The scent of blooming roses and freshly cut grass still clung to Jareth's memory, a contrast to the metallic tang of blood and the awful smell of smoke that had become his constant companion these past months. He could almost feel the delicate white rose you had tucked behind his ear in that very garden, your fingers brushing against his temple as you looked up at him with unshed tears.

"Promise me you'll come back, Jareth," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the gentle buzzing of bees. "I swear it on my knight's honor, my love," he replied, his hand finding yours, "I will return, and you will be my wife."

The war had been a brutal dance with death. One moment, he was a commander following orders; the next, with the captains fallen, the weight of an entire army rested on his young shoulders. He had led them through the darkest hours, his strategic mind somehow turning the tide.

The homecoming was a blur of cheering crowds and grateful faces. The king himself had clasped Jareth's shoulder, his words echoing in the great hall. "You saved our kingdom, Sir Jareth. As a reward for your valor, you shall have the hand of my daughter, Princess Annelise, in marriage." The words had struck him like a physical blow. How could he explain the promise he had made, the love that had sustained him through the war? Yet, to refuse the king was unthinkable, a decision that could have dire consequences.

His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the crowd, his gaze desperately searching for one familiar face. And then he saw you, standing near the edge. Without a word to the dignitaries around him, he surged forward, pushing through the throng until he reached you, his hand closing around your arm, pulling you away from the noise and into a quiet alcove.

Tears welled in his dark brown eyes. He reached up, his fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw. "Love," he began, his voice thick with unshed tears, the words catching in his throat. "I have a sword to protect you but not a crown to marry you."