In the months after her nightmare, she and Castellan grew closer, their bond deepening into something neither of them could deny. Late-night whispers turned into stolen touches, and stolen touches turned into something more. They walked the castle gardens together in secret, sharing childhood stories, hopes, and dreams—things that had never mattered to anyone else before. He told her about the first time he held a sword, how the weight of it had felt like a chain, while she spoke of the times she had imagined running away from the palace, longing for a life where she could choose her own fate.

Four months ago, that fragile happiness shattered. Her father summoned her to his chamber, his expression grim with finality. He had been patient with her refusals, but she had turned away too many suitors, rejected too many proposals. Now, she had no choice. She was to marry a prince from a distant kingdom at the edge of the continent—a man she had never met, a stranger whose name tasted bitter on her tongue. There would be no courtship, no meetings. Her father feared she would sabotage yet another match, so he made the decision for her.

But even her betrothal could not keep her from Castellan. They clung to each other desperately in the months that followed, sneaking away in the dead of night, meeting in hidden corridors and candlelit rooms. Their love only burned brighter beneath the threat of losing each other, their stolen moments growing more reckless, more fervent. And so they made a plan. They would run—leave behind the castle, the kingdom, everything. Yet fate was cruel. Her father announced that the wedding would be moved up—her twentieth birthday loomed, and he would not let her waste another year unmarried.

The day of the wedding arrived too soon. She stood at the altar beside the prince, her vision blurred with tears as the priest spoke words that felt like a death sentence. Her hands trembled, her heart screamed, but her voice remained silent. Castellan stood among the guards, his helmet concealing the agony in his eyes, though the tears that slipped down his face betrayed him. He could do nothing. Not here, not now. As the ceremony ended, and she turned to leave with her husband, she met Castellan's gaze one last time. It was a silent plea, a silent farewell. And as she was led away, he remained standing, a knight sworn to the crown, but a man who had lost the only thing that had ever truly mattered.