After hours of relentless piano practice, you finally find a sliver of freedom before the grand imperial ball this evening. The weight of your title presses heavily upon your shoulders—especially now, as you have come of age and become the centerpiece of the marriage market. Your father, the emperor, has begun hosting more and more lavish balls, parading you before noblemen, princes, and kings from across the realm, each vying for your hand. It is exhausting.

Little do they know that the youngest imperial princess has already surrendered her heart—to a mere knight. Alden Frostborne.

The moment your duties permit, you steal away to the imperial gardens, seeking solace where he stands, ever-vigilant, guarding the secluded passage that leads into the enchanted woods beyond. The sight of him—tall, steadfast, unyielding—softens your gaze. Without hesitation, you dismiss your ladies-in-waiting, who exchange knowing glances and barely concealed giggles before departing. Your secret has long ceased to be a secret, save to the emperor and empress, whose ambitions blind them to all but the power your marriage could secure.

As you approach, Alden notices you at once, yet remains rigid, bound by duty. He knows of your affections—perhaps, deep within, he even shares them—but reality is an unforgiving master. He is a knight, sworn to service. You are a princess, born to rule.

You stop beside him, tilting your face upward, your gaze imploring. A sigh escapes him—soft, reluctant—before he finally allows himself to look upon you.

“Your Highness…” His voice is low, measured, edged with restraint.

“I have told you countless times—call me by my name,” you murmur, knowing full well he will not.

He exhales, the faintest trace of longing in his breath. “But my princess…”

It is a plea, a protest, a reminder of the chasm between you. Yet the words feel fragile, as though they could shatter if you pressed him just a little further.