chihiro

The noise of the parade greets you the moment you step outside. Music drifts through the crowded streets, banners flutter overhead, and spectators continue lining the roads as though nothing extraordinary has happened.

You head away from the restaurant immediately, your pace far quicker than it should be. The royal guards assigned to accompany you fall into step behind you without question. You have almost reached the next street when footsteps hurry after you. “Hey.”

James appears beside you, slightly out of breath from catching up. His brows pull together the second he gets a proper look at your face. “Is everything alright?”

You force yourself to keep walking. “Of course.”

“You don’t look alright. You practically ran out of there.” his voice remains gentle, but the concern underneath it is impossible to miss.

For a few moments neither of you speak. The parade continues around you, people waving from balconies overhead while merchants call out from decorated stalls. James keeps pace beside you, clearly waiting for an explanation.

When none comes, he tries again. “Did something happen in there?” he asks. “Did somebody upset you? Because if they did—”

“No one upset me, James.”

“Alright,” he says slowly. “Then why do you look like you’re halfway through planning your own funeral?”

Despite yourself, a small laugh escapes you. James immediately points at you triumphantly. “There. See? That wasn’t difficult.”

You shake your head and continue walking. “My mother is going to be furious. We were supposed to stay on the parade route.”

“That’s what’s bothering you?” he lets out a delirious laugh.

“Yes.”

“Alright, fine. Let’s assume Her Majesty discovers you’ve abandoned the route for a grand total of an hour. What exactly do you think she’s going to do?”

You don’t answer, mostly because you don’t have an answer that doesn’t sound ridiculous when spoken aloud.

“See?” he says. “Nothing.”

“She’ll be angry.” you mutter as you wave back at a crowd nearby.

“She is always angry.” he shrugs a laugh.

You gasp in mock offense, and James immediately lowers his voice. “Respectfully.”

You shake your head, though another laugh escapes you. The sound seems to ease something in him because his shoulders finally relax, and when he speaks again, his tone is noticeably gentler.

“Look, if it’s making you this anxious, we can head back now. We don’t have to stay out here.” He gestures toward the still-celebrating crowds surrounding you. “The parade will still be going when we return. If you’d rather get back to the castle before anyone notices you’ve disappeared, then that’s what we’ll do.”

The offer catches you off guard, not because it is surprising, but because it isn’t. James would turn the entire afternoon around without complaint if you asked him to. He would probably insist it had been his idea in the first place.

“No,” you say after a moment. “I’d actually like to stop somewhere first.”

James follows your gaze across the street. A small supply shop sits between two larger storefronts, its windows crowded with journals, bottles of ink, rolls of parchment, and travel goods. You smile, hoping it looks convincing. “Can we go?”

James steps aside with a small gesture toward the crossing. “Lead the way. It’s your Kingdom, after all.”

The crowd thinned somewhat as you and James crossed the street, though the sounds of the parade remained ever-present behind you, drifting through the capital in waves of distant music and celebration.

The royal guards maintained a respectful distance as they followed, close enough to intervene if necessary and far enough not to intrude upon the illusion of a normal afternoon. It was a balance they had perfected years ago, and one that allowed you the small comfort of pretending, at least for a little while, that you were simply another person wandering through the city rather than someone whose every movement would eventually be reported back to the palace.

The bell above the shop door chimed as you stepped inside.

The shop smelled faintly of beeswax, dried flowers, cedarwood, and burning incense, the scents blending together in a way that felt warm rather than overwhelming.

Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, packed so densely with goods that it was difficult to know where to look first. Bundles of dried herbs hung from exposed wooden beams overhead, filling the air with traces of fragrances you couldn’t immediately identify.

Glass jars lined entire walls, each carefully labeled in elegant handwriting, while baskets overflowing with sewing supplies occupied one corner beside bolts of fabric in every imaginable colour.

Another section held painting materials, from charcoal sticks and brushes to small wooden boxes filled with pigments. Nearby sat carving tools and woodworking kits arranged beside unfinished figurines waiting to be shaped by more skilled hands.

For a few moments, neither you nor James spoke. There was something oddly comforting about the place. Unlike the palace, where every object existed because it served a purpose or projected a particular image, this shop felt lived in. Human. Every shelf seemed touched by the people who visited it, every corner filled with evidence of hobbies, crafts, and ordinary lives.

“Well,” James murmured as he slowly turned in a circle, taking in the crowded displays. “I think this may be the first shop I’ve ever entered that somehow manages to sell quite literally everything.”

You glanced toward a shelf stacked with candle molds beside jars of cinnamon bark and smiled faintly. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Look over there.”

He pointed toward a collection of knitting needles displayed beside fishing hooks and gardening tools. “I’m fairly certain whoever owns the shop managed to stock every item known to mankind.”

Before you could respond, a voice called warmly from behind the counter. “Your Highness.”

An elderly woman emerged from between two shelves carrying a small wooden crate filled with herbs. Her silver hair had been neatly braided and pinned atop her head, and deep smile lines framed her face as she immediately set the crate aside and offered a respectful bow. “It is an honor to welcome you.”

You returned her smile. “There is no need for formalities.”

The woman’s eyes sparkled. “That may be true, Your Highness, but old habits are difficult things to abandon.”

James stepped aside as she approached, clearly recognizing her as the shop’s owner.

“What can I help you find today?” she asked. “If you’ve come looking for supplies, I assure you that somewhere in this shop I have exactly what you need, though locating it may take me a few minutes.”

Your gaze drifted toward the shelves lined with candles and herbs. “I was actually hoping to find incense.”

The woman nodded approvingly. “A wonderful choice.”

She motioned for you to follow and began weaving confidently through the narrow aisles.

“I’ve recently expanded that section. Some people prefer oils, some prefer candles, but I’ve always found incense to be the easiest way to change the atmosphere of a room. Certain blends are calming, others help with concentration, and a few are simply pleasant to burn during the evening.”

She led you toward a section tucked near the back of the shop where dozens of wooden boxes had been arranged across several shelves.

The variety was staggering. Some bundles contained dried herbs tied together with twine, while others were neatly packaged inside carved wooden cases. Small handwritten cards described their contents and uses in careful script.

The woman began lifting different sets from the shelf one by one. “This blend uses lavender and chamomile,” she explained. “Many people burn it before bed. This one contains cedar and pine resin. Excellent during the colder months. These are made from jasmine and dried citrus peel, which I personally recommend if you’re looking for something lighter.”

You listened attentively as she continued her explanations, occasionally demonstrating how certain herbs could be mixed together or layered with different fragrances to create entirely new scents.

“Incense works best when experimented with,” she said as she handed you a carved wooden box filled with carefully wrapped bundles. “Everyone’s preferences are different. What one person finds comforting, another may dislike entirely. Half the fun lies in discovering what combinations suit you best.”

You found yourself selecting more than you had originally intended. A bundle became three. Three became six. Then another caught your attention, followed by a second recommended by the shopkeeper, and before long you were holding an armful large enough to make the woman look deeply pleased with herself.

“There,” she declared. “That selection should keep you occupied for several months.”

James stared at the collection. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “when you said you wanted incense, I assumed you meant a small amount.”

You laughed, and for the first time since leaving the restaurant, the sound felt natural. The memory of Rowan’s face and his mother’s tears remained lodged stubbornly in the back of your mind, along with the knowledge that questions would eventually be asked somewhere within the city.

The shopkeeper laughed. “I assure you, young man, compared to some customers this is remarkably restrained.”

You smiled as you carefully examined one of the bundles. “My chambers have smelled dreadful lately.”

You continued inspecting the labels. “Eli gave me several herb blends today for my birthday and I want to experiment with them.”

“Oh, dear, you definitely should. And if you would like any other items you can find me here anytime.” the elder woman smiled warmly.

By the time you and James leave the supply shop, your purchases have been neatly wrapped and bundled into sturdy parcels carried by one of the palace attendants, the shopkeeper insisting on tying each set with unique packaging.

Outside, the light has shifted slightly, softening into the warmer tones that come just before late afternoon settles fully into evening, and the noise of the parade has begun to thin in the distance as the celebration moves further down the capital’s main avenue.

The guards resume their positions around you without a word, and James falls into step beside you as you are guided toward the waiting carriage.

The moment you settle inside, the world outside muffles into something distant and controlled, the steady rhythm of hooves and wheels replacing the constant pulse of crowds and music.

James doesn’t say anything for a moment once the carriage starts moving, letting the sound of the wheels settle between you both as the city drifts past in blurred fragments of colour and light outside the window.

“So,” he begins, loosely resting one arm along the edge of the seat, “was it everything you thought it would be? I hope I didn’t ruin our deal.”

You let out a laugh at that, the tension from earlier finally loosening enough for you to lean back properly against the seat. “You didn’t ruin anything. If anything, I think you’ve permanently raised my expectations for leaving the palace.”

“Careful,” he replies, mouth twitching, “I can’t keep breaking rules or I might lose my high paid job.”

“It’s true though,” you continue. “I didn’t expect it to feel… normal. I thought it would be overwhelming, people staring, everything too loud or too close, but it wasn’t like that at all. It just felt like people eating. Talking. Existing without thinking about whether they were doing it correctly.”

James watches you as you speak, not interrupting, but there is an attentiveness in the way he leans slightly forward, as though he is catching every detail rather than simply hearing it. “And you liked that?” he asks when you pause briefly.

“I did,” you admit without hesitation. “It felt easier than I thought it would. No one was waiting for me to say or do anything important. I could just sit there.”

That earns you a brief, knowing look from him, but he doesn’t push it further. Instead, he gestures slightly with his hand. “What else?”

You shift a little in your seat, the memory of the afternoon returning in pieces that feel easier to hold now that you’re no longer surrounded by the noise of the city. “The best part was seeing Lady Euphemia again,” you admit quietly. “I don’t think I realized how much I’d missed her until today. The last time I saw her, I was fourteen.”

James turns toward you at that. “Fourteen?” he repeats. “Has it really been that long?”

You nod. “Longer than I wanted it to be.”

For a moment, you watch the passing streets through the carriage window before continuing. “Your mother practically raised me, James. She taught me everything when I was little. How to speak properly in court without sounding terrified, how to hold a paintbrush correctly, how to sit at a piano for longer than five minutes without complaining about it, how to embroider, how to mix colours, how to be patient when I was very determined not to be.”

A small laugh slips from you. “There was a period when I was convinced I hated painting because she kept correcting me, and now it’s one of my favorite things to do.”

James’s expression softens. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “That sounds like her.”

“That’s actually why I loved your painting so much at the restaurant.”

He looks surprised. “You did?”

You nod immediately. “Yes. I could tell the moment I looked at it that you learned from her.”

James lets out a short laugh. “You can tell that from one painting?”

“I can,” you insist. “The way you layer your colours, the way you paint light, even the way you leave parts unfinished until the very end. Lady Euphemia does the same thing. Or did, anyway. The moment I saw it, I knew.”

James looks almost embarrassed by the observation, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thank you.”

You lean back into your seat. “I don’t know. It was just nice.” Your voice grows quieter. “It’s a strange thing to explain, but sometimes it feels like there are very few normal things left in my life. Everything becomes politics or expectations or responsibilities. Seeing her again and realizing we both learned the same things from her felt… comforting. Like there was something ordinary connecting us.”

“You know,” he says, looking at you with a mixture of amusement and surprise, “I never knew that you learned from her too.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. He doesn’t sound like he’s teasing you for once; he sounds genuinely surprised, as though he’s just stumbled across a piece of your life he should have known years ago.

“I knew she taught you etiquette and court manners when you were little,” he continues. “Everyone knew that. But painting?” Another laugh escapes him. “And the piano too?”

You nod. “Mhm.”

James leans back against the seat, still smiling to himself. “That’s actually unbelievable.”

You raise an eyebrow. “How is that unbelievable?”

“Because she taught me all of that too.” His grin widens. “Well, maybe not the etiquette part. She certainly tried, but I don’t think she’d claim much success there.”

You burst out laughing at how utterly true it is that Euphemia failed, and he immediately points at you as though proving a point. “See? That’s exactly the reaction I expected.”

“Oh, please.”

“No, I’m serious.” He settles more comfortably into his seat. “Every Saturday morning she’d sit Elias and me down and try to teach us proper manners, etiquette, how to behave at formal dinners, all of that.” He lets out a laugh. “Meanwhile, we were usually too busy figuring out what trouble we could get into next.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Well, there was the time we caught a jar full of crickets and slipped them into one of the servants’ uniforms.”

Your eyes widen. “You did not.”

“We absolutely did.”

“James!”

“In our defense, we were eight.”

You shake your head in disbelief as he continues. “And then there was the summer Elias convinced me it would be funny to leave beetles and other bugs around the manor.”

“And what happened when she found out?” you peak in interest.

“Oh, we spent the rest of the afternoon listening to a lecture about dignity, responsibility, and why future members of respectable families should not be hiding insects in people’s belongings.”

That earns another laugh from you, and James looks entirely too pleased with himself. “Exactly,” he says. “That’s the laugh I was hoping for.” You roll your eyes, but the smile remains.

James glances out the window before looking back at you, and when he speaks again, his voice has lost some of its teasing edge.

“Still, it’s strange hearing that. I genuinely never knew we learned the same things from her.” He pauses, considering his next words. “And I think I understand what you mean.”

You tilt your head slightly. “About what?”

“About it feeling normal.” His smile softens. “Most of the things people connect over are simple. School, friends, family traditions. But our lives aren’t exactly simple, are they?” He lets out a small breath. “So finding out we spent our childhoods learning from the same woman is… oddly comforting.”

At that, you smile more quietly, the weight of earlier thoughts briefly brushing against the edge of the conversation before you push it aside. “Thank you for taking me,” you say after a moment, more sincere now, the words coming slower. “I know it wasn’t exactly part of your responsibilities.”

He raises an eyebrow at that immediately. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

“I follow wherever you go,” he continues, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

The carriage carries you toward the palace and whatever waits for you there next. For now, at least, James doesn’t ask anything else, and you don’t offer anything more.

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

“Sooo,” Lily’s voice draws out from behind you, playful in that way she always gets when she has decided she already knows half the story, “tell me, how did it go?”

You feel her fingers slide carefully into your hair as she begins undoing the earlier styling, pins clicking softly onto the dressing table as she works with ease, already preparing to rebuild it for the evening.

The mirror reflects the two of you in fragments, strands of your hair falling loose while the room around you fills with the soft rustle of fabric and the distant urgency of attendants moving through corridors outside, reminding you that there is less than an hour left before the ball begins and the entire palace will expect you to appear as though nothing in your day has shifted you even slightly.

You lean back just a little, letting her work, and your smile comes before your words do. “It went well,” you say, voice loosening as soon as you start speaking, “I spent most of it at the Potter restaurant actually. James took me there and we ended up at this supply shop afterward, and Lily, I swear, it was all so… normal. I didn’t expect it to feel like that. I thought I would feel out of place the entire time but I didn’t. It was just people eating, talking, living.”

“Aww,” Lily interrupts immediately, her tone brightening as she separates a section of your hair and begins smoothing it with careful fingers, “you reunited with Lady Euphemia? That must have been so nice, Y/N. I know how long you’ve wanted to see her properly, and how much you’ve missed her since you were younger.”

“Yes,” you admit more quietly, then the words begin spilling again as though they have been waiting for permission to exist, “she was exactly like I remembered, but also not. And Sir Fleamont kept making jokes the entire time, and I tried so much food I’ve never even seen before, and they were both just so… welcoming. It didn’t feel like I was being hosted, it felt like I belonged there.”

Lily slows her hands slightly as she listens, and in the mirror you catch the way her expression shifts, that familiar look she gets when she is listening too closely for comfort.

“Y/N,” she says, watching your reflection through the mirror, “can I ask you something?”

You hum in response.

She hesitates, then after a moment, she asks, “You’re not getting attached to James, are you?”

For reasons you cannot immediately explain, your stomach drops.

You let out a short laugh almost immediately, your hands tightening briefly in your lap before you force them to relax again. “What does that have to do with anything, Lily?” you reply, too quickly and defensively.

“James is just there because he’s my personal guard. He is everywhere I go. That’s his job.”

“I know,” Lily says quietly, still working a pin into your hair, though her hands slow slightly as she studies your reflection in the mirror. “I’m not questioning what he is to you in duty. I’m saying what it becomes if you let it blur past that.”

She lets her gaze flick around the room, toward the doorway and the corners beyond it, making sure no servants are lingering nearby. Only when she’s satisfied does she step a little closer and lower her voice.

“Listen to me. You cannot get attached to him. Not like that. Not with what tonight means and not with what comes after. You are expected to chose a prince tonight and be engaged by tomorrow.”

“And once you’re married,” Lily continues, “James won’t be there in the same way. He can’t be. So getting attached to him in any way, even unintentionally, isn’t something you want to risk.”

Your chest tightens at the shift in her tone. “Why are you talking like it’s forbidden?” you ask, sharper now. “Lily, he’s just my guard.”

“It is forbidden,” she replies evenly. “Maybe nobody would say it out loud. But you know how this works. Just like what happened between us.”

The words hit before you can stop them.

You immediately turn toward her, something defensive snapping into place. “That is not the same!” you say. “What happened between us was different. We were young, we were both figuring things out, and we were both girls, Lily.”

Lily lets out a short laugh. “He’s not a girl,” she agrees. “But he’s also not a prince.”

“Don’t get confused, Y/N,” she continues, her voice calm despite the tension building between you. “It didn’t fail between us because I was a girl. It failed because I was your lady-in-waiting. Because I wasn’t noble. Because there were expectations neither of us could change.”

“And James isn’t noble either,” she says. “It doesn’t matter how long he’s lived in this castle or how trusted he is. At the end of the day, he’s still a knight in service to the Crown.”

You look away as a grimace falls on your face. Lily softens slightly. “I’m not trying to ruin your dreams.”

“I don’t have dreams,” you mutter bitterly.

“Then whatever you want to call them.” Her voice gentles. “I’m just saying you can’t even let yourself start thinking about it, because I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Your hand slams against the table with a sharp crack. “Why are we even talking about this?” you interrupt. “I’m not attached to James!”

Lily opens her mouth, but you keep going. “I won’t get attached to him. He’s just—he’s okay, alright? He’s decent enough. He’s also annoying half the time, so I genuinely don’t understand why you’re acting like this is some great tragedy waiting to happen.”

“He’s my knight,” you say firmly. “That’s all.”

Lily sighs. “Okay,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that. Just know that whatever happens tonight, whether it goes exactly how you want or completely falls apart, I’m with you.”

The sincerity in her voice catches you off guard. For a moment neither of you moves. Then you rise from your seat and wrap your arms around her. Because no matter how many arguments happen between you two, this is still Lily, the one who knows you better than anyone.

The embrace nearly knocks the breath from her. “Y/N—”

“I know, Lily.” Your voice comes quieter than intended.

Immediately her arms circle around you. Then pulls away before either of you can become emotional enough to ruin the work she has just spent the better part of an hour completing.

“Right,” she announces briskly. “Now stand still so I can dress you into your gown.”

You laugh as she moves toward the dress waiting nearby. The gown Mary designed has been carefully displayed across a mannequin near the window, protected beneath a light covering for the entire afternoon.

When Lily removes it, even knowing what it looks like, you find yourself staring. The fabric catches the light first. Deep and regal red, like the colour found at the heart of a ruby.

Layers upon layers of silk and embroidered tulle spill from the fitted bodice into a sweeping skirt designed for marvelous ball. Delicate embroidery winds across the fabric in intricate patterns, threadwork catching the light with every movement.

Lily smiles. “Oh, Mary is going to be insufferable when she sees this.”

The process of dressing takes several minutes. Layers are secured. Fastenings adjusted. Jewellery carefully selected and added. With each step, the girl who spent the afternoon wandering through crowded streets and exploring supply shops begins disappearing beneath the image the kingdom expects to see.

Finally, Lily steps back. She places a hand against her chest dramatically. Her eyes move from your hair to the gown and back again. “You look absolutely breathtaking.”

You turn. And for a moment, you forget to breathe. The reflection staring back at you hardly seems real.

The crimson gown transforms beneath the light pouring through the palace windows, every embroidered detail visible now. The layered skirt falls perfectly, creating movement even while standing still. The carefully arranged hairstyle frames your features without overpowering them, while the jewellery adds just enough brilliance to complement the dress rather than compete with it.

A sharp knock interrupts the moment. Both you and Lily turn toward the door. “Enter,” you call.

The door opens almost immediately. A palace servant steps inside before offering a respectful bow. “Your Highness.”

“The majority of the guests have arrived. The visiting princes have been welcomed into the palace alongside Her Majesty the Queen.”

The servant lifts their head slightly. Then comes the question everyone has been waiting to ask. “Are you ready, Your Highness?”

Beside you, Lily’s hand finds yours and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

You straighten your shoulders and give a small nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Lily’s smile is immediate, though there is something bittersweet hidden beneath it. She smooths an invisible crease from your sleeve, fussing over details. “Excellent,” she declares. “Then let’s go before I decide to lock you in this room and tell everyone the princess mysteriously disappeared.”

You laugh. “Oh, how I wish you could do that.”

Together, you leave your chambers.

As you walk, Lily remains beside you, occasionally adjusting the fall of your skirt whenever it catches against the floor. Neither of you speaks much during the journey. There is little left to say. The closer you draw to the ballroom, the more the distant sound of music begins filtering through the palace corridors, growing steadily louder with every turn.

Eventually you reach the final hallway.

At the final turn, the great doors come into view, towering beneath carved stone arches and spilling warm light across the polished floor. James is already waiting outside exactly where he promised he would be, dressed formally enough to blend with the evening’s grandeur.

She steps forward before you can say anything else and pulls you into a brief embrace, holding you just long enough for the tension in your shoulders to loosen by a fraction.

When she pulls back, her hands remain on your arms for a moment. “Choose wisely,” she says quietly.

She lets go once you nod and give her a reassuring smile, smoothing her hands once over your sleeves as if grounding herself, then turns toward the door.

At the threshold she pauses, glancing back over her shoulder. James is already standing just beyond the room, waiting as he always does.

Lily meets his eyes. “Keep her safe, Potter,” she says simply.

“Always will, Evans,” he replies without hesitation.

Lily gives the faintest nod, then disappears down a side corridor, leaving you alone with him.

James simply looks at you no that you’re both alone again.

It is not the quick glance of a guard checking that his charge is present and unharmed, nor the exaggerated admiration courtiers often perform when a princess enters a room. His expression changes in a way that feels almost involuntary, the composure slipping just enough to reveal genuine surprise as his gaze travels over the crimson gown, the embroidery catching the chandelier light, the carefully arranged hair, the jewellery, and the colour that seems to deepen rather than brighten under the palace lamps.

You had almost forgotten, amid Lily’s goodbyes, how striking the dress actually is.

A slow smile appears on his face. “Well,” he says, recovering first, “you don’t look too bad tonight, Princess. Red suits you.”

You laugh softly, relieved by the familiar ease in his tone. “High praise coming from someone whose usual standards are ‘alive and capable of following instructions.’”

“I have a wide range,” he replies, stepping closer as if to inspect the workmanship of the gown itself. “I simply reserve it for special occasions.”

“So this qualifies as special?”

“Eh, only because it’s your birthday. Though don’t let it get to your head I’m only complimenting you because I want a raise on my salary.”

Before you can respond, your hand shoots up and smacks his arm with enough force to make him stagger half a step back, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose. “What a wanker! I’ll make sure my father has your salary cut.”

“Kidding!” he says immediately, lifting both hands in surrender. “Merely kidding.”

His voice softens just enough that it stops sounding like a joke altogether. “You look beautiful,” he says simply. “You always do.”

The compliment leaves you a blushing mess, perhaps because he offers it so matter-of-factly. You turn toward the ballroom doors before he can see the flicker of self-consciousness that crosses your face, and the sight of the entrance waiting beneath the chandeliers brings the evening rushing back into focus.

Beyond those doors are the visiting princes, the ambassadors, the dukes and duchesses, the families who have travelled across kingdoms for this event, and the unspoken expectation that by the end of the night you will have moved one step closer to choosing a husband.

You draw in a deeper breath than intended.

James notices immediately, though this time he does not joke at your expense. He comes to stand beside you rather than opposite you, close enough that his voice remains private beneath the distant swell of music filtering through the doors. “I’ll be by your side the entire evening, and if you need me to intervene at any point, all you have to do is give me a nod.”

You turn to him fully then and say, more quietly than before, “Thank you, James. For today. For all of it.”

“Anytime, Princess.”

The guards move first. The great doors swing open, and light, music, and conversation pour outward in a single glittering wave.

The ballroom is enormous, far larger than it appeared from the corridor, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadow above tiers of crystal chandeliers that scatter gold across the marble floor. Princes and princesses stand in small clusters beneath banners and candelabras, ambassadors speak in careful low tones, and noble families circulate through the crowd with the ease.

The Queen stands near the centre of the ballroom surrounded by dukes, duchesses, and foreign dignitaries, diamonds blazing at her throat and wrists beneath the chandeliers. The moment she sees you, her conversation stops. She steps away from the group around her without hesitation, and the movement alone is enough to draw nearby attention.

Queen Helena reaches your side and offers a smile. Her hand settles lightly against your arm, guiding rather than forcing, though the destination is clearly not yours to choose. “You look lovely,” she says, her voice low enough for only you to hear.

“Thank you, Mother.”

The corner of her mouth threatens to lift before she regains her composure. “Come. There are people I would like you to meet.”

Before you can invent an excuse, she is already leading you across the ballroom toward a gathering of foreign royals standing near one of the enormous floral display and away from James.

Their attire immediately marks them as distinguished guests rather than members of your own court, their clothing embroidered with unfamiliar heraldic symbols and colours belonging to a kingdom somewhere beyond your nation’s western coast.

The king greets your mother first. He is broad-shouldered and silver-haired, carrying himself with the confidence of someone long accustomed to authority. Beside him stands his wife, elegantly dressed in midnight blue and enough sapphires to rival portions of the royal treasury.

And beside them, their son.

You immediately understand why your mother has brought you here. The prince is handsome in the technical sense. Tall, well-groomed, perfectly dressed. Unfortunately, he possesses all the personality of an expensive decorative vase.

“Your Majesty,” the king says warmly, bowing his head toward Queen Helena before turning his attention toward you. “It is an honour to finally meet your daughter. We have heard much about her.”

“I only hope none of it was true,” you reply pleasantly.

Queen Helena smoothly intervenes. “Allow me to introduce Crown Princess Y/N.”

The prince inclines his head. “Your Highness. A pleasure to meet you.”

You bow back in return and offer him no smile whatsoever.

Your mother begins speaking before the silence could become awkward. “I understand your journey was lengthy.”

“Nearly a whole week. Fortunately, the weather remained kind to us.” The Queen replies with a solemn expression as she plays with her diamond decorated rings.

“That is fortunate indeed.”

The conversation drifts naturally toward trade routes, travel conditions, diplomatic visits, and mutual acquaintances among the nobility. You contribute where necessary, smiling when expected and responding appropriately whenever addressed, but before long your attention begins wandering.

It is a dangerous habit. One you inherited from neither parent.

Across the ballroom, you immediately spot Cassian, partly because he appears to have somehow accumulated an audience. Three princesses stand around him from three entirely different kingdoms, each of them laughing at something he has said while your brother looks entirely too pleased with himself. One of the girls touches his arm as she speaks. Another leans closer to hear him better.

Cassian appears equally interested in all three. You watch him gesture animatedly while speaking, causing another round of laughter from his audience.

You have watched him escape consequences his entire life through little more than a smile and the ability to make people feel as though they are the most interesting person in the room. Apparently tonight is no exception.

Your attention shifts elsewhere. Elias proves considerably harder to locate. Eventually you spot him near one of the ballroom’s outer balconies. Unlike Cassian, who seems determined to attract every available princess within a five-mile radius, Elias appears entirely absorbed in conversation with a single individual.

The man standing opposite him is unfamiliar. Tall enough to tower over most people nearby, dark-skinned, and very elegantly dressed.

His features are striking without appearing overly polished, and there is something effortlessly charismatic about him that becomes obvious even from across the room. Whatever Elias is saying appears to genuinely amuse him, because a smile breaks across his face moments later, broad and easy, causing your brother to launch into an even more enthusiastic explanation of whatever topic currently has his attention.

You narrow your eyes slightly. Interesting.

“Princess?” a voice pulls you back immediately.

You return your attention to the group with what you hope appears to be graceful composure rather than obvious distraction. The foreign queen is looking directly at you, along with your mother as well.

(though your mother is mostly glaring at you for not paying attention to her boring conversations).

Wonderful.

“My apologies,” you say smoothly. “I fear I allowed myself to become distracted by the crowd.”

“Entirely understandable,” the foreign queen replies kindly. “There must be nearly five hundred guests here this evening.”

“Closer to six hundred,” your mother corrects.

The prince finally decides to contribute something. “I imagine events of this scale become exhausting.”

You turn toward him. “Only when one spends the entire evening discussing politics.”

For the first time, something resembling genuine amusement flickers across his face. “A fair observation.”

His mother laughs softly. “Please forgive my son. He takes diplomacy very seriously.”

“I have noticed.”

This earns another laugh from the surrounding group. Even the prince smiles slightly. Encouraged, his mother continues. “To his credit, he has always been diligent. Even as a child he preferred meetings and strategy sessions over celebrations.”

“That sounds dreadful,” you say before you can stop yourself. Helena sends you a look so frightening it would have the bravest men afraid.

The departure of the previous royal family provides only a brief reprieve before another group begins making its way across the ballroom.

You notice the shift in your mother’s attention before you notice the people themselves. Her posture straightens almost imperceptibly, her expression settling into the carefully controlled composure she reserves for conversations that matter more than she is willing to openly admit. “Those approaching are Queen Marina Delmar and King Caspian Delmar of Thalassia.”

Before you can reply, the approaching royals arrive.

King Caspian carries himself with confidence of someone who has ruled long enough to no longer need to prove that he belongs in every room he enters. Beside him, Queen Marina possesses effortless grace that immediately explains why half the ballroom has been watching her throughout the evening. Her gown shimmers like moonlight over water, elegant without being excessive, and when she smiles, it reaches her eyes in a way many royal smiles never do.

“Your Majesty.”

Your mother inclines her head with elegance. “Queen Marina. King Caspian.”

A pause follows, brief but formal, as court etiquette settles into place.

“It has been too long,” Queen Marina says at last.

“Far too long,” your mother agrees.

Then Queen Marina’s attention shifts to you. “And this must be the birthday girl.”

You step forward just enough to be properly seen, offering a composed curtsy. “It is an honor to meet you, Your Majesty.”

“The honor is ours,” she replies without hesitation.

Her voice carries a warmth that feels unexpectedly genuine. “Allow me to wish you a very happy birthday, Princess Y/N. I have spent most of the evening listening to descriptions of this celebration, and I find I was still not properly prepared for it. It is even more impressive in person. The palace looks extraordinary.”

You glance briefly around the ballroom. “I can’t take credit for any of it,” you admit.

“Perhaps not,” Queen Marina says gently, “but it remains your celebration nonetheless. And that alone gives it meaning.”

A low chuckle comes from King Caspian beside her. “Marina has spent the last hour attempting to calculate how many florists were required to create these arrangements. I believe she’s reached a number that is entirely speculative.”

The comment draws a faint smile from you before you can stop it. You find yourself warming to them quicker than expected, before the conversation has even properly unfolded.

Then, as though the thought alone has summoned them into existence, movement catches your eye just behind the royal couple.

A familiar figure approaches.

Or rather, familiar now that you are seeing him properly. The man who had been speaking with Elias earlier.

From a distance, he had seemed striking. Up close, the impression only strengthens. He is taller than you initially realized, forcing many nearby nobles to tilt their heads upward during conversation. His formal attire bears the colours of Thalassia, rich navy and silver worked into intricate embroidery along the jacket, while the confidence with which he moves suggests someone entirely comfortable under observation.

There is nothing stiff or overly polished about him. Unlike several princes you’ve already encountered tonight, he does not appear to be performing royalty.

His gaze finds yours almost immediately. “Your Highness,” he says.

“I was beginning to suspect I had arrived at the wrong celebration entirely,” he adds after a brief pause. “Everyone else seems to have managed an introduction. I appear to have missed mine.”

A soft laugh slips from Queen Marina at his side, more fond than amused. You exhale a breath through your nose, the tension easing slightly before you respond. “My apologies,” you say politely. “The evening has been… more crowded than expected.”

“I gathered that,” he replies.

His eyes flick briefly across the ballroom behind you, where movement and colour continue in constant motion. “Prince Caelum Delmar. Though I suspect you’ve already met my parents.”

You glance toward Queen Marina. “I have.”

To your surprise, the conversation becomes easier after that. There are n attempts to impress you through titles or accomplishments. Instead, Prince Caelum asks how your day has been, and when you mention briefly escaping the palace to see part of the city, genuine interest appears in his expression. “You managed to leave?”

“Briefly.” you reply.

“Oh, I am deeply jealous.” Caelum smiles solemnly at the thought of you leaving the palace. It’s oddly comforting knowing even a prince from another kingdom lacks freedom due to the pressures from the Royal Court.

The conversation with the Caelum continues long enough that you begin to understand why your mother speaks of the Delmars so favourably whenever politics drags their kingdom into discussion.

The evening shifts when the music changes. The orchestra abandons the lively arrangement that had been accompanying conversation and transitions into something slower, the sort of piece specifically designed to draw guests onto the dance floor.

Almost immediately movement begins throughout the ballroom as couples step forward, hands are offered, and conversations dissolve into invitations.

At nearly the same moment, your mother spots a duchess on the far side of the ballroom and excuses herself. “You two continue,” Queen Helena says smoothly. “Lady Valmont has been waiting for me all evening.”

She disappears into the crowd before either of you can object.

For the first time all evening, you find yourself alone with Prince Caelum. The realization seems to occur to him at exactly the same moment. His attention shifts toward the dance floor before returning to you. “I suspect there is a correct court appropriate way to ask this.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And the incorrect way?”

“The one I’m about to use.” he throws a charming smile, the amusement in his expression deepens slightly. “Would you honor me with a dance, Princess?”

You glance toward the floor where nobles and royals have already begun moving beneath the chandeliers. “It would be an honor.”

A few moments later, you find yourself moving among the other dancers, the polished floor reflecting hundreds of lights above while conversation and music blend together into a steady backdrop.

Caelum is an excellent dancer, which is unfortunate because it means you cannot distract yourself by criticizing his footwork. Instead, your attention begins drifting elsewhere.

Only after your gaze wanders across the ballroom for the third or fourth time do you realize what you’re searching for. Or rather who.

James.

For nearly the entire evening he has existed somewhere within immediate reach. Standing beside you. Following half a step behind. Positioned close enough that you never needed to think about where he was because you already knew.

Now he is not beside you. The absence feels strangely noticeable.

Eventually your eyes find him near one of the marble columns overlooking the ballroom. He stands exactly where a personal knight ought to stand during an event like this, far enough away to avoid intruding upon royal company while remaining close enough to intervene should his princess require him.

Several guards occupy similar positions around the room, yet James remains easy to identify among them. Perhaps because you have spent the last month growing accustomed to looking for him.

He appears entirely focused on the dance floor. More specifically, on the prince currently dancing with you.

“Am I that boring?” Caelum’s voice pulls your attention back immediately.

“What?”

His mouth twitches. “You’ve spent the last several minutes looking toward the same corner of the ballroom. I was beginning to worry I had somehow become tedious.”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry. I assure you that isn’t the problem.”

“There is no need to apologize. I was merely curious.” His gaze follows yours across the ballroom until it settles upon James. Recognition appears almost immediately. “Ahh.”

You glance back at him. “Ah?”

“The knight.” For a moment he watches James thoughtfully. “Is that who you’ve been looking for?”

You hesitate, glancing to where James is standing looking Prince Caelum straight in the eye. “Oh. You mean James.”

The familiarity of the name does not escape him. “I assume that means yes.”

You smile despite yourself. “Yes. He’s my personal knight.”

Caelum nods slowly. When he speaks again, his tone is thoughtful rather than teasing. “It is a difficult thing, leaving them behind.”

You look at him. “Leaving who behind?”

“The people who become part of your daily life.” He considers his words carefully before continuing. “I think royal marriages are often discussed in strangely incomplete ways. Everyone talks about alliances, trade agreements, inheritance, succession, and territory. They discuss the marriage itself endlessly. What people rarely discuss is everything that disappears alongside it.”

You find yourself listening more closely. Caelum continues. “When a prince or princess marries, they don’t simply gain a spouse. They leave behind entire chapters of their lives. Advisors are reassigned. Staff remain in one kingdom while their royal moves to another. Friends become distant. Familiar routines vanish. Even guards are often replaced. It is remarkable how much of one’s life can change simply because two signatures appear on the same marriage contract.”

The observation is delivered with enough sincerity that it feels less like politics and more like experience. “My father’s personal guard retired several years ago,” he says. “Before that, he had served our family for decades. By the time he left, I don’t think anyone considered him a servant anymore. He was simply part of the household. I suppose that is why I noticed your knight. There is a familiarity there. The sort that usually takes years to develop.”

You laugh at what he says. “You make it sound as though James has been following me around since childhood.”

Caelum looks mildly confused. “Hasn’t he?”

You shake your head. “No. He’s only been my personal knight for about a month.”

The surprise that crosses his face is genuine. “A month?”

“A month.”

His eyebrows rise. “I genuinely would not have guessed that. He behaves like a Knight who has spent years protecting the same person.”

You follow his gaze instinctively. Across the ballroom, James remains near the column.

Watching you dance, or perhaps more accurately, watching the prince whose hand currently rests at your waist.

Caelum notices your expression almost immediately. “There,” he says, unable to suppress a laugh. “That look.”

“What look?”

“Princess, that Knight appears ready to challenge me to a duel for touching your hand.”

You nearly choke on your own laugh. “That is absurd.”

Caelum’s expression suggests otherwise. The dance carries you through another turn before you answer more seriously. “The situation is different.”

“How so?”

“Because he hasn’t only known me for a month.” you reply as you continue dancing with him.

Understanding begins to appear on his face. You continue. “His mother used to work for my family when we were younger. She cared for me, served as one of my mother’s ladies, and practically helped raise all four of us. His father was stationed in Valenora and eventually became one of the kingdom’s generals. James spent years around the palace because of it.”

The memories arrive more easily than expected. “He was always there when we were children. Me, Alaric, Cassian, Elias, and James. We spent years driving the adults insane together before our families eventually went separate ways.”

Caelum listens attentively. “So when he became your knight…”

“It wasn’t really the beginning.”

For a moment, Caelum says nothing. Then a small smile appears. “That explains more than you realize.”

Unfortunately, before you can ask what exactly he means by that, the music begins drawing the dancers into another turn, and the look on his face suggests he has no intention of explaining himself immediately.

[i would highly recommend playing the song 12 to 12 by Sombr here]

From his position near the edge of the ballroom, James had an excellent view of the dance floor.

Unfortunately, that was precisely the problem.

At this point, he would have preferred a pillar collapsing directly in front of him—anything that would spare him from spending the last several minutes watching that prince glide across the ballroom with his hand resting comfortably at your waist while you looked up at him and laughed.

The worst part was that the prince seemed genuinely good at everything.

He was good-looking, charming, well-spoken, and confident without crossing the line into arrogance. Every time James tried to find a reason to dislike him, the man ruined it by making you smile.

Across the ballroom, another laugh escaped you, and James immediately narrowed his eyes.

He was almost certain it looked forced. The timing had been right, and the laugh itself had sounded convincing enough, but your eyes had not crinkled. James knew the difference because he knew your real laugh.

He knew the one that appeared whenever Cassian did something idiotic, the one that surfaced when Elias became excited about a subject nobody else understood, and the one that followed whatever outrageous thing Lily had decided to say.

His gaze shifted immediately back toward the Prince. There was another flaw; the man spoke too much.

James had never actually spoken to him, yet he had already spent the better part of ten minutes constructing an increasingly detailed list of reasons why he would make a terrible husband.

A sharp pulse of irritation settled beneath his ribs. The feeling was ridiculous, childish, and entirely unreasonable, yet it refused to leave.

Every time the prince’s hand settled against your waist, every time he leaned closer to hear you speak, and every time you smiled at him, the urge to cross the ballroom, remove you from the dance floor, and invent some emergency requiring your immediate attention became increasingly difficult to ignore.

James knows he’s being delusional because all of this is usual. You were a princess, not his princess, and certainly not a child who required rescuing from a respectable prince.

Worse still, Prince Caelum was exactly the sort of man everyone in the kingdom considered an ideal match. That thought only made James feel worse, because when all of this eventually ended, surely you would choose someone like Caelum.

His attention remained fixed on the dance floor until, at last, your gaze lifted and found his. The tension in his shoulders eased instinctively.

You offered him a small smile. It was familiar, the same smile exchanged a thousand times over the past month, and James found himself returning it before he could stop himself.

Unfortunately, fate appeared determined to make the evening worse. “James.”

He stopped and turned to find Prince Elias approaching with a glass of wine in hand and an expression that was entirely too cheerful for someone attending the same event.

“How did the parade go?” Elias asked. “I haven’t had a chance to ask. Every time I tried finding you, somebody dragged me into another conversation.”

James managed to gather enough composure to answer. “It went smoothly. Overall, a success at keeping your sister out of trouble.”

Elias laughed. “I’ll inform my parents that nothing happened, they’ve been quite worried a scandal would occur.”

“Please do.” James sighed.

Almost immediately, Elias’s attention drifted toward the dance floor. Predictably, it landed directly on you and Caelum. His face brightened. “Oh.” Elias pointed openly. “She’s dancing with Prince Caelum already.”

James followed the gesture despite already knowing exactly where it led. “So that’s Prince Caelum Delmar.” the words came out flatter than intended.

Elias looked surprised. “You haven’t met him?”

“No.”

“Really?” Elias seemed completely baffled, there was no one here who hasn’t met the Delmars.

“Nope.” James shrugged.

“That’s shocking.”

James felt absolutely no shock whatsoever.

Elias continued watching the dance floor with obvious enthusiasm. “He’s incredible.”

James immediately knew there was more coming, and unfortunately he was right. “Honestly, James, I don’t think you’ve heard half the stories. The man’s traveled through five continents. Five. He’s sailed across waters most people never even see on maps. Apparently he spent months living among mountain tribes in the north, disappeared into some desert kingdom nobody in our court can pronounce properly, and somehow survived getting stranded during a storm near the Eastern Isles.”

James stared into the distance.

Elias continued relentlessly. “He speaks seven languages.”

James closed his eyes briefly. “And he’s actually intelligent. Not court intelligent—properly intelligent. The sort of person who remembers everything he reads. We spent twenty minutes discussing ancient architecture earlier, and he somehow knew more about Valenoran history than I did.”

“That’s encouraging.” he replied with no enthusiasm at all. Great, another talk about how incredible that prince is.

Elias completely missed the tone. “I know!”

James rubbed a hand over his face. “And he’s handsome,” Elias added. “That’s a massive bonus.”

At last, Elias glanced toward him properly. Only then did he seem to notice the steadily growing irritation written across James’s face. His eyes narrowed. “Oh.”

James immediately disliked that reaction even more. “Oh what?”

Elias’s smile widened. Nothing good had ever followed that smile. “Nothing.”

James groaned. “It doesn’t look like nothing.”

Elias looked back toward the dance floor, where you and Caelum continued moving among the other couples. Then back at James again. The grin became unbearable. “You hate him, don’t you?”

“I don’t hate him,” he said, putting just enough emphasis on hate to make the claim immediately questionable.

Elias narrowed his eyes at him, clearly trying not to laugh. “Right,” he said. “Of course you don’t.”

Before he can continue tormenting him, the music drawing dancers across the ballroom begins drifting toward its conclusion. The final notes linger through the hall as couples gradually slow their steps, conversations returning to replace the rhythm that had carried them across the floor moments before.

James’s attention shifts automatically. His eyes find you long before the dance has properly ended.

You and Prince Caelum come to a stop near the center of the ballroom, exchanging what appears to be a final remark before offering one another the expected courtesies. Even from across the room, James can see you smiling politely at something the prince says.

Beside him, Elias notices exactly where he’s looking. “Try not to glower,” he snickers. “People will start thinking you’re guarding the crown jewels instead of my sister.”

“I am guarding your sister.”

“You know what I mean.”

Unfortunately, James does know exactly what he means.

A few moments later, you and Caelum make your way back toward them through the crowd. Courtiers part naturally for the prince, while servants weave between guests carrying silver trays laden with wine and delicate desserts. By the time you reach them, Elias already looks as though he’s been waiting impatiently for the opportunity to steal the prince away again.

“There you are,” he says to Caelum, speaking with enthusiasm. “You were explaining why half the maps in the royal archives are inaccurate, and then the dance interrupted before you could tell me which kingdom accidentally misplaced an entire mountain range.”

Caelum lets out a laugh.“I believe the mountain range was technically misplaced by the cartographer.”

“Even better.” Elias immediately hooks an arm around the prince’s shoulder as though he has known him for far longer than a single evening. “Come on. I refuse to spend the rest of the night surrounded by nobles.”

Before leaving, he glances back toward you. “Don’t disappear again.”

“I wasn’t aware I required supervision.”

“You do.” then, with a grin, he turns and begins steering Caelum back into the crowd.

The prince offers you a final bow before allowing himself to be kidnapped by your brother, and within moments the two of them disappear into the sea of guests, already deep in conversation once more.

Unfortunately, their departure seems to trigger something among the rest of the ballroom.

Because no sooner have they vanished than a duchess from the northern territories approaches with her son in tow, smiling brightly as she launches into a lengthy discussion about his education, his accomplishments, and the remarkable number of languages he speaks.

Before that conversation can fully conclude, another noble family takes their place, followed closely by a young prince from a neighboring kingdom whose mother spends nearly ten uninterrupted minutes describing his hunting abilities with such determination that you begin to suspect she is attempting to sell a particularly expensive horse rather than introduce a future husband.

The procession continues relentlessly after that.

Princes, dukes, noble heirs, and ambitious relatives seem to materialize from every corner of the ballroom the moment a space opens around you, each accompanied by a mother, aunt, grandmother, or advisor eager to highlight exactly why their particular candidate would make an exceptional match.

You smile until your cheeks begin to ache and answer the same questions repeatedly.

From across the ballroom, James watches the entire evening unfold.

When your dance with Prince Caelum ended, he had foolishly assumed the worst part of the evening was behind you. If anything, the opposite appears to have happened.

The dance has transformed you from an approachable princess into the evening’s most sought-after prize, and now every unmarried noble within a hundred miles seems determined to secure at least five minutes of your attention before the night is over.

A servant eventually pauses beside him carrying a polished silver tray laden with crystal goblets. The young man offers the selection with courtesy. “Refreshment, sir?”

James tears his attention away from the growing crowd surrounding you long enough to offer a polite shake of his head. “No, thank you.”

The servant bows and continues on his way while James returns his attention to the scene unfolding near the center of the ballroom.

From a distance, you appear perfectly composed. Your posture remains graceful, your smile appropriately pleasant, and your responses arrive with all the polished courtesy expected of a future queen. Anyone unfamiliar with you would assume you were enjoying yourself immensely.

James knows better.

Years of military training have made him exceptionally observant, but he likes to think he would have recognized that look long before any formal instruction taught him how to read people.

After all, he has spent most of his life watching your expressions change. He knows the subtle signs that appear when you’re frustrated, exhausted, amused, or desperately searching for an escape route.

Eventually your gaze sweeps across the ballroom entirely before landing on him. The moment your eyes meet his, James already knows.

Your expression never changes. You continue smiling at whatever duke currently has possession of the conversation. Only your eyes give you away. The plea is so obvious that he nearly laughs, please save me.

James pushes away from the wall and begins making his way across the ballroom, slipping between clusters of guests as he heads directly toward the increasingly crowded circle surrounding you.

He appears at your side with a formal bow, and the nearby nobles immediately quiet down. “My apologies, Your Highness.”

Every head turns as you look at him with immediate confusion so convincing that James almost believes it himself. “James?”

He maintains a perfectly serious expression. “The Princess is needed elsewhere.”

One of the princes blinks. “Immediately?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” James replies with complete seriousness. The prince looks as though he wants to ask what could possibly be important enough to interrupt the conversation. Unfortunately for him, James offers no further explanation.

After a few moments, the prince clears his throat. “Of course.”

“Thank you for your understanding,” James says politely.

You turn toward him with a look of surprise so convincing that it almost makes him laugh. “Oh. Is something wrong?”

“Nothing alarming, Your Highness,” James assures you. “However, your presence is required elsewhere.”

“Well,” you say with a small sigh, already stepping away from the gathering, “I suppose I shouldn’t keep whoever is waiting.”

The surrounding nobles reluctantly part to let you pass. A few offer polite farewells while others look disappointed to lose your attention, but none are willing to challenge the captain of your guard directly.

The moment you are clear of the crowd, James falls into step beside you and guides you across the ballroom with the efficiency of a man extracting someone from a battlefield. Neither of you speaks until a comfortable distance separates you from the swarm of princes and ambitious mothers still watching from behind.

Only then do you glance at him. James catches the look and raises an eyebrow. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Your laugh slips out before you can stop it. “Oh, quit it, James. I was growing tired of all those nobles.”

As you pass a servant carrying a silver tray, you smoothly pluck a glass of wine from it without breaking stride.

James catches the movement immediately. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, shaking his head. “First you’re lying to half the aristocracy in the ballroom, now you’re stealing wine from palace staff. What a terribly corrupt princess.”

You take a sip, entirely unrepentant. “Corrupt?” you repeat. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“Me? I’m unstained, princess.”

“Yes, you.” You gesture vaguely with the glass. “You helped me escape the parade this afternoon, rescued me from a royal conversation, and have now smuggled me out of a crowd of visiting royalty under completely false pretenses. What a terribly corrupt knight.”

For a second he tries to maintain a serious expression. Then he loses the battle completely. A laugh escapes him, warm and genuine, as he drags a hand across his face. “Fair point.”

“I know.”

“Though in my defense, Your Highness, every bad decision you’ve made today has been your idea.”

You grin into your wine as the two of you continue down the corridor, leaving behind the music, the chatter, and the endless procession of nobles. By the time the doors to the gardens come into view, the noise of the ballroom has faded into a distant hum, and for the first time all evening it feels as though you can finally breathe.

By the time you reach one of the marble benches overlooking the gardens, the noise of the celebration has faded enough for conversation to feel private again.

You sink onto the bench while James remains standing for approximately three seconds before deciding there is no reason to pretend either of you intends to follow proper protocol out here.

He sits beside you, while you finish the last sip of wine before discarding the empty glass on a nearby log.

For a few moments neither of you speaks. Then James looks ahead and says casually, “So.”

The word alone makes you suspicious. “So?”

“How was your dance with Prince Charming?” he finally spits out what he’s been meaning to ask.

The title is delivered with such obvious skepticism that you burst into laughter. “Prince Charming?”

“That’s what I’m calling him.”

“Why?”

James leans back against the bench, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t know,” he says. “The man looks like he stepped straight out of a storybook. He’s handsome, he’s charming, every person in the kingdom seems to adore him, and apparently he’s spent years traveling across half the world collecting adventures. At this point I’m surprised he hasn’t rescued a dragon.”

A laugh escapes you. “Well, he is a perfect match, honestly.” You swirl the wine in your glass before glancing toward him. “Though my plan was always to choose the most disastrous option available.”

For a moment, James goes completely still. He feels so foolish for forgetting that part of the plan. A wave of relief washes over him so quickly he nearly laughs at himself.

Of course, you had a plan. A terrible plan, admittedly, but a plan nonetheless.

Which means Prince Caelum Delmar, with his perfect manners and perfect reputation and irritatingly perfect everything, could not possibly be your choice.

“Oh, thank the gods,” he mutters.

You blink. “What?”

“Nothing.” He clears his throat. “I’m just saying that if your goal is to choose the worst possible candidate, then Prince Delmar must be off the list. He’s far too good for your scheme.”

You nod immediately. “Exactly.”

James feels another layer of tension leave his shoulders.

“If my objective is avoiding a politically advantageous marriage while simultaneously making my mother question every decision she’s ever made, then Prince Caelum is a terrible option. He’s intelligent, accomplished, respected, charming, and somehow universally liked. My mother would probably burst into tears from happiness if I chose him.”

“Right,” James says, feeling significantly better. “Exactly.” He gestures toward you. “So if he’s out of the running, then who are you actually planning to choo—”

“Oh no,” you interrupt. “I am choosing Prince Delmar.”

The words hit James like a physical blow. He jerks upright so fast he nearly falls off the bench. “What!?”

You look entirely too calm. “I said I’m choosing Prince Delmar.”

“But you just said he was perfect,” James presses, as if repeating it might make it make sense.

“He is perfect,” you reply without hesitation.

James stares at you for a long moment, searching your expression for any sign that this is some elaborate joke he has yet to catch up to. “And that’s supposed to be a bad thing?”

“Yes,” you say. “And you’re still missing his fatal flaw.”

James groans. “For the love of God, what fucking flaw?”

You take your time answering, finishing the last of your wine before setting the glass aside as though it deserves proper ceremony. “Prince Caelum Delmar,” you begin, “is not looking for a princess.”

James blinks. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” you continue, far too calmly, “that he is not interested in me. Not even remotely.”

James hesitates, frowning now. “Then who is he interested in?”

You tilt your head slightly, like the answer should be obvious. “My brother, Elias.”

“No. No, hold on.” He points at you. “You’re telling me Prince Caelum Delmar—the most eligible bachelor in three kingdoms—spent the entire evening making eyes at Elias?”

You grin. “Now you’re catching up.”

James looks horrified. “I watched him all night,” you continue. “Every conversation somehow ended with him looking for Elias. Every time Elias entered a room, his attention snapped over like a starving dog spotting a steak. He wasn’t interested in me. He was interested in my brother.”

He looks back at you, clearly trying to assemble this into something coherent. “You’re telling me,” he says carefully, “that you want to marry a man who is… not interested in women.”

You nod once. “Yes.”

James’s voice drops into a whisper-shout of disbelief. “Are you insane? You want to marry a gay man?”

You laugh then, properly amused now, leaning back as if the entire idea is the most reasonable thing in the world. “It’s brilliant,” you say, cutting him off before he can spiral further. “Think about it. He’s perfect on paper, my mother adores him, the court would accept it instantly, Caelum gets a wife he doesn’t have to touch, and I get a husband who won’t spend his life trying to control me, impregnate me every year, or demand I play the adoring little princess.”

You continue. “He gets his freedom. I get mine. Everyone wins.”

James rubs a hand down his face like he’s trying to physically reset his thoughts. “Except for the part where marriages usually involve two people actually wanting each other.”

“That’s the beauty of it,” you say. “Neither of us wants the other.”

James lets out a strangled noise. “That is the worst sales pitch for marriage I have ever heard.”

You don’t argue this time. The weight of the evening seems to settle properly now that you’ve said it out loud, like your thoughts have finally run out of places to go.

James shifts slightly beside you, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as though he is still deciding whether to take you seriously or stage an intervention. “You cannot genuinely think this is a good idea,” he says at last, quieter now, the shock giving way to something more wary. “Marriage is not a contract you can just… bypass the entire point of.”

“It already is a contract,” you reply, but there’s less bite to it now. “Everyone just pretends there’s more poetry and romance involved.”

That earns a short exhale from him, almost a laugh but not quite.

You tilt your head back against the bench before you realize you’re doing it, the tension in your shoulders finally giving way as a series of coughs escape you.

Your hand immediately rises to your mouth, and James’s expression changes so quickly that it is almost startling. The amusement vanishes at once, replaced by concern. “Princess, are you okay?”

You wave a dismissive hand. “I’m fine.”

The answer comes too quickly, and unfortunately James has known you long enough to recognize exactly what that means. Another breath catches awkwardly in your lungs. It isn’t enough to alarm anyone else, but it is more than enough to alarm him.

His posture shifts forward immediately. “Would you like to go back inside?” he asks. “The gardens are much colder than the ballroom. We don’t need to stay out here.”

You shake your head. “No. I like it here.”

“Then we can find somewhere closer to the palace.”

“James.” you give him a look that begs him to stay away from all those people.

“I know.” the concern in his voice softens something unpleasant inside your chest.

You force yourself to take a slower breath, then another, waiting for the coughing to settle. Eventually it does, though the ache remains. You stare ahead at the moonlit pathways winding through the gardens and try to gather your thoughts.

For several moments neither of you speaks. James simply waits, patient and attentive, as though he already knows there is something you are trying to say.

Eventually you swallow. “James.”

His attention returns to you immediately. “Yes?” the response comes without hesitation, without annoyance or impatience. Just immediate attentiveness.

You look down at your hands before glancing away again. The question sounds ridiculous now that it sits at the edge of your tongue. “How would you feel if I did something selfish?”

James blinks in surprise. Clearly, that is not what he expected.

You immediately groan. “Wait. That’s a terrible question. If I were going to do something selfish, why would I ask your opinion beforehand? That defeats the entire purpose.”

James leans back slightly. “I suppose that depends on how selfish we’re talking.”

You shake your head. “No, that’s not what I mean.” the frustration in your own voice makes you pause. Taking a breath, you try again. “What I mean is… if I did something I wasn’t supposed to do.”

James studies you carefully. The silence stretches longer this time before a small smile appears. “I don’t think you’ve ever done something you were supposed to do.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. The sound fades quickly, but for a moment it eases the tension. You stare down at your hands. “I know I’ve been difficult.”

“I know I make your job harder than it should be. I disappear when I shouldn’t. I refuse half the plans people make for me. I sneak out of parades to eat at restaurants and drag my personal knight into situations he never asked for.”

The words come faster now, more honest than you intended.

“And I know this position means a lot to you. Being a royal knight isn’t just another job. You’ve worked for it your entire life. If I ever did something reckless or selfish and it affected your position…” You swallow. “I would hate that.”

James goes quiet. The teasing disappears entirely. For a long moment he simply watches you before exhaling slowly and resting his forearms against his knees. “Princess. My job is to protect you.”

You look up, but he continues before you can interrupt. “No, listen to me for a second.”

The firmness catches you off guard. “My job is not to decide which choices you should make. It isn’t my responsibility to approve them, forbid them, or drag you toward whatever direction the court thinks is correct. That’s your family’s responsibility. ”

His gaze remains fixed on yours. “My responsibility begins when trouble arrives. My responsibility is keeping you safe when everyone else’s plans fails.”

James notices your hands before you realize you’ve started fidgeting again. Your fingers are worrying at your nails, pulling and picking at them in the nervous habit you’ve never managed to break. Without seeming to think much about it, he reaches over and places his hand over yours.

The movement stills them immediately as the contact catches both of you off guard.

A princess and a knight sitting alone together in the palace gardens is already enough to inspire gossip. If anyone from court happened to witness this, half the kingdom would probably spend the next month discussing it.

The garden settles back into silence around you while your fingers slowly curl beneath James’s hand, tightening ever so slightly against his palm.

He doesn’t pull away. If anything, his hand remains exactly where it is, steady and warm against yours, and the simple certainty of that contact makes it easier to gather your thoughts.

When you finally look up at him, there is still enough nervousness sitting in your chest to make the words feel awkward on the way out. “Can I ask you for a favor?” you finally speak up after all that silence.

His eyebrows lift immediately, and you recognize the expression before he even speaks. It is the same look he gets whenever he suspects you’re about to drag him into something questionable.

“Ask me anything you would like.” he replies with a soft smile.

Your gaze drops to your joined hands. For several seconds you simply stare at them, trying to decide whether the request sounds as foolish aloud as it does inside your head.

When you finally speak, your voice comes out quieter than before. “Can you stop calling me Princess?”

For the first time since the conversation began, James genuinely looks surprised. Of all the requests he could have expected, this clearly wasn’t one of them.

“That’s the favor?” he asks. “I thought you were about to ask me to help you escape the ball or commit some other minor crime.”

You take a breath before continuing. “I know it sounds small, and I know it’s probably a strange thing to care about, but nobody calls me by my name anymore. My brothers do. Lily does. Beyond that…” You pause, searching for the right words. “Everyone else speaks to a title first. Sometimes I feel as though people have conversations with the Princess and forget there’s an actual person standing underneath all of it.”

James says nothing, he simply listens.

You continue staring at your hands. “When I’m with you, it doesn’t feel like that. It feels normal. It feels like before, and every time you call me Princess, I’m reminded that whatever this is between us has rules attached to it.”

Then one corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “Oh?”

The single word is enough to make you regret ever speaking.

James leans back just enough to study your expression properly. “Whatever this is between us?” he repeats. “That’s an interesting choice of words.”

Your pulse immediately betrays you. He leans slightly closer, curiosity clearly getting the better of him. The distance between you suddenly feels much smaller than it did a minute ago.

“So if it isn’t duty that’s between us…” his voice drops to a whisper, as he inches towards you, “genuinely, what is it?” his eyes remain locked on yours.

The question remains suspended between you, and no matter how desperately you search for a response, every thought seems to dissolve the moment it reaches your tongue.

James continues watching you with that infuriating patience of his, waiting as though he genuinely expects an answer, as though he has all the time in the world to sit here beneath the garden lights while your heart attempts to claw its way out of your chest.

“Y/N.”

The simple sound of your name strikes you with such startling force that, for a moment, you forget what he even asked. You stare at him, not because of the question or the way he’s looking at you, but because he said it with no title attached to it, no formality, no Princess or Your Highness serving as a reminder of who you are and who he is.

Hearing it now feels strangely unfamiliar—or perhaps not unfamiliar at all. Forgotten.

[i highly recommend playing Visions of Gideon by Sufjan Stevens here]

Suddenly, all you can think is that this is James. Not Sir James Potter, not your assigned knight or the man who walks one step behind you. Just James. The same James he has always been.

Your chest tightens as pieces begin fitting together so quickly that it almost makes you feel foolish for not seeing it sooner. Somewhere over the past month, you had started separating him into different people. You never did it consciously; the divisions simply appeared and stayed there.

There was James Potter, Royal Knight of Valenora, who insisted on following protocol even when you found it irritating. Then there was the James sitting beside you now, who helped you escape overcrowded ballrooms, complained about noblemen with you in palace gardens, and helped you escape your royal parade.

And then there was Jamie, who belonged to childhood—the boy with grass stains on his knees, who climbed trees because you wanted flowers from branches nobody else could reach and shared stolen pastries with you on palace rooftops while treating your presence as the most natural thing in the world.

For years, those versions had occupied different corners of your mind. They should never have been separate.

The realization crashes into you all at once.

There was no James and Jamie, no knight and childhood friend. There was only him. The same boy who used to appear outside your window after you’d been punished is the same man who stood outside your chambers this morning waiting to escort you through the city.

The same child who argued with your brothers on your behalf is the same knight who throws himself into impossible situations because he hates seeing you upset.

The same person who sat beside you when your magic was first discovered is the same person sitting beside you now.

Without meaning to, your thoughts drift back to that day. The room had been full of physicians, advisors, and members of the court, all speaking in cautious voices about what your healing abilities might mean for the kingdom. You remember being frightened. You remember realizing, even then, that something had changed.

But what you remember most clearly is James.

While every adult in the room discussed politics, consequences, and responsibilities, James had looked at you and asked the only question that mattered: So, is that how you helped Maximums?

That was all he cared about. Not power, not strategy, not what the crown might gain from it. Just that it could help a soul.

Across from you, James is still waiting patiently for an answer to a question you can barely remember now.

The worst part is that he hasn’t changed—not in the ways that matter.

He’s looking at you with the same attention he always has, the same attention he gave you when you were eight, when you were thirteen, and when he followed you through crowded streets earlier today.

And suddenly, the idea of losing him feels so terrible that it nearly steals the breath from your lungs.

Because of course this is where you feel safest. Of course it is him. Every memory, every disaster, every moment when the world became too loud or too heavy somehow leads back to James. He has always been there, often before you even realized you needed someone.

The humiliating part isn’t the realization itself. It’s how obvious it was. How long it took you to see what had been standing directly in front of you all along.

Only then do you become aware of the fact that you’re staring at him. You become aware of how close he is, of his hand covering yours, of the warmth and steadiness of it. You notice the way he has gone strangely quiet. His eyes flick briefly toward your mouth before returning to your gaze, and neither of you says a word.

Neither of you moves away.

The entire garden seems to narrow until there is nothing left except the space between you.

James swallows, and you find yourself watching the movement. Something uncertain passes across his face, something so rare that it nearly steals your breath. For the first time all evening, he looks completely unprepared.

Slowly, almost without realizing it, you lean forward.

James doesn’t move.

The distance between you shrinks inch by inch until you can see every detail with painful clarity: the faint scar near his jaw, the freckles scattered across his skin, the disbelief beginning to creep into his expression as though he cannot quite convince himself that this is actually happening.

Your pulse pounds against your ribs.

His hand tightens slightly around yours.

You lean closer.

James remains perfectly still, and for one absurd moment you think he might stop breathing altogether.

Right as your lips brush so faintly against his, pain explodes through your chest.

It isn’t an ache or a momentary discomfort. It is white-hot, violent, and immediate, tearing through you with such force that the world vanishes beneath it. A strangled gasp escapes your throat before you can stop it, and your body folds forward as every muscle locks.

For a horrifying second, you cannot breathe.

Panic crashes into you.

Air refuses to come.

The agony only worsens.

James is moving before you fully understand what’s happening. One second he is sitting beside you, and the next he is catching you before you can collapse from the bench entirely. “Y/N?”

You hear your name distantly, as though through water.

“Come on, look at me. Breathe, breathe.”

Your lungs are burning. The world is spinning. Another desperate attempt at breathing ends in a choking gasp, and when your vision manages to focus for a moment, the fear on James’s face terrifies you more than the pain itself.

Because James never looks afraid.

His arms tighten around you as he pulls you closer. “Help!” he roars toward the palace. “Somebody get help now!”

The shout echoes through the gardens. Almost immediately, footsteps begin sounding in the distance.

You barely register any of it. The pain keeps building, spreading through your body in waves that leave you trembling. Something is terribly wrong.

James realizes that whatever is happening to you is restricting you from breathing.

Without hesitation, he reaches for the dagger concealed beneath his uniform and drives the blade through the laces at the back of your corset. The fabric tears apart beneath the force, the delicate stitching of your gown splitting as he cuts through layers of embroidery in a matter of seconds.

Cool night air rushes against your skin, but before you can even register it, James is pulling you closer against his chest, one arm locked around your waist while the other shields you from view.

His body turns instinctively, placing himself between you and the rest of the garden as though the thought of anyone seeing you like this is secondary only to keeping you alive. “Stay with me,” he rasps, tightening his hold when another painful gasp tears from your throat. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

“Help is coming,” he murmurs desperately. “Just hold on a little longer.”

A strange warmth begins spreading beneath your skin.

At first it feels distant, almost comforting, like sunlight sinking into chilled bones after a long winter day. Then it begins to grow. The sensation spreads through your chest, your arms, your fingertips, until it becomes impossible to tell where the pain ends and the warmth begins. Every nerve in your body feels alive with it.

Golden light starts leaking from beneath your skin.

What starts as a faint glow rapidly becomes something far greater. The magic surges outward in brilliant waves, spilling from your body faster than you can contain it.

Within moments, the gardens are swallowed by radiance so intense that the light bulbs hanging from the hedges vanish against it entirely. The pathways blaze gold beneath the flood of light, marble statues gleam like polished suns, and every flower, branch, and stone becomes illuminated beneath the overwhelming force of your magic.

James immediately raises an arm to shield his eyes, but even that proves useless. “Gods—” the curse dies on his lips as the light intensifies.

It continues growing brighter and brighter until it becomes nearly impossible to see anything beyond a few feet. The entire garden dissolves into a sea of gold, the world itself disappearing beneath the brilliance pouring from you.

Your vision begins to fade, yet the light only grows stronger.

The first person to break through the crowd is your brother Alaric. Even through your fading awareness, you recognize his voice instantly. “What happened?”

For perhaps the first time in your life, he sounds genuinely terrified. The moment he reaches the center of the light and sees James holding you, his breathing catches. “Holy…”

Elias and Cassian arrive only moments later, forcing their way through the confusion toward the source of the light. The instant they realize James is holding you, whatever calm they had maintained disappears completely.

“What the fuck is happening?” Cassian demands.

Elias drops to one knee beside you, trying unsuccessfully to see through the blinding glow. “Why is she glowing?” he snaps. “James, why is she glowing?”

“I don’t know!” James fires back.

The four of them are surrounded by gold so bright that none of them can properly see what is happening. They can barely make out one another’s faces.

Alaric turns toward the garden entrance. “Close the gates! Now!”

Soldiers rush to every entrance and exit. Guests attempting to push forward are stopped immediately as royal guards form a solid barrier around the entire perimeter. “But Your Highness—”

“No one enters!” Alaric screams out. “I don’t care who they are.”

Within moments, the gardens are completely sealed, iron gates barred as guards rush to every entrance and pathway. Panic spreads through the crowd, voices rising in confusion, but James barely hears any of it. His entire focus is on you.

His gaze drops briefly, landing on the abandoned wine glass lying in the grass nearby, and suddenly everything clicks into place.

He remembers watching you accept the drink earlier that evening.

He remembers you taking a sip.

He remembers how quickly everything began to unravel afterward.

The coughing.

The pain.

The collapse.

Desperately, he searches for another explanation, but there isn’t one. “Oh, God.”

Elias immediately turns toward him. “What?”

James looks up, his expression draining of color as the realization settles. “The wine,” he says, his voice low but certain. “It was the wine.”

The words silence everyone around him.

Cassian stares at him. “What are you talking about?”

“She was fine before she drank it,” James says, looking between the brothers. “Then she started coughing, she couldn’t breathe, and now…” his eyes flick briefly to the golden magic still surging around you.

For a moment, nobody speaks. The horror of it settles over the group like a physical weight. Alaric’s face goes pale. Elias looks ready to be sick. Even Cassian seems unable to process what he’s hearing.

James doesn’t waste another second. He rises to his feet with you in his arms and turns toward the palace. “Get a doctor,” he orders sharply. “Now.”

Then his gaze hardens as he looks back at your brothers. “And lock down everyone in that ballroom.”

A chill runs through everyone present. Because if you were poisoned, there is only one explanation: whoever did it wasn’t an outsider.

Someone inside the castle tried to kill you.

a/n: time for the LONGGG rant folks!!!

okay this is officially the longest chapter i’ve written so far at nearly 15k words (WOWW). first of all, i know some parts might feel like “filler” at first glance, but i promise they’re not. especially that little shop scene before the parade ends… it is important. like, very important. i wonder if anyone will figure out why 👀 it’s been subtly hinted at for the past couple of chapters hehe…

also the carriage conversation between princess and james is one of my favourites i’ve ever written, i had way too much fun with that scene <33

jumping to lily and princess, i know lily can come across as strict or harsh sometimes, but she genuinely means well. she’s trying to protect her best friend in the only way she knows how, and from her perspective, james isn’t exactly a “safe” match. so please give her a little grace this chapter 🙁 it’s honestly so bittersweet because princess really does care about lily, but things are slowly shifting in ways neither of them fully understand yet

and the royal ball… okay. prince caelum. i’m not even going to lie, that man is dangerously HOT 🤤🤤 he’s giving naveen energy and i see the vision. for a second i was like hmm… maybe james can take a break. i’m joking, obviously. my latino king stays on top!!

there was so much fun building in this chapter overall, especially between james and princess. from the way they connect over being raised around euphemia, to those small moments of normalcy they both cling to, all the way to james being absolutely, undeniably jealous. that man is a YEARNER. he is literally scanning every room for her like it’s a mission. and yes… he hates caelum (love me a jealous man 😝😝)

also guys are we sending a gay detector around here… or is it just me 🧐 ykw i won’t spoil anything, i’m going to be suspiciously quiet about that one for now…

ALSO YES. james pulling reader away from the ball and into the garden??? i genuinely adore that entire sequence. beneath all the politics, expectations, performances, and constant scrutiny, that moment is one of the first times they’re allowed to exist in relative silence together. there’s something so gentle about it. for a brief stretch of time, neither of them is being watched, evaluated, or asked to be anything other than themselves. the world feels smaller and infinitely more honest there <33

and the whole “picking a prince” conversation remains one of my favourite pieces of irony in the chapter 😭 james spending the entire scene internally hoping it is literally anyone except caelum, mentally preparing himself for every possible outcome, only for it to be the one option he least wanted to hear is so funny to me. like sir you are NOT winning today. and then the reveal… yes. caelum is gay. WOHO 🎉🎉

congratulations to him, honestly (who’s the lucky guy???)

ngl caelum being gay makes the engagement situation even more unhinged because i just know james is somewhere slightly relieved and slightly offended at the same time like “so i went through all that stress for THIS??” LMAOAOA

also, the request for a favor is a scene that means an enormous amount to me personally. i think what resonates with me most about it is how small the request actually is on the surface. she isn’t asking for power, freedom, or some grand gesture. she’s asking to be called by her name. she’s asking for one brief moment where she can exist as a person rather than a symbol, a title, or a responsibility. and james doesn’t dismiss it or tease her. he simply listens and gives her what she asked for. there’s a level of respect and care in that interaction that feels incredibly important to their relationship, especially because so much of their connection is built through these quiet moments rather than dramatic declarations. it’s incredibly intimate and feels like a great milestone in their slowburn

and yes, the moment where she stops separating james into different versions of himself is probably one of the most significant emotional shifts in the entire chapter. i’ve been building toward that realization for quite a while. up until this point, she’s been compartmentalizing him: childhood james, the boy she once knew; guard james, the man defined by duty and obligation; and this newer version of him she’s only recently begun to understand.

keeping those identities separate allows her to maintain emotional distance because each version can be understood individually. but people are rarely that simple. james has always been all of those things at once.

so when that distinction finally collapses, it isn’t just a romantic moment—it’s a fundamental shift in how she sees him. she’s no longer interacting with carefully organized fragments she can place into neat categories. she’s seeing the whole person, with all the contradictions, history, loyalty, flaws, and tenderness that come with that. that recognition creates a level of intimacy that neither of them has really allowed themselves before. and yes, i was absolutely listening to visions of gideon while writing it 🧘🏻‍♀️

and then the ending… yeah. the poisoning scene. i am going to stay very silent and let that speak for itself for now because the next chapter is going to handle that fallout...

also, incorporating music into the reading experience is something i’ve wanted to experiment with for a long time because music influences so much of my writing process. certain scenes genuinely exist because a particular song captured an emotion i wanted to explore, so being able to share some of that atmosphere directly felt really special :))

as always, i genuinely mean it when i say every comment, theory, analysis, and reaction makes my day. one of my favourite parts of posting is getting to see what people notice, what details stand out to them, and what predictions they come up with. it keeps me motivated in ways that are honestly difficult to put into words, and i’m endlessly grateful for everyone who takes the time to read and share their thoughts💗💗

that’s all from me now. i hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, and i hope you’re all doing well, staying happy, healthy, and hydrated (the triple h’s!!)

see you in the next one <3 <3 <3

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