It starts with the looks. 

Not overt. 

Not yet. 

Just longer glances in the corridors. 

Pauses in conversation when he enters a room. 

The faint curve of a lip — not quite a smirk, not quite a sneer. 

Kaelis notices them the way a soldier notices the shift in wind before an ambush. 

The council guards used to nod when they passed him. 

Now they avert their eyes. 

He’s not afraid. 

But he is alert. 

It isn’t until he passes two junior knights whispering near the training yard — both of whom stiffen when they spot him — that he knows for certain. 

It’s begun. 

He walks to the barracks slowly, mind turning not with anger, but with calculation. He’s seen this tactic before. In other cities. 

Other courts. 

Soften the target before the blow falls.

I hear it by accident. 

A side corridor near the upper guest wing — not a place I usually linger, but I’d needed air. 

Silence. 

I should’ve known I wouldn’t find either here. 

The voices come through a half-open door. Maids, I think. Two of them. Talking in hushed tones that rise and fall with that terrible, conspiratorial rhythm I’ve come to recognize too easily. 

“Always Kaelis…” one says, almost laughing. “Never the prince, have you noticed…” 

There’s a rustle of cloth. 

A pause. 

“He follows her like a shadow,” the other replies. “Not normal, that.” 

And then the word. 

Just one. 

“Intimate.” 

I go still. 

The way someone does when they realize the arrow is already mid-flight. They don’t say my name. But they don’t need to. 

I step back, carefully, like one does from the edge of a thin sheet of ice. I don’t breathe until I’ve rounded the corner. My chest is tight — not with panic, not even quite with shame. 

Just… pressure. 

A slow, sinking weight in the center of me. 

They don’t know anything. Not really. There’s nothing to expose, no scandal in fact. But they don’t need fact. They only need suspicion. 

Too close. 

Too often alone. 

Too many long glances. 

I press my hand against the stone wall, fingers curling slightly. 

Not because they said it. 

Because they said it first. 

They’ll turn it into something sordid. 

Not love — not loyalty — but weakness. 

A flaw. 

A crack they can wedge open when they need to.

I stand there for a long time. 

Not hiding. 

Not ready. 

Just bracing.

I find him where I always do when the world turns against me. 

No armor. 

No sword. 

Just Kaelis, standing beneath the lantern-lit branches in the old training yard, sleeves rolled to his forearms, fingers still smudged faintly with oil and leather. The torchlight paints his silhouette in gold and shadow. He hears me before he sees me. 

But he doesn’t move. 

I don’t speak right away. 

I stop a few paces behind him, the silence pressing like a weight against my ribs. 

“They’re talking,” I say finally. 

My voice is quieter than I expect. 

Kaelis doesn’t turn. “I know.” 

I nod, even though he can’t see it. “You heard it too?” 

He exhales through his nose — not laughter, not derision. 

Something flatter. 

He leans back against the low stone wall. “I know how they look at me. I’ve worn that look before. In other courts.” 

“I didn’t think it would spread so fast.” 

He glances at me now, and I see the faintest flicker of regret — not for the rumor itself, but for what it might cost me. “You’re the princess,” he says. “You could have ordered them silent.” 

I shake my head. “No. That’s what my father would have done. Maybe Maelis too.” 

“And instead?” 

“I did nothing.” 

Kaelis raises a brow. “Nothing?” 

“I walked away.” 

He studies me. “Do you regret it?” he asks. 

I look at him for a long moment. “No,” I say quietly. “But I hate what it means.” 

He nods once. 

That’s all. 

I take a step closer. 

Just enough that I can see the way the light catches in his eyes. 

“They’re not wrong to notice,” I say. “But they are wrong about what it is.” 

Kaelis tilts his head. “And what is it?” 

I breathe in slow. 

My pulse ticks hard beneath my skin. 

“I don’t know what to call it,” I admit. “But I know it’s mine. And I won’t let them shame me for that.” 

Kaelis doesn’t answer — not in words. 

But he nods. 

Slow. 

Certain. 

And stays beside me, unflinching, until the lanterns run dry and the night curls quiet around us again.

The armory at the back of the west wing hasn’t been used in years. Not the polished gallery near the barracks — the real one, hidden behind the carved stone arch with no door and no plaque. 

A place forgotten by nobles but remembered by men like Kaelis. 

By soldiers who understand that protection is more than appearance. 

He’s there now. 

Alone. 

The light is dim, lit only by a lantern hung low from a rusted iron hook. He moves quietly, efficiently — a soldier preparing for a battle no one else sees. A travel pack sits on the worktable. A compact sword, wrapped in leather. Dried food. Maps. Two pairs of boots. A waterskin. An extra riding dress. A spare cape. Not one of these things is ceremonial. 

They’re meant for escape.

Kaelis doesn’t flinch when I step into the room. 

“I’m not leaving,” I say. 

“I know,” he replies, not looking up. “But if it comes to it, we won’t have time to pack.” 

His tone is flat. 

Practical. As if we’re preparing for a long ride, not a fall from grace. 

I move closer, eyes scanning the layout. “You’re planning for exile.” 

“I’m planning for survival.” His voice hardens slightly, then quiets. “For both of us.” 

A beat of silence. 

I reach for one of the satchels and run my fingers over the worn leather. 

It’s not anger I feel. 

Not betrayal. 

Just a quiet ache. 

“You think it’s already lost.” 

Kaelis turns to me finally. “No. But I know how fast it can be.” 

“And if it doesn’t come to that?” 

He steps forward. “Then we leave it all behind, unused. And I sleep better knowing it was there.” 

I look at him — really look — and for a moment, I see not just the knight, but the man beneath the title. The weight he carries that no one else sees. The readiness to be hated if it means I survive. 

“You were going to leave without telling me,” I say softly. 

“No.” His jaw tightens. “I was going to wait until the last second. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to choose yet.” 

The words settle in my chest, sharp and careful. 

“You’re always protecting me,” I murmur. 

Kaelis’s voice is quieter now. “It’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.” 

Something shifts in the silence between us. 

It doesn’t break. 

But it bends. 

And it holds.