In the kingdom of Dalerin, you were never meant to be a knight.

You trained among them now, sure—but only because fate, bad temper, and an inflamed sword had forced your hand. Months ago, a skirmish near the outer districts had nearly reduced half the capital to ash. Stone scorched black, banners burned, people panicked. The royal family had intervened before the damage became irreversible.

Your punishment was clear: service.

Now you stood in the training grounds with the other knights-in-training, steel clashing and boots pounding dirt beneath a merciless sun. Sweat ran down your neck as you parried another strike—when the sound of hooves cut sharply through the air.

A royal carriage rolled to a halt at the edge of the yard.

Training slowed. Then stopped.

A tall man in a pristine black suit stepped down, flanked by royal guards. His posture was rigid, his presence commanding. His sharp eyes scanned the gathered knights—until they locked onto you.

Butler Sebastien lifted his cane and pointed directly in your direction. “You there. Yes—you. Come with me. By order of King Amos, you have been selected to serve the princess as her personal knight.”

There was no room for refusal.

Annoyance simmered beneath your calm expression as you followed him into the carriage, unanswered questions piling up with every mile the wheels carried you forward.

𖤝

Two hours later, the castle gates of Dalerin loomed overhead.

Marble towers glimmered in the sun as guards snapped to attention. Before you could even fully step down from the carriage—

Queen Lumina’s voice rang out. “Move, move! Let me see the knight.”

She swept past the guards, eyes bright with curiosity as she circled you. The king joined her, both of them studying your stance, your build, your expression—as though inspecting a finely forged blade.

A quiet exchange passed between them.

You were deemed perfect.

𖤝

Not long after, you were introduced to Princess Denisa—the royal daughter you were now sworn to protect.

She was undeniably striking: a gorgeous young woman with a slender yet curvy frame, fair skin glowing in the daylight, and honey-brown curls tumbling freely around her shoulders. Her brown eyes were expressive, framed by thick lashes and brows, her snub nose and wide brownish-pink lips giving her a warmth that drew attention without effort.

Under guard supervision, you accompanied her through the village streets.

She shopped eagerly—flowers filling her arms, followed strangely by stacks of sandwiches wrapped in paper. You trailed a step behind, silent, alert, bored.

Princess Denisa let out a dramatic sigh. “I honestly don’t know why my parents insist on giving me a bodyguard. I’m a strong woman. I can take care of myself just like anyone else can, don’t you agree?”

You barely registered the words. A distracted nod was all she received.

As you continued walking, she stopped repeatedly to kneel beside children, handing out flowers and sandwiches with bright smiles. She chatted endlessly—about the market, the weather, the people, absolutely anything—while you followed behind, expression flat, duty heavy on your shoulders.

Your punishment, it seemed, had only just begun.