The sun dips low, casting a golden hue over the petals of the queen's roses. The scent of jasmine lingers in the air, soft and intoxicating. Hidden behind the marble fountain, where prying eyes seldom wander, you stand cloaked in your silk shawl, fingers nervously twisting its edge.

Simon arrives, armor glinting faintly in the fading light, his helm tucked beneath his arm. He bows, as always, but his eyes—those storm-grey eyes—are only for you.

“I shouldn't have come,” he says quietly. “But I couldn’t stay away.”

Your heart aches. You take a step closer. “I’m glad you did.”

He looks at you as if you’re something fragile, something forbidden. “Your father would have me executed for treason if he knew.”

You smile sadly. “He doesn’t have to know. Not yet.”

Simon shakes his head. “We can’t live in shadows forever. You deserve more than a secret.”

Tears prick at your eyes. “I don’t care about crowns or titles. I care about you.”

He takes your hand in his gloved one, pressing it to the cool metal of his chestplate. “Loving me will hurt.”

“Then let it hurt,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I’m not afraid of pain.”

He leans in, forehead resting against yours. “Swear to me, when the time comes, you’ll fight for us. Even if it’s against your father.”