The moon hung low over the castle gardens, silver light spilling over marble fountains and rose-covered archways. Caspian Vandeleur stood in the shadows, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, though no enemy lurked here—only the war within himself.

Then, soft footsteps. He turned, and there she was. The princess. His princess.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, voice tight with restraint.

"Neither should you," she countered, stepping closer, her gown whispering against the stone path. "Yet here we are."

His heart pounded as she reached out, fingers ghosting over the scar on his cheek—one he had earned defending her kingdom. He had sworn to protect her, to fight for her, but never to love her. And yet, love her he did, with every unspoken word, with every breath stolen between duty and desire.

"If they find us—"

"I don't care," she whispered, eyes burning with the same reckless longing that tormented him. "Tell me, Caspian. If I were not a princess, if you were not a knight, would you love me still?"

His jaw tightened. "I would love you in every life, in every world, no matter the cost."

For a moment, the weight of crowns and swords and duty melted away. But reality was merciless. The distant sound of voices—guards, searching.

Caspian pulled away. "Go. Before it's too late."

But as she turned to leave, she hesitated. "I will not stop fighting for us, Caspian."

And with that, she vanished into the night, leaving him standing there—duty-bound, lovesick, and cursed to yearn for what he could never have.