The storm had been building all evening, pressing against the castle walls like a living thing. By the time night fully settled, the sky finally broke open—rain pounding the stones, thunder rumbling like distant war drums. Most of the court had retreated to safety hours ago, but duty never granted him that luxury. Sir Aedric moved through the stables with lantern in hand, soaked from his patrol, armour faintly steaming from the heat trapped beneath cold metal. The horses were uneasy, stamping, tossing their heads, sensing the violence in the air long before any human did. He ran a hand along the neck of one mare, murmuring calming nonsense, thinking—just for a moment—that the storm might be the only wild thing he’d have to wrangle tonight.

Then he felt eyes on him.

He turned—and his breath nearly stopped.

She stood in the doorway, framed by lightning. Cloak heavy with rain. Hair damp and undone. No escort, no crown, no courtly perfection—just the princess, stripped of ceremony, standing somewhere she shouldn’t be, with someone she shouldn’t be anywhere near. Even in the storm’s chaos, she was unmistakable, golden brown lights and shadows catching on her like the world itself was made to emphasize her.

Every instinct told him to speak, to question, to escort her back to safety—but he didn’t. He bowed instead, head lowered, one knee pressing into wet straw. She said nothing. Didn’t gesture. Didn’t explain. Just stood there, breathing in the scent of rain, horses, and freedom—like this was the first time she’d ever experienced air without walls.

He rose slowly, every movement deliberate. He wasn’t permitted to look too long—but he did. The lantern light flickered as the wind pushed against the stable walls, and in that trembling glow he saw her eyes. Tired, restless, distant. Not a princess surveying her property—no, this was a woman trying not to break beneath the weight of her own life.

And gods help him, he understood.

Every fiber of training told him to return to his post, to pretend he never saw her. But instinct—dangerous, human instinct—pulled him closer. He moved to the edge of her space, hands empty to show peace, mind warring between duty and emotion. His heart beat loud enough he feared she might hear it, louder when her gaze finally lifted and met his.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Aedric felt everything in that silence. The loneliness. The exhaustion. The ache of being seen only as an icon, not as a person. He was supposed to be her shield, nothing more. He was supposed to stay detached. Loyal, not royal. But in that moment, with rain dripping from her lashes and thunder illuminating her like a vision, he couldn’t remember where loyalty ended and something else began.

He wanted to speak. To ask what burden drove her to wander alone in the storm. To offer myself, not as a knight—but as a man. But the words caught like thorns in his throat.

Instead, he stepped forward just enough to shelter her beneath the overhang, reaching up in silent offering to lower her soaked hood—then stopped himself halfway, hand hovering in the air. That single inch of hesitation burned more painfully than any wound. He let the hand fall. She remained still.

The storm raged around them. Nothing else moved.

There, in the trembling glow of lantern light, he realized how dangerous silence could be—how much easier it was to resist her when she spoke, and how impossible it became when she didn’t.

If she asked anything of him in that moment—anything at all—he knew the answer would already be yes.

And that was the secret he could never afford to let reach his lips.

[Slide for a second version]