You shouldn’t be here. And you know it. Just like you knew it last night. And the night before that.

You're barefoot again. Standing in the cold stones of the ramparts like it doesn’t bother you, like you’ve never been told no in your life. You probably haven’t.

You're the princess of Lysoria. Only child to King Edric and Queen Alessa. Promised to a foreign noble for the sake of politics. Everything about your future has already been decided—except for the part where you keep showing up here, before sunrise, where you know he is on duty.

You don't say anything at first. You just watch him. Like always.

Aldric doesn't move. He’s trained not to. The armor may be light tonight, only ceremonial, but he wears it like a wall. First Blade of the Crown. Knight-Commander of Lysoria’s eastern guard. Thirty years old. Veteran of two campaigns. Loyal to the kingdom. Loyal to your father. Loyal to you—more than he should be.

And he’s been trying not to show it since the first time you smiled like rules were made for other people.

He speaks first, because someone has to. “You’re going to catch cold dressed like that.”

That’s not what he wants to say. But it’s what a knight would say. And that’s what he is, above everything else.

He knows you don't care. About the cold. About what’s appropriate. About the engagement your father arranged to the Duke of Tyrwen. You’ve made that clear with your smiles, your glances, your habit of finding excuses to be wherever he happens to be.

He keeps his voice steady. “He’s got the ships. The money. The bloodline. That’s what matters.”

He doesn’t say not love. He doesn’t need to.

He looks at you then, finally. Really looks. There’s frustration there. Not at you, not exactly—but at the situation. At how little power he has. How much he’s been forced to keep buried.

He’s not a poet. Nor is he a fool with a lute and a thousand verses about love. But he’s a man. And he feels it, even if he won’t wrap it in soft words.

“If things were different,” he says, “maybe he’d be standing here and I’d be the one waiting to sign a treaty with your father.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then—

“But that’s not how this works. You know that. And so does he.”

He steps back, not far, just enough. A gesture to keep you distant. A warning.

“You’re going to marry him. I’m going to stand behind you at the ceremony, keeping unwanted people away it. That’s what you need from me.”

He pauses, then meets your eyes.

“Don’t ask for more than that, princess.”