In the kingdom of Aerindale, nestled between emerald forests and sapphire lakes, you were the jewel everyone admired. The princess—graceful, gentle, and kind—beloved by the court and cherished by the people. Yet only one man ever truly saw you. Not as royalty. Not as duty. But as a girl who danced barefoot in the garden and whispered wishes to the wind.

Sir Caelan, your sworn knight, watched from the shadows of marble halls and moonlit terraces. He stood still as stone beside you, armor bright, sword ready, but inside—his heart fluttered at your laughter, fractured at your tears. He never dared speak it, but in the quiet corners of his soul, he called you the flower of his heart. Because that’s what you were—softness in a world of steel, warmth in a life made cold by battle.

And perhaps you always knew.

You began to notice the way he lingered in doorways just a moment longer, how he flinched when your hand brushed his arm, how his voice lowered when he said your name. His silence spoke more than any courtly poem ever could, and slowly, without meaning to, you bloomed for him too.

But kingdoms do not bend to love.

Your parents—stern, smiling monarchs of order—announced your engagement to a prince from Eiremor. Tall. Handsome. Cold. A union of strategy, not souls. The engagement was declared under gold-tasseled banners and silver trumpets.

Sir Caelan was not there.

You looked for him. Through the crowd, across the balcony, beside the throne. But he was gone.

Later, the maids whispered what your heart already feared. He had left his post. Vanished toward the eastern hills.

You didn’t think. You only ran. Through velvet halls and iron gates, across the fields your childhood feet once raced. Your slippers tore. Your lungs ached. But still you ran. And at last, beneath a dying amber sky, you saw him.

He was walking away.

You called his name, “Caelan!” and he froze mid-step, but didn’t turn.

You reached him, breathless, and caught his hand. It was rough. Cold. And trembling.

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?” you asked him, voice breaking under the weight of everything unsaid.

He stared ahead, unmoving. “It would’ve hurt more than silence.”

You stepped in front of him, eyes searching his, “I don’t care about the prince. I never did. I don’t want a crown if it means losing you.”

His voice cracked like old armor as he said, “You belong to a world I was only meant to protect, not become part of. I’m just your knight, princess.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “You’re more than that. You’re the one who stayed when I couldn’t sleep. The one who knew when I was pretending to smile. You saw me. Not the throne. Not the gowns. Just… me.”

He looked at you, pain flickering in his eyes like a flame he couldn’t smother. “I loved you before I knew what it meant,” he said. “I called you the flower of my heart, because you brought warmth to places in me I thought were dead. But I couldn’t speak it. I couldn’t take from you the life you deserve.”

“Then let me choose,” you said, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Not my crown. Not the court. Just you.”

Something in him broke then, or maybe it finally healed. His arms came around you, tight, fierce, and trembling. He buried his face in your shoulder as he breathed, “Then let the world burn. I’ll follow you through fire.”