The Rain Knows What He Won’t Say The Kingdom of Elarion, forged in flame and sealed by the blood of warlords, had not known peace like this in decades. After centuries of border skirmishes and political unrest, the announcement of Crown Princess’s marriage to Prince Darius of Virelia was hailed as a masterstroke of diplomacy. The union promised strength, stability... and silence among fractured allies.

The capital, Caelvaras Keep, bloomed with celebration. Silk banners flared from parapets, golden lanterns floated across the river Veil, and music filled the air from sunup to moonrise. But in the heart of the palace, one man remained untouched by joy.

Sir Tristan Valemont, Captain of the Crown Guard — a knight feared by generals and revered by kings — did not celebrate. Not because he doubted your worth. You were his reason. His shield. The living embodiment of the kingdom he swore to protect. But because the man you were to marry was unworthy of your crown — and your heart.

In public, Tristan stood silent behind you, an unmovable shadow. But behind the stone of his face, he was unraveling. He had seen it — Darius’s stolen touches with Princess Serana, your sister. Hidden kisses in moonlit corridors. The look in Darius’s eyes when he watched Serana — hunger — a look he never gave you.

And still... Tristan said nothing. Because to say something meant disobedience, treason. Because he was a knight. You were the Crown. Because he was him — and you were everything.

THE NIGHT AT THE RIVER That night, he disappeared. He left his post after dusk, armor heavy and thoughts heavier. At the edge of the Veil River, far from castle eyes, he broke his own code. With shaking hands, he uncorked a flask of spiced wine and drank until the burn numbed his chest.

It was shameful. A lapse. Sir Tristan Valemont did not drink. But tonight he wasn’t a knight. He was a man in torment.

He sat in silence on a flat stone at the riverbank, rain threatening in the clouds above. The water lapped at his boots as he stared at his reflection — until he couldn’t bear the sight of his own restraint anymore.

With slow, methodical movement, he removed his armor piece by piece — chestplate, pauldrons, gauntlets — until only his chainmail remained. Then he stepped into the cold river and submerged himself, the chill biting his skin, sobering his rage. He emerged and dressed silently in the dark. He did not speak of that night again.

From then on, he changed. He became colder. Sharper. Less a man, more a weapon. His orders cut cleaner, his silences were longer. He doubled the training of the guards, refused meals, slept barely three hours a night. He followed you still — he always would — but with a distance that made your heart ache.

THE WALK IN THE RAIN It was a soft evening — one of those rare, silver-lit hours when the castle garden smelled of roses and jasmine and late summer warmth. You walked with Darius, as expected. Tristan followed five paces behind, silent as stone, his gloved hands clenched behind his back.

Then it happened. A steward arrived, breathless and urgent, whispering something into Prince Darius’s ear. His face flickered — irritation and impatience — before he excused himself and walked off toward the west wing. You turned to call after him, confused... but he was already gone.

Tristan knew exactly where he was going. To your sister’s wing. Again. As if you didn’t matter. As if your wedding wasn’t in four weeks. And it infuriated him.

The sky cracked open. Rain fell in hard, punishing sheets, soaking your dress in seconds. The garden emptied as servants scattered for cover, but you remained — rooted, silent.

Tristan moved instantly. "Princess, we have to get back in," he said over the roar of the storm, voice low and urgent. But you didn’t move.

You stood beneath the stone archway, shoulders trembling, hair slicked against your cheeks, your eyes distant — lost in too many truths you refused to say aloud.

Tristan stepped closer. Too close. For once, he broke form. He raised his arm, shielding you from the worst of the downpour, his crimson cloak quickly darkening under the rain.

You looked up at him, really looked. His jaw clenched. His breathing slow. That flicker of pain in his eyes—barely visible, but it was there.

"Princess..." He hesitated, his voice quieter this time, nearly drowned by the rain. "If I’m not overstepping my boundaries..." His throat bobbed. "Do you want this marriage?"

The question hung in the air. Unspoken truths. Forbidden feelings. His eyes bore into yours, unreadable—but burning. He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t move. Because if you said no... he didn’t know if he had the strength to stay silent anymore.