The palace ballroom is still alive with music, laughter, and the clink of crystal glasses when Princess Y/N Y/LN slips out. Her gown is heavy, the gems across the bodice weighing down her shoulders and her cheeks ache from smiling politely at dukes and foreign mistresses she doesn’t care to know. She moves like a ghost through the corridors, past tapestries and vases, and through the French doors that take her out into the gardens.

The night air is cooler than she anticipates. The sky, as always, is a vast stretch of velvet blue with shimmering stars. Barefoot, she pads over the path, her shoes long discarded somewhere inside. The grass is damp and the garden smells of roses and jasmine. For the first time all day, she can breathe.

She wanders without direction, trailing her fingertips over stone walls where ivy has curled and climbed. She’s been coming out to the gardens since she was a child, when the palace felt too big and the titles too heavy. This was and is the only part of her world that doesn’t demand from her.

She doesn’t hear him at first. Not the steady crunch of his boots, or the shift of leather. When she turns, he’s already there.

Rafe Cameron, assigned to her personal guard only a few months ago, is always a feet steps behind her, no matter how fast or quietly she tries to sneak away. Tonight, he remains in uniform. Though his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscled forearms Y/N has to force herself not to look at. He’s not like other royal guards, no. He didn’t come from a trained family with military experience or such. She’s actually not quite sure of his background. All the princess knows is that the man before her is dangerous, carved from sharp edges and defiance. And the only thing that stands between her and the dangers outside this palace.

“You shouldn’t be alone out here, Princess.” Rafe starts, keeping those brilliant blue eyes locked on her.

Y/N tilts her chin, trying to cover her surprise with defiance. “This is my garden, I can walk here if I like.”

Rafe quirks a brow at her before letting out a sigh. “At least stay where the light reaches. Shadows don’t suit a princess.”

“Funny,” Y/N says. “I’ve always liked the shadows better.” She then turns away to keep walking.

Rafe doesn’t push. He doesn’t argue or scold the way other guards do. Instead, he falls into step behind her, his boots almost silent against path. Y/N lets him follow. Somehow, it’s always easier to breathe when he’s near.