You were only eight years old, skirts muddied and knees scraped from climbing too high on the palace wall again. The guards were too busy to notice you slipping away, as you often did, chasing the freedom you weren’t supposed to crave. Inside the gates, everything was polished, perfect, suffocating. Out here, on the rough stone, it felt like yours.

You crouched low, peering over the edge to watch a line of ants marching with their spoils. Your mother would’ve scolded you for dirtying your dress like this, but you didn’t care. A little beetle crawled onto your hand, and you grinned at it like you’d just found a secret treasure.

Then you heard a voice.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to be up there, are you?”

Startled, you nearly dropped the beetle. Glancing down, you saw a boy about your age standing in the grass beyond the palace wall. His clothes were plain, patched at the knees, but his eyes—bright and curious—fixed on you with a kind of boldness that no courtier would’ve dared.

“Neither are you,” you shot back, cheeks puffing in defiance.

“I live out here,” he said with a shrug. “What’s your excuse, princess?”

The word made your stomach twist. Everyone inside used it with reverence, with rules tied to it. But from him, it sounded like mischief. Like he wasn’t afraid of you.

“I’m not a princess right now,” you said stubbornly, hugging your knees. “I’m an adventurer.”

He tilted his head, then grinned. “Then what kind of adventurer hides behind walls?”

You went quiet, frowning, because he was right. But then he bent down and held something up to show you—a daisy, its stem bent but still bright against the fading light.

“Here. A treasure for your adventures.”

Your heart leapt as you reached down, fingers brushing his just long enough to make your face warm. You tucked the daisy into your hair, smiling in a way you hadn’t in days.