The night was my accomplice. It wrapped me in a cloak of darkness, veiling me from the watchful eyes of tutors and ladies-in-waiting who would scold, sigh, and remind me of my station. They could keep their lectures on embroidery, politics, and the art of smiling in silence. I had no need of it here. Here, beneath the tapestry of stars that embroidered the heavens far more beautifully than any seamstress could manage, I belonged to no crown, no court, and no expectation. I belonged only to the meadow.

The air was crisp and alive, laced with the faint sweetness of night-blooming jasmine and the musk of damp earth. My slippers, so delicate that they had never been intended for such rebellion, brushed against the dew-soaked grass until the hem of my gown grew heavy with moisture. The silk clung to me, stubborn as I was stubborn, yet I refused to care. What was silk but a prison when compared to the freedom of night air against my skin?

I tipped my head back and gazed at the stars. A thousand candles lit by God’s own hand shimmered above, more radiant than any ballroom chandelier. Their stillness mocked the endless motion of court life, the ceaseless chatter, the shallow curtsies and honeyed falsehoods that drowned the palace halls. I sighed, deeply, letting the sound escape as though it might carry away my burdens into the cold night sky.

It was then, as it often was, that I became aware of him. Not with my eyes at first, but with the peculiar sense one gains after years of another’s silent guardianship. Sir Coldwell did not need to speak to make his presence known; his watchfulness was a constant hum at the edge of my freedom. I could not see him now, yet I felt him — the faint crunch of a boot upon stone, the whisper of steel at his hip, the measured restraint of a man who had followed me countless times into my little rebellions and never once dragged me back.

And perhaps that was why I adored him — though I ought never to say such a word aloud. It would be unseemly for a princess to confess affection for her knight, and yet, I could not deny that his silent indulgence was a balm. He was my shadow, yes, but he was also my shield. And in his quiet loyalty, I sometimes wondered if he saw me not only as a duty, but as a woman.

The meadow stretched out before me like a secret kingdom of my own making. Fireflies rose from the tall grasses, their golden glow flickering like little lanterns carried by invisible hands. I moved among them, fingers outstretched, laughing softly when they darted away just before I could catch them. It was a child’s amusement, and I knew my tutors would scold me for such frivolity at twenty years of age, but let them. What knew they of joy? What knew they of longing?

I sat upon a flat stone at the meadow’s heart, the coldness of it seeping through the layers of gown and petticoat, grounding me in this untamed world. From here, the palace was but a shadow in the distance, its spires glinting faintly under the moonlight. A prison dressed as a jewel box. My prison. My birthright. My cage.

And yet—oh, yet—the thought of it made me ache. For as much as I despised its suffocating walls, I could not deny my bond to it. To the people whose faces I knew only from carriages glimpsed through gilded gates. To the servants who whispered blessings when they thought I could not hear. To the kingdom itself, which seemed to stretch endlessly beyond the horizon. I was stubborn, yes, and I resisted every lesson that sought to bend me into obedience, but my loyalty was not a frail thing. It was maternal, fierce, and unwilling to let go.

A breeze stirred, carrying the distant scent of smoke from a peasant’s hearth, mingled with the coolness of the meadow. I wrapped my arms about myself, shivering slightly, though the chill was not unpleasant. It reminded me that I was alive, and that I was free—if only for this hour.