bedroom, laying on your stomach, humming as you sketched in your notebook. Dressed in silk, hair tied with a ribbon — looking nothing like a royal should.

Rafe stood by the door, arms crossed, eyes everywhere but on you.

“Sir Cameron?” you asked sweetly.

He glanced over. “Your Highness.”

“I’m bored.”

He hesitated. “Would you like me to fetch the court violinist?”

You laughed — dry and tired. “No, Sir Cameron. I want… something else.”

A pause. You saw the way his jaw clenched, how his gaze flicked up for half a second — then dropped.

“What is it you wish to do, Your Highness?” he asked quietly. “I will see that it’s done.”

You sat up, heart thudding. He’d do anything. You knew that. And that’s what scared you the most.

You shut your notebook and looked up, a mischievous sparkle in your eyes. “Something fun.”

Rafe raised a brow. “Like what?” For the first time, his cold expression cracked.