The castle stirs before the sun crests the horizon—servants murmuring through the halls, boots clicking across the stone, the kitchen’s smoke seeping upward in slow ribbons. There’s comfort in the routine, I suppose. Even in a dying kingdom, people find a way to keep moving. 

I sit at the long table in the breakfast chamber, poking at my bread with the side of a knife. It’s fresh, still warm, but I’m not hungry. I’m rarely hungry anymore. 

Across from me, the chair reserved for the future king remains empty. 

Three weeks.

Three weeks until Eiran arrives. I’ve never met him. Not truly. I've seen him once in person but I could no longer remember what his face truly was. I only had the painted likeness sent by his father’s court—eyes too large, lips too pale, a wave of gold along his shoulders. He doesn’t look cruel. But he doesn’t look real either. 

I wonder what he dreams of. If he’s afraid. 

If he knows he’s marrying a woman who isn’t whole. 

"You should eat more than that, Your Highness," says a voice from the doorway. 

I glance up. 

Kaelis. 

He stands just outside the threshold, arms crossed behind his back, gaze steady but not unkind. He’s not in armor this morning—simple black wool and a silver pin bearing the lion crest. His presence feels like an anchor in a room otherwise filled with air too light to hold me. 

"Do you always watch your charges this closely?" I ask, setting down the knife. 

"Only the ones who look like they haven’t slept." 

I let out a breath that’s almost a laugh. 

Almost. 

He doesn’t move to sit.

Doesn’t need to. 

I feel him there, watching me without pressure, just awareness. A reminder that someone sees. 

"Your first morning on the job," I say. "Are you regretting it yet?" 

Kaelis tilts his head slightly. "Too early to tell." 

"I can be difficult, you know." 

"So can I." 

We fall into silence again, but it isn’t heavy. Not like last night. This one feels... bearable. As if something small but necessary has shifted. 

Outside the narrow windows, the mountains loom beyond the city walls, their peaks still shrouded in morning mist. I think of the village tucked somewhere out there, high and far away, where the war hasn’t reached. A place I used to dream of escaping to. 

Kaelis shifts his weight. 

"Would you like to walk the grounds, Highness? It may help." 

I study him a moment. 

The way he stands like a blade at rest—still sharp, still dangerous, but not raised. 

I nod. "Yes. I think I would." 

And for the first time in days, I feel the weight in my chest ease—just a little. 

Just enough. 

The air outside is cold, but clean. The kind that bites at your skin and sharpens your senses. Kaelis walks half a pace behind me, his boots soft against the gravel path. He doesn’t speak, and neither do I—not at first. We make our way along the lower garden wall, past bare hedges and stone fountains gone dry for the season. It’s not beautiful, not in the way it used to be. But it’s quiet. 

"You don’t ask many questions," I say after a while. 

Kaelis shrugs. "I listen better than I talk." 

"That’s a rare trait here." 

"That’s why I stay near the edges." I glance over my shoulder. He’s watching the horizon, not me. 

"What did you hear, then, before you were summoned to the palace? About me?" 

He meets my gaze now. "Enough to expect a girl who complains more than she commands." 

My mouth curves. "And do I live up to the stories?" 

"Not yet." 

We walk another length in silence. The wind stirs the dead leaves along the path. 

"I remember you, you know," I say. "From the yard. Years ago." 

Kaelis doesn’t stop walking. But his voice softens. "I didn’t know you were watching." 

"You weren’t meant to." A beat passes. "You had a presence then, too. Even when you said nothing. Especially then." 

He exhales slowly, like he’s measuring something behind his ribs. "You were just a girl." 

"I’m still young." 

"You’re not a girl anymore." 

The words hang in the air between us—neither challenge nor compliment. 

Just truth. 

We round the bend where the garden overlooks the old barracks. Kaelis stops beside the stone railing, his eyes trailing to the mountains. 

"Have you ever been beyond the border, Sir Kaelis?" 

"Once. A long time ago." 

"Did it feel like this?" 

He doesn’t answer right away. Then— "It felt like waking up." 

We stand together in silence, not as knight and princess, but as a man and woman with too many thoughts and not enough time. 

He doesn’t press me with questions. 

And I don’t offer him answers I’m not ready to give. 

It’s the closest thing to honesty I’ve had in days. 

Kaelis leans slightly against the railing, one hand resting along the stone. "I saw you once," he says quietly, almost like the thought surprised even him. "Before the appointment. Years ago. You were walking with one of your tutors, I think. In the library cloister. You had a book clutched to your chest like it was a sword." 

I blink. I don’t remember that day. 

But the way he says it, I believe he does. "And? What did you think?" 

"I thought you looked unassuming. Smaller than the stories made you sound. A girl born to silk and politics." 

I roll my eyes. "How flattering." 

Kaelis chuckles once, low and dry. "That was before you looked at me. Just a glance. Barely a second. But there was something... sharp. Like you were measuring every word I hadn't spoken." 

I look away, to the horizon. "I was probably trying to decide if I could outrun you." 

"You couldn’t," he says, without hesitation. 

"I know." 

He doesn’t laugh again, but there’s something like warmth in his voice when he adds, "Still, I remember that look. Like you already knew who you wanted to be, and hated the shape the world tried to fit you in." 

My chest tightens. 

The wind lifts the edge of my cloak. 

"I didn’t think anyone noticed." 

"I notice things," he says. Then, quieter: "Especially what people try to hide." 

We don’t speak for a while after that. 

And when we finally turn back toward the castle, I realize I’m walking a little closer to him than I did before. 

We linger at the edge of the garden, where a single winter rose grows defiantly from the brittle soil. It’s a stubborn thing—half-wilted, half-blooming. 

Kaelis stops beside it. "Strange, isn’t it?" he murmurs. "That something so fragile still dares to grow here." 

I crouch slightly, brushing a gloved finger beneath one of its frost-tipped petals. "Maybe it doesn’t know it’s not supposed to." 

A faint smile touches his lips, but he says nothing more. 

And then, behind us, the sharp echo of boots. "Your Highness," comes a voice—stiff, out of breath. A young steward bows quickly. "Your presence is requested in the throne chamber. His Majesty awaits." 

I straighten, jaw already tightening. 

Whatever peace the morning held scatters like dust in wind. 

Kaelis says nothing, but I feel his gaze steady on me. 

"Of course," I reply, brushing the frost from my fingertips. 

One last glance at the rose. 

Then I turn and walk back toward the cold stone walls that wait to swallow me whole.