200 Years Ago

“My lady, Master Neil is looking for you.”

The voice shattered their quiet moment, pulling Sofia back to reality.

A guard approached swiftly, his expression darkening the moment he saw Ewan standing beside her. Without hesitation, he reached for his sword, his intent clear.

Ewan tensed. He knew his place in this world—knew that in her world, he did not belong.

“He merely helped me cross the bridge. Lower your weapon. Now.” Sofia’s voice was firm, carrying the weight of her status.

The guard hesitated, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword, but after a brief pause, he obeyed. He sheathed his weapon and lowered his head in a deep bow.

Sofia turned back to Ewan, offering him a fleeting smile—one filled with words she was forbidden to say. Then, with her back straight and chin held high, she walked away, the guard trailing closely behind.

Ewan’s eyes lingered on her retreating figure, his heart aching with an unspoken sorrow.

As she disappeared into the distance, he let out a quiet sigh. His gaze drifted toward the lake, where a family of ducks glided effortlessly across the water, unbothered by the cruel realities of the world.

Two Weeks Later

“Lady Sofia Neil of the esteemed Neil family, the same noble lineage as Her Highness, the Grand Queen, has been officially wed to His Majesty, the Emperor. From this moment forth, she shall be honored as the Queen of the Empire. Show your respect!”

The royal announcer’s voice echoed through the grand hall, and as protocol demanded, everyone in attendance bowed before the newly crowned Queen—everyone except the Grand Queen herself.

The news spread like wildfire throughout the palace, slipping through the cracks of grandeur until it reached the depths of the palace prison.

Ewan, shackled and bruised, sat in the dimly lit cell when the whispered news reached his ears. The moment the words sank in, his body gave out beneath him. He collapsed onto the cold stone floor, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps.

He wanted to cry, to scream, to let out the unbearable pain clawing at his chest. But no tears came. No sound escaped his lips. He sat there like a lifeless shell, his heart pounding so violently it felt as if it would burst.

Laughter erupted around him.

The inmates and nearby guards reveled in his suffering, their cruel voices cutting into him like daggers.

“How dare he kidnap the Queen?”

“A lowly rat like him should’ve known his place.”

“He even knows the Queen’s name- What a disgrace” 

“The Highness will be paying you a visit soon,” a guard sneered. “Maybe then you can confess your undying love for her—before you die.” He let out a loud, mocking laugh, and the others joined in.

Their taunts burned into his skin, carved themselves into his very bones.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He wished he could die—wished they had executed him instead of forcing him to endure this torment.

“S-Sofia…” he mumbled weakly before his vision blurred, the jeers around him fading into a distant hum. His body gave in to the overwhelming darkness, dragging him into unconsciousness.

The Present

“S-Sofia…”

The name escaped his lips in a weak murmur as his fingers clenched onto something—someone.

A familiar voice responded, soft yet laced with worry.

“Ewan.”

Slowly, he forced his heavy eyelids open, and through the haze of his blurred vision, he was met with Sofia’s anxious gaze.

Tears welled in his eyes. Without thinking, he lifted his hand, the IV line tugging at his skin, and gently brushed his trembling fingers against her face.

Sofia’s brows furrowed with even deeper concern as she caught his hand in hers, her grip firm yet gentle.

“Why did you run away?” she asked in a whisper, her voice barely audible.

Ewan’s lips parted, but no words came at first. A long silence stretched between them before he finally whispered,

“I don’t know.”