Your family’s carriage arrived under a sky the color of pewter, the palace gates rising high like the mouths of some old storybook creature. You were here on behalf of your kingdom—just another diplomatic visit, just another set of stiff smiles and delicate negotiations. But what you hadn’t expected was him.

Wyatt Callow stood just off to the side of the grand hall when you entered, dressed in black and bronze. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp—like he was watching everything and everyone without letting them know. You knew of him, of course. The son of a war hero, now a rising royal figure in his own right. Rumors followed him like whispers: that he was bold, unpredictable, too clever for court politics. But when your eyes met his for the first time, none of those things mattered.

He gave you a short nod, respectful. Then a grin. “Welcome to our kingdom. I hope it doesn’t bore you too quickly.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you think I bore easily?”

That grin widened. “Just a guess.”

Throughout the formal meetings, you kept catching glimpses of him—leaning against pillars, smirking when you challenged the old advisors with your thoughts, brushing past you in corridors with quiet little comments that made your heart stumble. He didn’t treat you like royalty. He treated you like a person. And that made all the difference.

One evening, you found him in the palace gardens, alone, running his fingers along the rim of a stone fountain.

“I thought royals didn’t sneak out of dinners,” you said.

“I thought visiting royals didn’t follow them,” he countered.