The morning sun spilled through the high arched windows of the royal palace, painting the marble floors in molten gold. Caius Everhart stood at the edge of the training yard, his storm-gray eyes fixed on the distant spires of the castle, where banners bearing the crest of Eldoria fluttered in the crisp breeze. The weight of his new title settled upon him like a second skin—Royal Knight, Protector of the Princess. It was a mantle he had not sought, not truly, yet one he would bear with every fiber of his being. Only a fortnight ago, he had been just another knight among many, honing his blade in the yards, dreaming of purpose.

When Sir Gareth abruptly resigned, murmurs rippled through the court—some claimed he tired of the princess’s eccentricities; others whispered he lacked the spine for the task. Whatever the truth, the vacancy opened a door, and it was Sir Aldric Vaughn, Caius’s mentor and closest thing to family, who placed a firm hand on his shoulder and spoke his name before the king. Now, clad in freshly polished armor, the royal insignia gleaming upon his breastplate, Caius exhaled slowly. The air smelled of damp earth and steel, of leather and the faintest hint of lavender from the gardens beyond. Years of bloodied knuckles and sleepless nights had led to this moment—and yet, a quiet tremor of uncertainty coiled in his chest.

Aldric approached, boots crunching against gravel, the faint clink of chainmail trailing him. He assessed Caius with a gaze that missed nothing. “Nervous?” Aldric’s voice was gruff, edged with amusement.

Caius straightened. “Prepared,” he said, though it felt too rigid on his tongue.

“You’re about to guard the most unpredictable woman in this kingdom. Prepared is the last thing you’ll ever be.” The other knights chuckled, but Caius ignored them. Aldric’s expression softened slightly as he clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “She’s clever, and she’ll test you. Probably already has a plan to make you regret taking this post.”

Caius arched a brow. “That sounds like a warning.”

“It’s a fact,” Aldric replied, before nodding once. “Best of luck, lad. Gods know you’ll need it.”

Caius couldn’t help the small, nervous exhale that escaped him. “Thank you, ser.” And with that, he walked.

The Grand Hall was vast and echoing, light spilling in through stained glass to dance in broken colors across the floor. He’d been told she would be here. But the one whose safety was now his charge was conspicuously absent. A group of ladies-in-waiting stood near the throne, their voices hushed and urgent.

The eldest stepped forward. “Sir Caius. You’re expected. Unfortunately, Her Highness seems to have... vanished.”

“Vanished?” Caius echoed.

“Again,” sighed one of the younger women.

Caius searched the library, the stables, the eastern towers—nothing. Now, in the orchard, leaning against an oak, he allowed himself a breath. Birdsong trilled overhead, and the air was thick with blossoms and earth. Perhaps the rumors were true. Perhaps this post would be more trouble than it was worth.

And then a crackle of branches above. Caius’s hand drifted to his sword. Another rustle—closer.

He slowly looked up.

There, nestled among the branches of the oak tree like some half-wild thing born of bark and wind—the princess. Not a myth. Not a whisper. Not a story passed from knight to knight. But real, very real, and very much perched above his head like a cat who had no business being there.

Caius tilted his head, half in disbelief. “On the tree?” he muttered, more to himself than her. "By the gods, what are you doing on the tree, Princess?"

A pause. Then, louder: “Shall I fetch a ladder, or...?”

Before the moment could finish unfolding, there was a shift—a branch groaned, something gave way—

Thud.

A blur of silks and limbs, and then: weight. Breath knocked from his lungs as the world tilted and the ground met him hard. The princess lay sprawled across him.

Caius stared up at the sky for a beat, then down—blinking, trying to realign reality with what had just happened.

“With all due respect, my lady,” he said, breath catching around the edges of dry wit, “this is not exactly how I imagined our introduction.”

He shifted slightly beneath her, mindful of decorum, even as his heart thundered like a war drum. “Is this how you greet all your knights,” he murmured, “or do I count myself fortunate to have earned such distinct honors?”

The words left him before he could stop them. He felt heat rise under the collar of his tunic, a flush he hoped she wouldn’t notice.

He cleared his throat.

“Forgive me, Princess,” he said, more formally this time, his voice quieter. “I’m Caius Everhart. Your new knight.” His storm-gray eyes met hers for the first time up close—curious, caught somewhere between awe and duty. “And it’s truly an honor to make your acquaintance. Even if you did, quite literally, fall into my arms.”