The princess nodded as she watched him look towards the kitchen where his parents hadn't emerged yet. 

“Your order is almost ready, but it’ll be twelve dollars,” he informed as the princess nodded and handed him a pouch of coins. He opened the pouch and started to count the coins when the princess interrupted him. 

“You can have all the money.” 

“What?” Wonwoo asked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. 

“You can have all the money. I sure don’t need it,” she said again, smiling watching Wonwoo struggle to say anything back to her. 

“Well… umm.. Thank you, your highness,” he said, bowing his head as his parents came out of the kitchen with the bread in a basket. 

“Princess!” His mother exclaimed, a big smile coming across her face, “here’s the bread you ordered.” 

“Thank you Mrs. Jeon.”

“What are you doing with all the bread?” Wonwoo’s father asked, watching the princess struggle to carry the basket. 

“It’s for my brother, he asked for some more so that we can have some for lunch,” she huffed trying to look around the basket. 

“Wonwoo, why don’t you help the princess and carry the basket for her?” His father asked. Wonwoo nodded and gently took the basket from the princess’ hands as she sighed. 

“Thank you,” she smiled, “do you mind coming to the castle?” Wonwoo looked at his parents who smiled and nodded. “I’ll have the coach-man escort you back home.” 

Wonoo nodded and followed the princess out to the carriage. His parents waved from the carriage as it took off leaving him and the princess in silence for a majority of the ride to the palace. 

“It’s my birthday today,” Wonwoo stated. 

“Wait, what?” Y/N gasped, turning around quickly to face him, her braid nearly hitting her cheek, “how old are you turning?" 

“Eight,” he smiled. 

“Well happy birthday Wonwoo!” Y/N smiled back at him, as the carriage glided up to the castle. 

“Follow me!” she said excitedly, tugging open the door and hopping out. Wonwoo remained seated for a beat, letting the sudden silence wash over him, a warmth blooming in his chest that settled into a gentle smile.

The kitchen was at the back of the castle, which meant Wonwoo got to walk around a bit before he left. Y/N led Wonwoo through a magnificent archway, stopping where a handsome older boy, Prince Jeonghan, was waiting. 

“Brother!” Y/N announced, catching the attention of the young prince, “the bread is here!” 

Jeonghan glanced at the basket, then his attention settled on Wonwoo, “and you are the one who bore this weight. You must be the baker's son.” 

Wonwoo immediately lowered his gaze and bowed his head low. “Your Highness, Jeon Wonoo, at your service. It is my honor to deliver the order.” 

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, noting Wonwoo’s polite deference and the ease with which he held the basked, which was clearly far heavier than the boy his age should carry without strain. 

“An honor, you say?” Jeonghan mused, circling Wonwoo slowly. “Most children who visit the bakery simply take the coin. You seem quite humble to volunteer for the delivery.” 

“I didn’t volunteer your highness,” Wonwoo admitted, “my father asked me to deliver the bread.” 

Jeonghan waved a dismissive hand, “regardless. You show good strength for your age, better manners than most squires we currently employ, and you were honest with me instead of taking the credit for yourself.”

He paused, looking Wonwoo up and down. “I imagine the palace life is a world away from the village bakery. Tell me, Wonwoo, are you fond of horses?” 

Wonwoo, still holding the basket in the middle of the hallway, looked up, surprised by the sudden shift in topic. 

“I—I have only seen the royal horses from the edges of the stable yard, Your HIghness,” Wonwoo admitted, his voice soft. “But they are magnificent. My father always said a healthy horse is the kingdom's true wealth.” 

Jeonghan gave a rare, sharp smile, “a practical outlook. Good. Our stable master is short on reliable hands, and a boy with strong arms and good manners is a valuable commodity. Tell me Wonwoo, how would you like to see that wealth up close? We are in need of bright, strong, lads for our stable service.” He gestured to the castle towering above them. “The opportunity is there. We would offer you a place as a Page, you would care for the royal mounts and run errands throughout the palace. It is hard work, but it offers a proper education and a future far greater than flour dust.” 

Y/N’s eyes lit up with excitement, “say yes, Wonwoo! You can stay!” 

Wonwoo looked from the Prince to the Princess, his head spinning with the weight of the proposal. He knew this was a monumental chance for his family. He bowed again, the bread basket dipping slightly, “if my parents agree, Your Highness, I would be honored to accept that position and serve.” 

Prince Jeonghan was satisfied enough with the answer and nodded. He reached out, gently rubbing the tops of his sisters head, messing up her hair, and gave a brief, sharp smile before turning away and leaving the hallway, his footsteps echoing as he walked away.

Y/N immediately smoothed her hair down, ignoring her brother and turned to Wonwoo with a wide smile, “they will agree! This is wonderful, Wonwoo! We’ll see each other everyday!” 

Wonwoo nodded, but didn’t say anything else. He knew that it would be hard for his parents to lose him at the bakery and wasn’t sure if they’d agree. He just let Y/N lead him to the kitchen and placed the bread basket on the table, looking around the room at all the food that was being prepared for the day. 

“Would you like to stay for breakfast?” Y/N asked Wonwoo, noticing the hungry look in his eyes as he stared at the spread, but he shook his head and politely bowed. 

“Thank you for the offer Your Highness, but I must get back to the bakery. Not only do I have a big decision to make, but I have some bread to prove.” 

Y/N nodded her head in understanding, before smiling wide. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I can’t wait to hear your decision!” 

Wonwoo offered her one final, quick bow before she led him back through the sprawling hallways and out to the front courtyard where the couch-man was waiting. He climbed into the carriage, the warmth of her smile still blooming in her chest. Knowing that tonight, his simple life as the bakers son was about to change forever. 

As soon as the carriage pulled up to the bakery, his parents were waiting for him. He thanked the couch-man who had opened the door for him and slowly approached his parents, who had big smiles on their faces. 

“So? How was the castle?” His father asked, as his mother reached out to hold his hand. 

“It was nice,” he quietly responded, avoiding their eyes. 

His mother squeezed his hand, sensing his sudden reserve, “only nice? You were gone for a while. Did something happen at the castle?”

Wonwoo took a deep breath, trying to be brave. He pulled his parents towards the front door, “could we go inside? I have to tell you something big,” he said, “while I was at the castle I ran into the prince.” 

His father’s expression sharpened instantly at the mention of the prince, “the prince?” His father pressed, “What did he say? Did he have a message about the order?” 

“He offered me a job,” Wonwoo explained, sitting down between them. “He said I could be a Page at the castle. I would help with the horses and run messages and they would teach me things.” He looked earnestly at his mother, “he said it was a chance to have a great future.” 

Both his parents exchanged a shocked look, their faces betraying their astonishment. They had not expected such high regard  to be shown toward their son. 

“He was impressed that I could carry the bread basket at my age and said that I had good manners.” 

His mother smiled warmly at the mention of her son’s kind heart. She sighed, and tenderly  brushed some of his messy hair away from his eyes, taking a close, worried  look at him. She knew that her son had a kind spirit and a loving heart. She was scared that the politics of the royal family would ruin him. 

“What do you think about the offer, son?” His father asked, sitting down next to his mother and taking Wonwoo’s other hand, so they were connected in a tight circle. 

Wonwoo sighed. He knew that his parents would miss him, but he really wanted to study and live in the castle.More than anything, he wanted to get to know the kind and lively spirit that was the princess. He looked up towards his mother and squeezed her hand. 

“I want to go,” he stated, his voice quiet but a little firm. 

His mother inhaled sharply, a single tear sliding down her cheek, but nodded in understanding. “Oh, my dear boy,” she murmured, squeezing his hand tightly. “We know you do. It’s a chance for you to see the world beyond our bakery door.” 

His father squeezed his hand as well, his eyes fixed on the future. “It is an immense opportunity, Son. A gift the Jeon family could never buy,” he looked at his wife. “If we agree, we must set rules. He is only eight. We will insist on weekly visits, and we will insist they treat him fairly.” 

“I won’t be alone,” Wonwoo said, looking up at them both, his eyes earnest. “The princess said she would see me everyday. She’ll look out for me.” 

His parents looked at each other, the name of the Princess, cutting through their fear and striking at the core of the offer. They knew that the unlikely spark between the princess and their son was the very thing that made this impossible dream possible. 

His mother sighed once more, before wiping the tears rolling down her eyes, before looking at her husband who nodded. 

“Alright son,” his father said, his voice thick with pride and gravity. “You can be a Page in the castle.” 

Wonwoo knew the castle was big from the distant view he had everyday, but he didn’t think it would be this big on the inside. The halls went up so high they almost touched the sky. The vast space gleamed with gold and marble, and every chamber felt like walking into a cold, beautiful treasure chest.

It felt like the opposite of the warm, cozy bakery he grew up in. 

He was led up into one of the servants quarters in the east hall. His room was at the top of the tower, which meant he had to climb a lot of stairs every morning. But when he looked out, the view across the kingdom was truly beautiful. 

He was given the morning to unpack his things and change into his new uniform. The simple, slightly rough fabric felt stiff and heavy compared to his soft cotton clothes from the bakery. When the time came, another Page, older and silent, led Wonwoo through the echoing stone corridors, down into the lower grounds and toward the immense Royal Stables. The air changed instantly, replacing the cold marble scent with the rich, earthy smells of hay, leather, and horses.

The Stable Master, a large, weathered named Lord, Baek, stood in the central yard, directing a flurry of activity. He did not look up when Wonwoo approached. 

“Lord Baek, the new Page, Jeon Wonwoo,” the older Page stated curtly. 

Lord Beak finally looked down, his gaze sharp and assessing. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t scowl. 

“You are small,” Lord Beak said simply, his voice a low rumble. “And you are new. That means you listen, you do not talk, and you work twice as hard as everyone else. The palace does not pay us to make friends, boy.” He pointed to a large pile of intricate leather bridles piled in the corner. “Your first task: those bridles need cleaning and polishing until they shine like the Princess’s jewels. Then you will sort that pile of curry combs. I want the bronze separate from the steel. Go.” 

Wonwoo immediately lowered his head. He knew this was not a place for smiles or softness. 

“Yes, sir,” he replied quietly, already moving toward the dirty pile of bridles. He spent the whole rest of the day, even missing supper to finish the work Lord Baek had given him. Only eating when it was almost all the rest of the servants had gone to bed. 

He hadn’t even seen the princess his first day, like the thought he would. 

The next day was different, he learnt quickly that during the week he would attend school and then help in the stables after school and work purely in the stables during the weekend, leaving almost no time for leisure. 

He would attend classes quickly, change and then work until he went to bed. It was the same thing everyday. It wasn’t until almost a month into living in the castle did he see the Princess. 

He was making his way to the stables with a couple of horses when he heard her voice.  It was bright and clear, cutting through the usual drone of the courtyard like a silver bell. He recognized the sound immediately. 

"There you are, Wonwoo! I've been looking everywhere!"

He froze mid-step, causing the horses behind him to shuffle restlessly. He looked up, and there she was, walking towards him, in a fancy gown and flowers all throughout her hair, a clear sign that she had been in the garden. Her face lit up with a usual lively smile at the sight of him. 

He immediately dropped his gaze and tried to bow as best as he could while still holding the reins. 

“Your highness,” he said, “I apologize. I am still on duty.”

Y/N simply walked right up to him, entirely ignoring the horses and his formal bow. 

“Duty? You look like you haven’t slept in a week! Don’t worry, I told Lord Beak I needed help finding the best apples for my pony, Cloud. Come on, I’m rescuing you.” She reached out a hand to take one of his reins, ready to pull him along. 

Wonwoo smiled, thankful that he didn’t have to do chores right away. He sighed, and handed her one of the reins. The tension in his shoulders seemed to lift immediately. 

Y/N beamed, now walking side-by-side with him, leading the horses away from the crowded stable yard and toward a sunny, secluded path near the royal orchards. 

“What were you supposed to be doing right now?” Wonwoo asked softly, unable to help the smile in his voice. 

She leaned toward him, lowering her voice so no adults could hear her. “Etiquette  lessons with Madame Balm. She always makes me walk lines and corrects my posture even though my posture is perfect!” 

Wonwoo chuckled, the sound slightly rusty from a month of hard work and silence. The idea of Y/N forced into rigid formality was both ridiculous yet familiar. 

“Walking straight lines sounds terribly difficult,” he murmured, shaking his head. 

She tightened her grip on the reins. “It’s a nightmare. But anyway, I haven't seen you around at all! Why did it take you so long to come find me? Did Lord Baek put you in the deepest part of the stables?” 

Wonwoo sighed, he also was disappointed that he hadn’t had free time to do simple things like explore the castle or spend time with the princess. 

“I’ve been busy from the moment I wake up until the moment I go to sleep,” he explained, pulling the horses to a gentle stop near a large apple tree. “There is school, and then the stables. Everyday Lord Beak doesn't let us stop,” he looked at her then the smile gone, “I thought I would see you sooner.”

Y/N’s bright smile softened into an expression of immediate sympathy. She dropped the reins letting the horses graze freely, and turned fully toward him 

“Oh Wonwoo,” she said gently, reaching out a hand to touch his sleeve, “I missed you too. I told you I would see you everyday, and I promise I’ll come to the barn to see you after you're done with school.” 

The simple assurance was like warm balm after a month of cold stone and hard labor. 

“You will?” he asked, the hole in his voice undeniable. 

“Y/N nodded firmly, “every weekday. We can talk while you polish tack or muck stalls. We have to be quick, but we’ll be together. You need a friend here, and so do I.” She gave his sleeve a final squeeze before handing him a basket and turning toward the orchard. “Now, let’s go find those apples. Cloud will be crossed if he misses his snack.”

The simple, quiet ritual established from there became the fixed point in their lives. The early years were defined by shared secrets and easy comfort. Wonwoo polished the tack while Y/N read him chapters from grand adventure novels she was supposed to be studying. 

Everyone in the castle found their relationship quite sweet, quite wholesome, seeing it as a lovely display of the Princess’s kind heart and the Page’s steadfast loyalty.

As they started to grow out of their childish features and into their blossoming young teenage years, the comfortable ease began to break down, replaced by a strange, charged awareness. The first big shift between them was when Wonwoo, now transitioning from Page to Squire, had a sudden growth spurt. He was no longer the small baker boy. His shoulders had broadened, and his hands, once small enough to fit inside hers, were now rough and large from endless drills with practice of swords and dealing with hard leather. Their interactions were less about childish games and more about unspoken emotions and feelings of discovery. 

There was less time for them to work with horses and run around the gardens, and Princess Y/N could keenly feel the change between them. Instead of watching him clean the stables and helping with the horses, she would now watch him from the palace balcony. Below, he was training, his form becoming sharper, and she watched him make friendships with the older boys and men among him, who were quickly becoming his peers. The stables were no longer their private sanctuary; they were a training ground preparing him for a world she couldn't fully reach. 

He had just finished a brutal evening training session and was scarfing down his supper in a quiet corner of the Squire's mess hall when she appeared.

“Are you having fun at least?” She asked Wonwoo, watching him chew quickly. 

Wonwoo paused, holding a piece of bread mid-air. His face was smudged with dirt and sweat. He was exhausted, but he shook his head slightly. 

“Fun isn’t what it’s for Your HIghness,” he replied, swallowing hard. “It is an honor. I need to be ready to protect your brother, and you, when the time comes.”

Y/N sighed, leaning her elbow on the table. She looked at his tired eyes and the determination etched onto his face. The playful boy she had rescued was now a soldier in training. 

“I know it’s necessary, but you used to laugh more,” she murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t forget the simple things Wonwoo.” 

Wonwoo quickly looked away from her, his gaze locking onto the rough wooden table. He was painfully aware of how close she was, how sweet the scent of her  perfume was compared to the stink of sweat and steel clinging to him. 

“I don’t forget anything your highness,” he said, his voice a little bit more playful. Trying to reassure her that the boy she once knew was still in there. “But the simple things don’t keep the castle safe. Duty comes first. Always.” 

He deliberately avoided looking at her again, using his rigorous schedule as a shield to hide the truth. Every moment spent training, every drop of sweat, was purely for her sake. The duty was the only thing he was allowed to love. 

Y/N huffed and stood up from the table, clearly frustrated at the sudden, cold distance he created. She didn’t want to cause an argument with her best friend. She leaned down quickly and pressed a sharp, quick kiss to his grimy cheek before turning and leaving the dining hall. 

Wonwoo froze entirely, his fork clattering against the plate. The immediate shock was overwhelming. He looked up, but she was already gone, leaving him alone, heart hammering against his ribs, his duty almost completely forgotten in the face of her reckless affection.

Wonwoo’s sixteenth birthday was quiet, marked by the heavy anticipation of his final years as a Squire. By royal decree, he received a small ceremony in the yard where Prince Jeonghan presented him with a beautifully weighted, custom-fitted-sword, his first piece of truly good steel, a visible sign of his imminent knighthood. While the court cheered his merit, Y/N found him later that night in the armory, the heavy scent of metal and oil surrounding them. 

She gave him no gift, but instead, she reached out and traced the sharp line of th new sword resting on his hip. Her touch, far more intimate than any metal, made him hold his breath. He knew his sixteenth year meant the line between them was hardening, he was closer than ever to become her official protector, a position that demanded he be nothing more, and everything less, than the boy she loved. 

“Have you given it a name?” She asked, as Wonwooran his thumb lightly along the spine of the blade, careful to avoid the edge. 

“No, Your Highness,” he replied. “It’s not mine yet. Not truly. Not until I’m sworn in.” 

“But it will be yours,” Y/N insisted, his eyes fixed on the reflective metal. “And it will be the thing that keeps us safe. It deserves a name.” 

He looked from the sword to her, and the protective, desperate love he felt for her was momentarily reflected in the cold steel.

“Celestra's Mark.” He said, after a few moments of thinking.

Y/N smiled, a quiet, knowing smile. “It suits you, Wonoo. It suits the shield you are becoming.” She reached out and ran a fingertip over the steel, a daring, silent acknowledgement of the sacrifice he was making for her home. 

He quickly re-sheather the blade, the sound a sharp, final click in the quiet armory, marking the end of their sixteenth birthday moment and signaling the return to the strict boundaries they both observed. 

He quickly re-sheathed the blade, the sound a sharp, final click in the quiet armory, marking the end of their sixteenth birthday moment and signaling the return to the strict boundaries they both observed.

“How’s Wonwoo’s training going?” Prince Jeonghan asked.

Y/N jumped, a small cry catching in her throat, at the sudden presence of her older brother. Her entire body recoiled, and her hand flew instantly to cover the sudden, frantic pounding of her heart beneath her gown. She took a sharp, necessary breath to regain control. 

“Brother! You startled me,” she managed, turning to face him from her balcony she was watching Wonwoo from. “I didn’t hear you come in. Why are you sneaking around?” 

Jeonghan raised a skeptical eyebrow at her obvious shock. 

“I wasn’t sneaking, Y/N. You were simply daydreaming. You shouldn’t look so guilty when asked about my top Squire,” he jested, his gaze lingering on her flushed cheeks. He walked to the railing and followed her gaze down to the training yard. “Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental about the baker’s boy?”                                

Y/N whipped her head around to scowl at her brother before smacking him lightly on the shoulder. 

“Don’t call him that, Jeonghan. You know he’s going to be Knight Wonwoo soon,” she retorted, though her cheeks remained pink. She adjusted the fabric of her sleeve, gathering her composure. “His training is excellent, he is ready for his oath next month, isn’t he? Even Lord Baek admitted he’s the sharpest they’ve had.” 

Jeonghan smiled, pleased by the quick defense and the confirmation of Wonwoo’s skill. 

“He’s the sharpest, which is why I’m making sure he protects what matters most. Once he’s knighted, he won’t be mine. I”ve assigned him to you, Y/N. KNight Wonwoo will be your personal guard. Which, speaking of the future, is why I came looking for you.” He turned, the playful smile fading, signaling the shift to official business. 

He leaned against the cold stone railing, his eyes fixed on the distant peaks of the kingdom.

“The political envoys arrived late this morning from the Northern March.” Jeonghan took a long, heavy breath. “The alliance is confirmed, Y/N. You are formally engaged to Prince Mingyu. The betrothal will be announced next month, and the wedding will take place when you both come of age.” 

The simple announcement, delivered without fanfare, landed in the quiet afternoon like a shattering pane of glass. Below them, Wonwoo was practicing a flawless disarming maneuver, the first knight assigned to guard his Princess and her new fiancé, completely unaware that the duty he was training for was about to destroy the only thing he truly cared for. 

“No,” she whispered, the denial a desperate, raw sound. “No, you can’t - I won’t” 

Her composure was utterly fractured. She let out a frustrated, wounded cry, a loud, immature sound completely inappropriate for a Princess, and shoved past Jeonghan, he silks catching on the railing. She didn’t bother with the proper entrance, instead hiking up her skirts and bolting from the balcony entrance, her footsteps echoing loudly down the stone corridor in a frantic dash to escape.

Down below, in the middle of a perfect disarming drill, Wonwoo stopped. The jarring sound of the Princess's unmistakable cry and the panicked rush of her footsteps had cut through the focused chaos of the training yard. He looked up instantly, following the sound to the East Hall balcony. He didn't see the reason, but he clearly saw Prince Jeonghan standing alone at the rail, looking grieved and defeated, and he saw a flash of the Princess's distinctive blue skirt disappearing rapidly into the castle interior. Something was terribly wrong.

Y/N ran without caring who saw her or how undignified she looked. Tears steamed down her face, blurring the marble halls as she raced toward the seclusion of her private chambers. The words formally engaged to Prince Mingyu run in her ears and slammed into her mind, suffocating her. This wasn’t a choice, it was a decree. The cold duty she had always feared had finally snatched her future. She only wanted the comfort of her home, the one she had found in the stables with Wonwoo, but now that home felt impossible far away. 

Hours later, long after the curfew bells had sounded and the last of the squires were asleep, Wonwoo crept out of his quarters. He ignored the aching fatigue from his training and followed a familiar, shadowed route through the silent castle grounds. His destination was the stables, the only place he could think she might retreat when the palace felt too large and cold. 

He found her exactly where he expected: huddled on a bale of hay in front of her horse Cloud’s stall, the smell of the clean straw a stark contrast of the despair across her face. She was not crying, but her shoulders we slumped and her face was drawnb, illuminated only by the faint silver light spilling in from the high stable windows. 

Wonwoo didn’t speak a formal greeting. He simply sat down beside her, the movement quiet and deliberate. The cold hilt of Celestra’s Mark pressed against his hip, a silent reminder of the position that now separated him from her pain. 

“Your Highness,” he said softly, his voice barely a murmur, and turned his head to look at her. “What happened this afternoon? What made you run?” 

Y/N didn’t lift her head. She picked nervously at a loose piece of straw. 

“It doesn’t matter, Wonwoo. It’s palace business,” she mumbled, attempting to push him away from the formal tern. 

“It matters to me,” he insisted, his tone gentle but firm. “I saw you run. And I know the difference between palace business and when my Princess is truly hurting.” He waited, allowing the quiet space to fill with the steady breathing of the horses and placed his hand on top of hers a gesture that shattered the distance between them. 

Y/N finally lifted her head, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. She didn’t pull her hand away. 

“They did it, Wonwoo,” she whispered, her voice cracking, the grip on his hand tightening. “The alliance is confirmed. I am formally betrothed to Prince Mingyu.They said the wedding will be when we come of age. They just sentenced me to years of waiting for a life I don’t want.” 

The words Prince Mingyu hit Wonwoo with the force of a solid steel blow. His meticulously constructed inner world, the one built on the fragile hope that his silent dedication would somehow earn him a future near her, shattered instantly.

His breath stopped in his chest. His training, honed over a decade, forced him to remain physically still, but internally, panic seized him. Betrothed. He, her assigned personal guard, had just been sentenced to stand beside her, day in and day out, while she belonged to another man. Celestra's Mark, the sword of his honor, felt suddenly heavy and cold, a permanent weight of irony pressing against his side. The irony was a cruel joke: he had worked tirelessly to earn the right to protect her, only to find that his first and most sacred duty was to escort her to the man she was forced to marry. His grip on her hand tightened involuntarily, not in comfort, but in a momentary, silent plea.

His breath stopped in his chest, but his training forced him to remain physically still. His grip on her hand tightened involuntarily, a momentary, silent plea before he forced his features into the neutral mask of the Squire. He released her hand slowly, pulling back only inches, but the distance felt like miles.

“This is why I must be knighted next month, Your Highness,” he said, his voice low and utterly devoid of emotion, though his heart was hammering a furious rhythm against his ribs. He deliberately focuses on the duty, the only thing he was allowed to acknowledge. “It is necessary for the stability of the crown. It is necessary for the safety of Hesperos.” 

He lifted his hand, not to reach for her, but to gently touch the hilt of his sword. 

“But I swear to you this,” he continued, his eyes finally meeting hers, intense and burning with a controlled fire. “Until the day they bind you to him, and for every moment after, you will never be alone. I am your shield. I will guard your happiness even if it means sacrificing mine.” 

The sheer weight of the unofficial oath hung heavy in the stable air. Y/N watched his face, searching for any flicker of the boy who used to share her forbidden sweets, but saw only the frigid determination of the future knight. 

“Wonwoo..” she began, her voice ran, reaching out to him again, perhaps intending to ask the question of their shared past that they both had always avoided. 

But Wonwoo didn’t let her finish. He knew that one more word, one more touch, would shatter his discipline he had spent years on, that he needed to survive the years ahead. He quickly stood up, his movements stiff and practiced. 

“I must go, Your Highness,” he said, the formality of the title now sounding like a deliberate, painful barrier. “I have an early morning training session, and I cannot be found here.” 

He gave her a quick, deep, formal bow. The bow of a future guard, not a friend, and without another word, he turned and melted back into the shadows. He did not look back, even as his heart screamed in protest. He left her sitting alone on the hay bale, holding the cold, empty space where his hand had been, acutely aware that the silence he left behind was the sound of their fate sealing shut. 

Two years passed in an agonizing, slow motion defined by duty and proximity. Wonwoo, now eighteen, was no longer a youth. He was a disciplined warrior, lean and stoic, prepared for the oath that would officially bind him to the crown. 

Bind him to her. 

For the past two years, his life had been a singular exercise in control. The memory of Y/N’s tearful face and the unspoken desperation of their final meeting in the stables fueled his training.

 He had mastered the Knight’s Oath and the use of Celestra’s Mark, going over every rule of honor and servitude until his emotions were buried beneath the hard, cold surface of military perfection. He had to be perfect because he was now bound to the Princess in a daily, professional capacity, forced to witness the life he couldn’t have.

Meanwhile, Prince Mingyu had become a fixture at the court. He was everything a future King Consort should be: handsome, genuinely kind, and popular within the court and the people. Crucially he was good with Y/N. 

Y/N and Mingyu’s betrothal was treated as a gentle, long-term courtship. They spent time together formally. Attending state dinners, riding, and sharing lessons. Mingyu was attentive and funny, clearly enjoying her company.

Y/N was unfailing courteous to Mingyu, fulfilling her duty, but her heart had not shifted. She still sought out the quiet comfort of Wonwoo’s presence whenever their duties overlapped, replying to his silent understanding, but it killed Wonwoo. 

He was always there. Standing two steps behind her as she laughed at Mingyu’s jokes, watching her hand brush Mingyu’s arm, and witnessing the natural ease of a relationship that was publicly accepted. He had to suppress every jealous instinct and every desperate desire, knowing that his primary duty was to ensure the safety and happiness of the man who would take his princess.

“What do you mean you don’t want me there at your knighting ceremony?” She had quietly pleaded, trying not to cause any attention between them in the halls of the servants quarters. 

It was almost midnight and if they were seen together, punishment would be brutal. So being quiet was crucial. 

“I mean that you have previous commitments to the prince at the time of my ceremony,” Wonwoo sighed, hating the tears slowly falling down her cheeks. “I will ask sir Baek to attend with you in my absence.” 

“But I don’t want Sir Baek.” 

“I cannot miss my own knighting ceremony,” Wonwoo scoffed. 

“Then I will miss the tea ceremony,” Y/N pushed back, trying to step closer to the almost knight. Wonwoo shook his head and held out an arm to push her back slightly. 

“We both know you cannot. Your parents would be furious.” 

“They should be. They knew your ceremony was tomorrow, why did they have to schedule it on the same day?” 

Wonwoo sighed, and allowed himself to have one selfish act of affection towards you. He raised his hand and gently cupped her cheek, wiping the tears falling down her cheeks. 

“I know. I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But you cannot miss the tea ceremony.” 

Y/N wheeped, but didn’t try to argue more. Instead she leaned into his touch a little bit, allowing him to cup her other cheek. “Promise me that you’ll re-inact the entire thing once I get back?”

Wonwoo chuckled at the request. Only she would ask him such things, but reluctantly agreed by shaking his head. “I’ll skip the nonsense and just show you the badge.” 

Y/N gasped and pulled away from him, watching him laugh some more. “You will do no such thing Wonwoo!” 

Wonwoo just smiled and watched as she wiped away a few of her own tears before trying her best to put on a smile for him. 

The smile that could make twelve hours of training worth it. 

The smile that he would kill for. 

The smile that saved him from a life of bread and baking. 

The smile he loved. 

He still thought about how weird it was being in front of the whole royal family and not having her present. 

It was ironic. The person he was swearing to protect wasn’t even here. 

Prince Jeonghan was the one knighting him, he was the one he was giving his oath to when it should have been the princess. 

His princess. 

His parents were at the ceremony. It had been almost a month since he had last seen them, and the prince was kind enough to allow them to spend the rest of the day together after the ceremony. 

His mother was crying the whole entire ceremony and his father had been standing beside her with a proud look on his face. 

The day of the knighting ceremony arrived. The cathedral was packed, the air thick with incense and the sound of solemn music. Wonwoo knelt before Prince Jeonghan, the active royal authority for the ceremony, wearing the heavy formal armor, the weight of the steel a physical manifestation of his sacrifice. 

He still thought about how strange it was being here in front of the whole royal court without the Princess present in the royal box. 

It was bitterly ironic. 

The entire reason he had pushed himself, the person he was truly swearing to protect, wasn’t here at this pivotal moment. Prince Jeonghan was the one administering the oath, the one he was dedicating himself to, when in his heart, that commitment belonged to his Princess. 

He found solace only in the sight of his own family. His parents were seated near the front, guests of the royal family for the day. His mother was quietly crying the whole entire ceremony, utterly overwhelmed with pride, while his father stood beside her, his face set in a proud, unwavering expression. It had been almost a month since he had last seen them, and Prince Jeonghan had been kind enough to allow them to spend the rest of the day together after the ceremony. 

Prince Jeonghan’s voice boomed as he placed the blunt side of a ceremonial sword, the King's own great sword, on Wonwoo’s shoulder.

“Do you swear loyalty to the Crown of Celestra, upholding its laws, its alliances, and its sovereign lines, with Honor as your sole guide?” 

Wonwoo met Prince Jeonghan’s eyes, his resolve absolute.

“I swear,” Wonwoo affirmed, his voice ringing clearly through the cathedral. 

The final pronouncement was made, the assembly cheered, and the heavy ceremonial robes were swiftly replaced with his new, bespoke knight's uniform. Celestra's Mark, his sword of honor, felt balanced and light on his hip, despite the immense weight of the oath he had just taken.

As the cathedral began to empty, Prince Jeonghan gave him a respectful nod, releasing him. Wonwoo moved immediately toward the section where his family waited.

His mother, dressed in her best Sunday clothes, rushed forward. She didn't bow or curtsy; she simply enveloped him in a fierce, tearful hug, pressing her cheek against the cold steel of his shoulder plate.

“Oh, my beautiful, clever boy,” she wept quietly into his uniform. “You did it. You are a Knight.”

Wonwoo hugged her back fiercely, inhaling the comforting scent of baked dough and lavender that always clung to her. For a moment, he wasn't Knight Wonwoo, sworn protector of the Princess; he was just her son.

His father approached, a man of quiet strength whose own rough hands had shaped hundreds of loaves of bread. He didn't embrace Wonwoo, but instead placed a large, calloused hand on his newly armored shoulder, right where the King's sword had touched him.

“Honor,” his father said, his voice thick with pride. “That is the only thing we ever asked you to carry, son. Carry it well.”

Wonwoo nodded, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat.

“I will, Father,” he promised, his voice regaining the steady confidence of his rank. “Always.”

He pulled back, smiling at them both, knowing that their pride was the one shield he was truly glad to carry.

Wonwoo pulled back, smiling at them both, knowing that their pride was the one shield he was truly glad to carry. 

They settled at a small, reserved table in a quiet corner of the outer hall, where the noise of the main celebration couldn’t reach them. His mother fussed over his untouched plate of food, while his father sipped water, still watching him with that look of intense pride. 

“And the Princess, Wonwoo?” his mother asked softly, resting a hand on his forearm. “Is she well? We heard she has been... very busy with state duties this past year. You two still spend time together, yes?”

The question was innocent, delivered with the easy familiarity of someone asking after a well-loved niece. Wonwoo felt a sharp, internal twist.

“The Princess is excellent, Mother,” he replied, his tone immediately defaulting to the cool, formal respect required of his rank. “As her personal guard, my duty is now to ensure her safety at all times. I am constantly near her, though our interactions are strictly professional.”

His father frowned slightly at the formality. “Professional? What happened to the young lady who used to quiz you on your lessons? I trust the steel hasn't made you forget your manners, son.”

“No, Father,” Wonwoo murmured, avoiding their eyes and focusing on slicing his food with precise, stiff movements. “Her Highness is betrothed to Prince Mingyu now, and my position requires absolute discretion and honor. She is the future of Celestra. I am simply her shield.”

Both of his parents gave each other a knowing look, a silent agreement passing between them not to push any further to upset him. They sensed the rigid, painful distance he had put up around himself. They understood duty, but they didn’t understand the price he was paying for it. 

Prince Mingyu was always kind towards Y/N. He never treated her like a possession or a political prize, but rather as a friend he genuinely respected. In the long two years since their formal betrothal, he had come to understand the sad truth of their union.

He knew that she wasn’t in love with him. 

This awareness didn’t make him cruel or resentful. Instead, it lent his patience and courtesy a layer of profound maturity. He valued her well-being above their alliance, a face that only deepened the quiet agony for both Y/N and the knight sworn to protect them. 

Which is precisely how Mingyu knew that something was wrong with Y/N quickly into the tea ceremony. 

She was performing her required courtesies flawlessly, speaking the correct diplomatic language, offering measured smiles, and accepting the exquisite gifts from the Northern March delegation with grace. Yet, Mingyu noticed the minute details. 

The way her gaze drifting past the delegates to fix on the reflection of the silver tray before quickly snapping back. She was present, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. 

He waited until there was a lull in the ceremony before saying anything. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, making sure that the other occupants of the ceremony were busy and not interacting with them. 

“Pardon?” Y/N asked, her gaze unfocused for a beat too long. 

Mingyu leaned closer, his expression earnest. 

“Your hands are shaking,” he whispered, eyes quickly darting down to her shaking hands. “If you need air, I can excuse us. Tell me what’s wrong.” 

Y/N felt a fresh wave of despair. It wasn’t the political pressure, it was the unbearable weight of not being there for her best friend. She looked at Mingyu’s kind, concerned face, the man who was trying so hard, and the guilt that she had forced Wonwoo into this impossible, painful position crushed her. She had to deny her reality to the one man who sincerely wished her well. 

“It’s nothing, Prince Mingyu,” she replied, forcing a brief, brittle smile. “Just the tediousness of the negotiations. I assure you, I am perfectly well.” 

Mingyu sighed, a soft and heavy sound that seemed to carry the wright of both their roles, and nodded his head slowly. In that single gesture, he acknowledge the unspoken truth of her heart without judgement or resentment. He wasn’t just a prince at that moment, he was a man who saw the bars or the cafe they were both trapped in. 

With a determined look in his eyes, he began trying to plan an escape for them both, his mind already working though ways to slip away from the prying eyes of the delegates and the stifling atmosphere of the embassy. He knew they couldn’t run forever, but for her, and for his own peace, he was willing to find a way to claim even just a few hours of freedom from the suffocating demands of the crown. 

Mingyu moved with a calculated grace, guiding Y/N back toward the interior of the hallway rather than the main ballroom. He knew the embassy's layout well enough to know that the servants’ corridors and the garden exits were currently unguarded, as all security was focused on the front gates and the main reception hall. With a quick, conspiratorial wink, he draped his heavy traveling cloak over her shoulders, effectively hiding her shimmering dress and the royal crest of Celestra. As they reached the heavy wooden door, Mingyu paused, his hand on the iron latch. He looked back at Y/N, the moonlight catching the determined set of his jaw. He wasn't just giving her a few hours of peace; he was risking a minor diplomatic scandal to ensure she didn't break under the weight of her own crown.

“Once we step through this door, we aren’t royals,” he whispered, the cold air turning his breath into a white mist. “Just for tonight, Y/N. No princess, no fiancé, no duty. Just two people walking in the snow.”

Y/N felt a surge of genuine gratitude. For the first time in years, the crushing pressure in her chest eased. She reached out and took his hand, not out of duty, but out of a shared need for air. As the door creaked open, they stepped out into the night, leaving the world of politics and silent knights behind them, if only for a moment.

Once they were alone, Mingyu didn't push or accuse. He simply leaned against the cool stone railing, respecting the space between them.

“I know it wasn’t the tediousness of the negotiations,” he said softly, turning to face her. “You are far too composed for that. Please, Y/N. Tell me what is weighing so heavily on your heart.”

Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, watching the frost gleam on the sculpted bushes below. The air was crisp and clean, offering a small reprieve from the stifling political atmosphere.

“You are too kind, Mingyu,” she murmured, the sincerity in her voice making her throat tight. “That kindness is why this is so difficult.”

She didn’t dare speak Wonwoo’s name, but the heavy implication hung between them. Mingyu already understood.

“Is it still difficult because of the distance?” he asked, his voice low and sympathetic. “Because of what you had to leave behind in Celestra? I never asked you to forget your past, only to share the future with me.”

Y/N finally met his eyes, her own filled with guilt and sorrow.

“I am fighting every day to be the Princess Celestra needs,” she confessed, her voice barely a breath. “But I cannot help but feel like I am giving up some part of myself to do so. Prince Mingyu…. You deserve someone who doesn’t feel like they are breaking just to stand beside you.” 

She saw the hurt and confusion in his eyes, but she couldn’t bring herself to explain the true source of her fractured heart. Instead, she quickly recovered, forcing a brief, brittle smile. 

Mingyu nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than protocol allowed. He was trying to understand, searching her expression for the piece of the puzzle she was clearly withholding. He wasn't a fool; he could hear the finality in her tone, the way she spoke of their union as if it were a sentence rather than a beginning.

"I understand duty," he said softly, his hand retreating from the railing but his presence remaining heavy beside her. "But I do not wish to be another burden you have to carry, Y/N. If standing beside me feels like breaking, then we are starting on a very fragile foundation."

The Northern March delegates laughed at a joke across the table, the sound jarringly loud against the quiet tension between the Prince and Princess. Y/N kept her eyes fixed on the snow falling, terrified that if she looked up, he would see the truth, not just that she didn't want him, but that her heart had already been given to someone else.

Mingyu straightened his posture, shifting back into his role as the perfect diplomat as the delegates turned their attention back toward them. He didn't push her further, but the concern hadn't left his eyes.

"The Court Dance begins shortly," he murmured, his voice returning to a formal, neutral tone for the benefit of their audience. "Perhaps the movement will help settle your nerves. I would be honored if you would grant me the first set."

The following days were not filled with the frantic energy of the ceremony, leaving a hollow silence in the private royal gardens. Y/N walked the stone path alone, her fingers trailing over the dew-covered hedges. The heavy silks of the ceremony had been traded for a simpler gown, but the weight of her check remained unchanged. She stopped at the edge of the fountain, watching her own distorted image in the water.

The conversation with Mingyu still echoed in her mind. She had seen the way he looked at her, not with cold calculation of the Council, but with a genuine desire to be the partner she needed. It made the lie heel even more jagged. Every step toward the wedding felt like a step further away from herself, a slow erasure of the woman she used to be before the needs of the kingdom became a cage. 

A soft rustle of gravel nearby signaled that her solitude was coming to an end. She turned, her shoulders instinctively tensing for another diplomatic confrontation, but the air in her lungs finally felt light again when she saw Wonwoo.

He was standing a respectful distance away, his expression calm and his posture as steady as the ancient stone walls of the palace. He didn't offer a platitude or a royal greeting; he simply stood there, a quiet anchor in the midst of her internal chaos. Seeing him, the one person who knew the woman behind the title, the suffocating weight of the crown seemed to lift just enough for her to breathe. The brittle, defensive mask she had been wearing since the night before finally softened, and for a fleeting moment, she didn't feel like a Princess fighting for Celestra. She just felt like herself.

“How did you find me?” She asked, looking back to the fountain, not wanting him to see the slight flush on her cheeks. 

“You forget my lady, that it is my job to know where you are at all times of the day,” Wonwoo replied, his voice carrying a rare, light trace of amusement. There was a faint, teasing ghost of a smile on his lips that she usually only saw when the palace was fast asleep. It was a subtle, joking tone. One that reminded her he wasn’t just a shield in polished armor, but the person who knew her better than anyone else. 

The small smile on his lips didn’t last long; as he stepped closer, his keen eyes swept over her, noting the tension in her shoulders that even the morning air couldn't melt away. The joking tone vanished, replaced by the quiet, intense focus he reserved only for her.

“The levity doesn’t suit the look in your eyes, my lady,” he said softly, his voice dropping to a more private register. He moved to stand near the edge of the fountain, his gaze following hers to the dancing water. “Something happened during the ceremony. Your composure was... different. What is bothering you?”

Y/N felt the familiar urge to deflect, to give him the same brittle smile she had given Mingyu. But with Wonwoo, the lie always felt heavier. He didn't just see the Princess; he saw the girl who was terrified of losing herself.

"Mingyu noticed," she admitted, her voice so low it was almost lost to the splashing water. "He saw my hands shaking. He offered me a way out, and it only made the guilt worse. He’s a good man, Wonwoo. That’s what’s bothering me. He is a good man, and I am standing there lying to him with every breath I take."

Wonwoo’s expression shifted, a shadow of pain crossing his features at the mention of Mingyu’s kindness. For a long moment, the only sound was the rhythmic splashing of the fountain. Then, defying every rule etched into his training since the day he was knighted, he took a step forward, closing the gap that protocol demanded he maintain.

He didn’t just stand behind her as a shadow. Instead, he reached out, his hand hesitating for a fraction of a second before his fingers brushed against hers. He gently took her hand, the one that had been trembling during the ceremony, and folded his palm over it. The leather of his glove was cool, but the pressure was firm and grounding.

“Then stop looking at him as the Prince of a rival house, and stop looking at yourself as a piece of a treaty,” he whispered, his voice thick with a sudden, raw honesty. He didn't pull his hand away, even though a single wandering eye from the palace windows could cost him his position. “You are not a lie, Y/N. You are a woman being asked to carry the weight of an entire world on your back. If you cannot be honest with him, at least be honest with me. You don't have to be the Princess of Celestra within these four walls.”

The touch was a silent rebellion, a brief erasure of the line between a knight and his sovereign. For that heartbeat, they weren't a political tragedy in the making; they were simply two people holding onto each other in the quiet of a fading dawn.

Y/N didn't pull her hand away. Instead, she turned her palm upward, lacing her fingers with his as if anchoring herself to the only real thing left in her life. The cool morning air bit at her skin, but where their hands met, there was a heat that made the rest of the world feel distant and blurred.

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his for a sign of the same fracture she felt in herself. “And what if being honest with you is the most dangerous thing of all?” she whispered. “Every time I look at you, I remember exactly who I am, and exactly what I have to give up to keep this kingdom whole.”

Wonwoo didn’t flinch. His grip tightened almost imperceptibly, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand in a slow, rhythmic motion that felt like a silent vow. The distance between them had vanished, and in the stillness of the garden, she could see the golden flecks in his eyes and the way his jaw was set in a hard line of restrained emotion.

“Then let it be dangerous,” he murmured, his voice strained. “Let the world fall apart outside this garden. For once, just once, don’t worry about the Council or the Prince or the peace. Just stay here. Just breathe.”

For a long, suspended moment, the political machinery of Celestra ceased to exist. There were no impending weddings, no trade routes, and no heavy crowns. There was only the sound of their shared breath and the terrifying, beautiful realization that the person she was supposedly "giving up" was most alive when she was standing right here, in the shadow of the man who was never supposed to touch her hand.

The air between them seemed to vanish as the silence grew heavy, charged with years of unspoken words and shared glances. Y/N looked up at him, her heart hammering against her ribs, not with the cold anxiety of the palace halls, but with a desperate, frantic longing.

Wonwoo’s gaze dropped to her lips, his breath hitching. The logic of the knight, the duty to the crown, and the fear of the Council all seemed to dissolve in the pale morning light. He moved slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, to remember her station, to be the Princess again. But she didn't move

She leaned in, closing the final inch of the distance that had felt like a chasm for far too long. When his lips finally met hers, it wasn't the polished, formal grace of a royal courtship. It was a collision of relief and suppressed grief. It was the taste of a secret they had both been dying to tell, a soft and tentative touch that quickly deepened into something more certain. His free hand came up to rest against the side of her neck, his thumb grazing her jawline, holding her as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded.

For that one moment, the wedding to Mingyu felt like a ghost story from a distant land. There was no Celestra, no Northern March, and no duty. There was only the warmth of him, the scent of the garden, and the terrifyingly beautiful reality of a love that could never be spoken of in the light of day.

Wonwoo let out a sharp, ragged breath against her skin, the instinct of a soldier suddenly warring with the hunger of a man. The reality of their situation seemed to crash back into him, and he began to pull away, his hands sliding from her waist to her shoulders to create distance. He was the protector, the one meant to keep her safe from the very scandal they were currently creating.

But Y/N wasn’t ready to let the world back in.

As he retreated, she stepped forward, her hands tangling in the heavy fabric of his tunic to pull him back. She chased his lips, refusing to let the warmth vanish, her movements desperate and unyielding. She didn't want the safety he offered; she wanted the fire that only he could provide.

A low, pained sound caught in Wonwoo’s throat as he felt her persistence. His resolve, built over years of rigid discipline, crumbled in the face of her touch. His hands moved from her shoulders to her face, his fingers threading through her hair as he stopped retreating and met her with an intensity that matched her own.

For a few breathless seconds, he stopped being her guard and simply became hers. He kissed her with a ferocity that spoke of every time he had been forced to stand three paces behind her, every time he had watched her smile at Mingyu, and every night he had spent patrolling her door knowing he could never enter.

It was a beautiful moment, fueled by the knowledge that every second they spent like this was a betrayal of the crown she wore, and the life they were both expected to lead.

Finally, it was Y/N who pulled back, though only by an inch. Her breath came in short, jagged hitches, the heat of the kiss still burning on her lips. She didn't let him go completely; her hands remained anchored to his chest, feeling the frantic, heavy thud of his heart beneath the heavy fabric of his uniform.

Wonwoo stood perfectly still, his eyes dark and clouded with a mixture of adoration and agony. He didn't try to step back again, nor did he reach for her. He simply waited, his head bowed slightly, yielding entirely to her. In this quiet corner of the garden, the power dynamic of the court had inverted. He wasn't the guard commanding her safety, and he wasn't the soldier following a vow; he was a man placing his entire existence in her hands, waiting for her to decide what happened next.

He was giving her the control, the one thing she never had in the council rooms or at the tea ceremonies. If she told him to leave, he would disappear into the shadows. If she told him to stay, he would burn the world down to keep her.

Y/N looked up at him, her fingers curling into the embroidery of his tunic. For the first time, the silence between them didn't feel like a burden. It felt like a choice. She could see the vulnerability in the set of his shoulders, the way he was breathing only when she did, completely attuned to her next move.

"You're not going to stop me?" she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of the moment.

"I am yours to command, my lady," Wonwoo murmured, his voice rough and low. "In this, and in everything else. If this is what you want... I have no will to fight you."

Y/N blushed, but before she could say anything the heavy, metallic thud of the Great Terrace doors echoing across the stone gallery acted like a bucket of ice water. The spell shattered instantly.

Wonwoo was the first to react, his soldier’s instincts overriding his heartbeat. He stepped back with a sharp, fluid movement, putting the required three paces of distance between them before Y/N had even fully processed the sound. By the time the heavy doors creaked open and the rhythmic click of heels on marble grew louder, he had already straightened his tunic and clasped his hands behind his back, his expression smoothing into a mask of professional indifference.

Y/N turned toward the fountain, her heart still racing so violently she was sure the approaching attendants would hear it. She frantically smoothed her skirts and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her lips still tingling from the pressure of his.

“Princess? Your father is requesting your presence in the solar for the finalization of the wedding guest list.”

The voice of a young page reached them, followed shortly by the boy himself as he rounded the hedge. He stopped and bowed low, oblivious to the fact that he had walked into the aftermath of a quiet revolution.

“I am coming,” Y/N managed to say, her voice steadier than she expected, though she didn't dare look back at Wonwoo yet.

As she began to walk toward the terrace, she passed Wonwoo. For a split second, their eyes met, a flash of raw, shared memory that burned through their masks. He bowed his head as she passed, the perfect picture of a loyal, stoic guard, but the slight tension in his jaw told her everything she needed to know. 

The three years leading up to Y/N’s wedding  changed everything, even if they never spoke about it. That morning in the garden was still there, hanging between them like a secret they both remembered but never dared to bring up. To talk about the kiss would mean admitting they had broken the rules, so they just lived with the memory of it, letting it sit in the silence of every room they shared.

In those three years, Wonwoo grew into a man who didn't need words to understand her. He became a master of noticing the small things that everyone else missed. He knew that when she was stressed about the wedding, she would twist the ring on her finger until her skin was red, and he’d quietly step into her line of sight to catch her eye and keep her grounded. He noticed that she hated the heavy, suffocating scent of the lilies the Queen favored, so he would make sure the windows in her sitting room were cracked open just enough to let in the fresh air before she arrived.

For Y/N, Wonwoo was the only person who actually saw her. She noticed how he always seemed to know when she had a headache, standing in a way that blocked the harsh glare of the sun from her desk. She watched him change, too, his shoulders got broader, his face more serious, and his protective streak grew even stronger. He didn't have to say anything for her to know he was looking out for her. Every time he handed her a cloak before she felt a chill, or stepped closer when a stranger got too near, it was his way of staying close to her without breaking the silence they had maintained since they were fifteen.

Despite the fact that her wedding to Mingyu was now only weeks away, they continued their quiet routine. They were experts at pretending they were just a Princess and her guard, but the way Wonwoo noticed every small change in her mood said otherwise. He was still the person who knew her best, even if they had to act like that kiss in the garden had never happened.

The training grounds were thick with the scent of kicked-up dust and oiled leather as Wonwoo and Mingyu circled each other. Now at twenty one, both men had grown into their frames; Mingyu with the broad-shouldered, effortless grace of a future king, and Wonwoo with the lean, lethal efficiency of a high-tier guard. The clash of their practice swords echoed against the stone walls, a rhythmic, violent dance that usually ended in a draw.

"You're distracted," Wonwoo remarked, his voice steady even as he parried a heavy blow from Mingyu’s blade. He didn't wait for a response before stepping into Mingyu’s space, forcing him to adjust. "Your footwork is sloppy on the left. You’re overextending because you’re tired."

Mingyu laughed, a short, breathless sound as he wiped sweat from his brow. "Maybe. The wedding preparations are exhausting. My father has me reviewing trade routes until dawn." He lunged again, but Wonwoo deflected the strike with a flick of his wrist. "But how would you know? I thought I was hiding the fatigue well enough."

"You are," Wonwoo said, his eyes focused and sharp. "But you’re moving the same way the Princess does when she’s had a long night of council meetings. You both get a slight tension in your shoulder, the right one. It makes your strikes heavy but slow."

Mingyu stopped mid-swing, his sword dropping an inch. He tilted his head, looking at Wonwoo with a sudden, piercing curiosity. The silence on the field stretched out, suddenly heavy.

"The right shoulder?" Mingyu repeated, his tone thoughtful. "I've known her since we were children, and I never noticed that. I didn't even know she had a tell when she was tired. She usually just hides behind that perfect, icy smile."

Wonwoo realized his mistake instantly. The "little things" he had spent three years cataloging were supposed to be his private map of her, not something he shared with her fiancé. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, his expression smoothing back into a mask of professional neutrality.

"It is my job to notice," Wonwoo said, though the words felt hollow in his own ears. "A guard who doesn't recognize when his charge is fatigued is a guard who misses a threat. She hides it well from the court, but she can't hide it from the person standing three paces behind her for twelve hours a day."

Mingyu didn't go back to the sparring stance. He sheathed his practice blade and stepped closer, his gaze searching Wonwoo’s face. "You notice a lot, Wonwoo. You knew her favorite tea yesterday before she even asked for it. You moved her chair away from the draft in the solar without her saying a word. You seem to know her better than I do, and I’m the one she’s supposed to marry."

Mingyu didn't reach for his sword again. Instead, he leaned against a wooden training post, watching Wonwoo with a look that was more analytical than angry. There was no heat in his eyes, but there was a new, sharp focus, the kind a hunter uses when he realizes he’s been looking at a map upside down.

"It’s more than just the shoulder, isn't it?" Mingyu asked, his voice dropping to a conversational level that felt far too intimate for the middle of a training field. "Yesterday, at the banquet, she started to reach for the wine, but you swapped her glass for water before her fingers even touched the stem. You knew she had a headache before she’d even admitted it to herself."

Wonwoo felt a cold pull of dread in his stomach, but he kept his posture rigid. "The Princess is prone to migraines when the hall is too crowded, Prince Mingyu. I was simply anticipating a need to keep her present for the toast."

"And the way you stand?" Mingyu continued, ignoring the excuse. He stepped toward Wonwoo, circling him slowly, much like they had been doing during the spar. "You don't just stand behind her. You stand for her. You adjust your position based on the sun to keep her in the shade. You move when she breathes. It’s almost like you’re wired to her."

Mingyu stopped in front of him, looking Wonwoo straight in the eye. There was no malice in his expression, Mingyu wasn't a cruel man, but there was a dawning realization that he was stepping into a space that was already occupied by someone else.

"I’ve spent three years trying to learn her favorite colors and her favorite poets," Mingyu said with a faint, almost sad smile. "And here you are, knowing the rhythm of her breath. It makes me wonder, Wonwoo... is that level of devotion something they teach in the Guard, or is it something you taught yourself?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Wonwoo knew that any answer he gave now would be a confession. He could see Mingyu waiting, not for a lie about protocol, but for the truth about why a common guard looked at the future Queen as if she were the only fixed point in a turning world.

Wonwoo didn’t blink. He kept his gaze level, matching Mingyu’s stare with a calm that he didn't actually feel. He knew he was standing on a thin ledge. One wrong word could end his career or, worse, put Y/N in a position she couldn't explain.

"Every person has a rhythm, My Lord," Wonwoo said. His voice was low and steady, lacking any of the nervous energy that might give him away. "When you spend every waking hour ensuring someone stays alive, you stop seeing them as a person and start seeing them as a series of patterns. I know when she is tired because a tired Princess is a vulnerable one. I know when she has a headache because a distracted Princess doesn't see a threat coming."

Mingyu hummed, a small sound of acknowledgement, but he didn't look convinced. He picked up a cloth to wipe the sweat from his neck, his eyes still fixed on Wonwoo.

"Patterns," Mingyu repeated. He sounded like he was testing the word out to see if it rang true. "That’s a very clinical way to describe it. But I’ve watched you when she isn't looking. You don't look like a man watching for assassins. You look like a man who is afraid the world is going to break her."

Wonwoo tightened his jaw. He could feel the heat of the afternoon sun on his neck, but he felt cold. Mingyu wasn't being aggressive, which made it harder to deflect. He was being observant, and that was far more dangerous.

"She is the future of this kingdom," Wonwoo replied. He chose his words with extreme care. "It would be a failure on my part if she were to break under the weight of it. If I know her better than most, it is only because I am the only one allowed to see her when the mask slips. That is the burden of the guard, not a choice of the man."

Mingyu stayed quiet for a moment, tossing the cloth aside. He looked out toward the palace balcony where Y/N often sat.

"I hope you're right, Wonwoo," Mingyu said. He didn't sound angry. He sounded almost worried. "Because if I am going to be her husband, I would like to think I could eventually understand her the way you do. But standing here, I feel like a stranger trying to read a book in a language I haven't mastered yet."

He turned back to Wonwoo, his eyes searching. "It makes me uneasy. I do not want to lose her before our life together even begins simply because I am too blind to see what she needs. You have had three years to learn every breath she takes, and I am starting to realize that if I do not catch up, I will never truly have her."

Wonwoo felt a sharp pang of guilt mixed with a dark, possessive spark he tried to shove down. He realized that Mingyu wasn't just suspicious; he was afraid. He was afraid that no matter how many titles he held or how many provinces he brought to the marriage, he would always be the second person in the room when it came to Y/N’s heart.

"You have time, My Lord," Wonwoo said, though the words felt like a lie on his tongue.

"Do I?" Mingyu asked with a small, hollow laugh. "The wedding is in a month, Wonwoo. You have a three-year head start. I just hope that by the time I learn her patterns, she hasn't already decided that you are the only one who truly knows her."

Mingyu offered a final, lingering look at the palace before turning away without another word. The sound of his boots retreating across the gravel felt like a countdown, each step emphasizing the month remaining before the wedding. Wonwoo remained exactly where he was, his hand still gripped tightly around the hilt of his practice sword. The silence of the training grounds rushed back in, but it offered no comfort. He realized then that Mingyu’s lack of anger was actually more dangerous than a confrontation. A jealous man could be handled with protocol, but a man who recognized the truth was a man who might eventually demand it.

Wonwoo looked down at his calloused hands, the same hands that had caught Y/N’s tears and adjusted her cloaks for years, and felt the crushing weight of his position. He was the keeper of her secrets, but as Mingyu had pointed out, he was also the one standing in the way of her future. He stood alone in the settling dust, realizing that his devotion was no longer just a shield for the Princess, but a growing threat to the very peace he was sworn to protect. The map of her heart that he had spent three years drawing was no longer his alone to keep. Mingyu was looking for it now, and Wonwoo knew he couldn't hide the trail forever.

Later that evening, the palace had fallen into the hushed, rhythmic stillness of the night watch. Wonwoo stood outside Y/N's chambers, his back to the door, but his mind was still on the training grounds. He waited until the final patrol of the hour passed before he risked a soft, rhythmic knock on the wood behind him. It was a signal they had used a handful of times over the years, one that bypassed the formal "My Lady" and spoke directly to the girl he had once kissed in the garden.

The door opened just a crack, and the warm glow of candlelight spilled into the dark hallway. Y/N looked up at him, her hair down and her face tired, her eyes immediately searching his for the reason behind the late-night interruption. She noticed the tension in his jaw before he even spoke.

"We need to be more careful," Wonwoo whispered, his voice barely audible. "Mingyu is not as blind as we thought. He is starting to see the patterns."

Y/N stood up from her desk by the window. The moonlight lit up her face just enough that Wonwoo could see the worried expression she was wearing. “See the patterns? What do you mean?” she asked, reaching out. Wonwoo sighed and took her hands, his rough palms a stark contrast to her soft skin.

“We were training together today and I was foolish enough to share an observation about you with him,” Wonwoo admitted. He looked down at their joined hands, realizing how easily this simple gesture would confirm every suspicion Mingyu held. “He noticed how I look after you. He mentioned the way I know your favorite tea or how I move to block the draft before you even feel the cold. He told me he feels like a stranger reading a book in a language he hasn't mastered yet.”

Wonwoo squeezed her fingers gently, his voice dropping an octave. “He isn't angry, Y/N. That is the problem. He is observant, and he is starting to realize that I have a three-year head start on knowing your heart. He told me he’s afraid he will never truly have you because I am already standing in the space he is supposed to occupy.”

Y/N felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. The three years of silence they had maintained suddenly felt fragile, like a glass bridge beginning to crack under the weight of Mingyu's gaze. They had spent so much time perfecting their masks in public that they had forgotten that a man who loved her would be looking for the person behind the mask.

“If he knows,” Y/N whispered, her eyes searching Wonwoo’s, “then he knows that my marriage to him will be a lie. What do we do, Wonwoo? If he tells my father, or if he decides he cannot marry a woman who is already spoken for in every way that matters, what happens to you?”

Wonwoo pulled her closer, his hands moving from hers to cup her face. The professional distance he had maintained for years finally snapped. He looked at her with a raw intensity that made her breath hitch, the mask of the stoic guard completely gone.

"He won't tell your father," Wonwoo said, his voice low and urgent. "Mingyu is a good man, but he is a man who wants to be loved. He will keep watching us, and eventually, the truth will destroy all three of us. I cannot stand by and watch you walk down that aisle knowing I am the reason your heart is breaking."

As he spoke, a single tear escaped and traced a slow, shimmering path down her cheek. Wonwoo didn't hesitate. He reached out and caught the drop with the pad of his thumb, wiping it away with a tenderness that felt more intimate than any word he had ever spoken. He let his hand linger there, his thumb resting against the corner of her mouth.

"I have spent the last three years watching you prepare for a life that is going to suffocate you," he continued, his voice softening. "I have made arrangements. I have a way out of the city, and I have friends across the border who do not care about alliances or crowns. I am not telling you that we have to go tonight, but I am telling you that the door is open."

He stepped back just an inch, giving her space to breathe, though he didn't let go of her hands. "You have two weeks before the final ceremonies begin. Use them. Look at the life they have built for you, and then look at me. If you decide that you cannot go through with it, tell me. We will leave everything behind, and I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret it. But if you choose the crown, I will stay. I will be your guard, and I will never speak of this again."

The silence in the room was heavy with the weight of the choice he had just laid at her feet. For three years, they had been trapped by fate, but now, Wonwoo had given her the one thing she thought she had lost forever: a way out. He was offering her a life of anonymity and struggle, but one where he could finally love her in the light.

"Think about it, Y/N," he whispered, his eyes lingering on hers. "Don't answer me now. Just know that you don't have to be the person they are forcing you to be. You just have to decide if the woman you are is enough for the life I can give you."

The days that followed were a slow torture of divided loyalties. Every time Y/N looked at Mingyu, she saw a man who was genuinely trying to bridge the gap between them. He brought her books he thought she might like and made self-deprecating jokes during formal luncheons to try and coax a real smile from her. At twenty one, Mingyu was everything a princess should want, kind, handsome, and earnest. Yet, every time he reached for her hand or asked her a question about her childhood, Y/N felt a wave of guilt so cold it made her fingers go numb. She was watching a good man fall in love with a ghost, while the man who actually held her soul stood three paces behind her, a silent shadow in silver armor.

Her internal struggle became a physical weight as the wedding preparations reached a fever pitch. She spent her afternoons in fittings for a gown that felt more like a shroud, surrounded by seamstresses who praised her beauty while she felt like she was disappearing. During these moments, her eyes would instinctively find Wonwoo’s reflection in the tall pier glasses. He remained the perfect picture of professional indifference, but she could see the slight, familiar tension in his jaw that Mingyu had pointed out. She realized then that Wonwoo wasn't just waiting for her answer; he was suffering through every second of the countdown alongside her.

The contrast between her two lives grew sharper with every passing hour. With Mingyu, there was the promise of a stable, powerful future, a crown, a duty fulfilled, and the safety of her kingdom. With Wonwoo, there was only the unknown. She thought about the horses at the south postern and the gold he had saved, and she wondered if she was brave enough to be the woman he believed she was. She was terrified of the war her departure might spark, but she was even more terrified of the person she would become if she stayed. Every time Mingyu laughed or tried to "learn her patterns," it only served to remind her that those patterns had been woven by Wonwoo’s hands.

By the end of the week, the pressure had become nearly unbearable. Y/N found herself standing on her balcony late at night, looking out toward the dark horizon where the border lay. She thought about the life Wonwoo had offered her, a life without titles, where they could finally speak about that morning in the garden without fear. The choice was no longer just between two men; it was between the Princess of Hesperos and the woman who had once been kissed behind a hedge. As the moon climbed higher, she realized that the more Mingyu tried to know her, the more she realized that only one person truly did.

The dining hall felt far too large for just the two of them, the flickering candlelight casting long, distorted shadows against the tapestries. Mingyu had dismissed the servants earlier than usual, leaving them in a silence broken only by the clinking of silverware. Wonwoo stood at his post by the heavy oak doors, a silent statue whose presence seemed to vibrate in the air between Y/N and her fiancé.

“You’re doing it again,” Mingyu said quietly, setting his wine glass down with a definitive click.

Y/N looked up, her fork pausing halfway to her plate. “Doing what?”

“You’re here, but you’re not,” Mingyu replied, his voice devoid of anger but heavy with profound sadness. He leaned forward, the light catching the gold embroidery of his tunic. “I have spent the last hour trying to talk to you about the music for the ceremony, about the flowers, about our future home in the North. And every time I speak, you look right through me as if I am a ghost.”

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat. “I am just tired, Mingyu. The preparations are a lot for anyone.”

“It’s not just the fatigue,” Mingyu countered, his gaze shifting briefly to the shadow by the door before returning to her. “I’ve tried to learn your patterns, Y/N. I’ve tried to be the man who knows when you’re stressed or when you need a moment of quiet. But every time I think I’ve found a way in, I realize that the door is already locked from the inside. There is a wall around you that I can’t climb, and I think we both know who holds the key.”

The air in the room became suffocating. Y/N glanced toward Wonwoo, but he remained perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the far wall, though she knew he was hanging on every word.

“I want to love you,” Mingyu said, his voice cracking slightly. “I want to be the person you turn to. But how can I marry a woman who looks at her guard with more recognition than she looks at her husband? How can I build a kingdom with someone who treats my presence like a sentence she has to serve?” He reached across the table, his hand hovering near hers but not quite touching. “Tell me the truth, Y/N. If I walked out of this room right now and called off the wedding, would you be heartbroken, or would you finally be able to breathe?”

The silence following Mingyu’s question was so heavy that the crackle of the fireplace sounded like a thunderclap. Y/N looked down at his hovering hand, then slowly shifted her gaze to the doors where Wonwoo stood. For three years, she had carried the weight of the crown and the secret of the garden like a leaden cloak, but looking at Mingyu’s pained, honest face, she realized she couldn't let him shoulder the burden of a lie any longer.

“I would breathe,” she whispered, the words coming out as a shaky, jagged confession.

She looked up, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. “I would breathe, Mingyu, and that is the most terrible thing I have ever had to admit. You are a good man. You have been nothing but kind, and patient, and everything a Queen could ever ask for. But my heart was never part of the alliance. It was never mine to give to you in the first place.”

Mingyu’s hand dropped to the table, his fingers curling into a fist. He didn't look surprised; he looked like a man watching a storm he had seen on the horizon finally make landfall. He followed her gaze to Wonwoo, who had finally broken his stance. Wonwoo’s hand was resting on the hilt of his sword, his expression a mix of terrifying protectiveness and profound grief.

“It’s him, then,” Mingyu said, his voice a hollow echo. “It’s been him since the beginning. Every time you tripped, every time you sighed, every time you looked for a reason to leave a room, it was always toward him.” He let out a sharp, bitter breath that wasn't quite a laugh. “All this time, I thought I was failing to win you over. I didn't realize I was trying to win a battle that had already been lost years ago.”

Y/N stood up, her chair scraping harshly against the marble floor. “It wasn't a choice I made to hurt you, or the kingdom. It just... it happened. And we spent three years pretending it didn't. We tried to be what everyone needed us to be, Mingyu. But I can't do it anymore. I can’t walk down that aisle and promise to spend my life with you when every piece of me belongs to the man standing three paces behind me.”

Mingyu sat in silence for a long time, his eyes fixed on the flickering candle flames. The betrayal clearly hurt, but his anger seemed to be eclipsed by a weary sense of clarity. He looked at Y/N, then shifted his gaze to Wonwoo, really looking at him for the first time not as a shadow, but as a rival who had already won.

"I will not be the one to go to your father," Mingyu said, his voice sandpaper-dry. "I have no desire to be the reason a man is executed for the crime of being loved by a Princess. And I have too much pride to drag a woman to the altar who is mourning someone else while she holds my hand."

He stood up, his movements stiff and formal. He walked toward the door, stopping just a few feet from where Wonwoo stood. The height difference between the two men was negligible, but the tension was immense.

"I will tell the Council and the King that I am the one who wishes to call off the wedding," Mingyu stated, looking Wonwoo directly in the eye. "I will tell them that I have realized our temperaments are not a match, and that the alliance would be better served through trade agreements rather than a hollow marriage. I will take the blame, and I will return to my own lands."

He turned back to Y/N, a shadow of a smile touching his lips, one that didn't reach his eyes. "But understand this: my protection ends the moment I leave. The King will be furious. He will look for someone to blame for my departure, and he will look at your guard with fresh eyes once I am no longer here to distract him. You have the freedom you wanted, but it is a fragile thing."

Mingyu reached for the door handle, pausing one last time. "I won't tell your secret, but I won't help you keep it either. If you are going to run, you should do it while the court is still reeling from my announcement. Because once I am gone, you will be the only target left for his rage."

With a final, sharp nod, Mingyu exited the hall, leaving the heavy doors to swing shut behind him.

The silence following Mingyu’s departure was thick and suffocating. Wonwoo didn't wait more than a heartbeat before he was across the room, his hands finding Y/N’s shoulders. The professional mask had completely shattered, replaced by an urgency that bordered on desperation. He knew the clock was ticking; once Mingyu delivered his news to the King, the palace would transform into a cage of suspicion.

"We leave tonight," Wonwoo insisted, his voice a low, frantic rasp. "Do not pack a trunk. Do not look for jewelry. We take only what we can carry on a horse. Mingyu has given us a window, but it is closing with every step he takes toward your father’s study. Once the King realizes the alliance is dead, he will look for a reason, and he will look at me first."

Y/N nodded, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. They moved through the servant passages, ghosts in the corridors they had walked for years. Wonwoo led the way, his hand never leaving hers, his eyes scanning every shadow. They reached the heavy iron gate of the south postern, the air smelling of damp earth and freedom. Wonwoo pulled the heavy bolt back, the metal screeching just slightly, and for a moment, the open woods lay before them, dark and inviting.

"Just a few more steps," Wonwoo whispered, stepping out into the cool night air and reaching back to pull her through.

"Is that as far as you thought you would get?"

The voice was like a blade of ice cutting through the dark. Torches flared to life all at once, illuminating the stone archway and the line of royal guards standing with crossbows leveled. Standing in the center of the light was Y/N’s father, the King. He looked older in the torchlight, his face twisted in a mask of cold, controlled fury. He didn't look at his daughter; his eyes were fixed entirely on Wonwoo’s hand, which was still gripped tightly around Y/N’s.

"I trusted you with her life," the King said, his voice dangerously quiet. "I gave you the honor of standing in her shadow for years, and you used that proximity to rot the very foundation of my kingdom. Did you truly believe I wouldn't notice the way you looked at her? Or did you think my daughter’s duty was so cheap it could be stolen by a common soldier in a garden?"

Wonwoo didn't let go of her hand. Instead, he stepped in front of her, shielding her body with his own as the guards moved in to circle them. The freedom of the woods was only ten feet away, but it might as well have been on another continent.

The King took a step forward, the orange light of the torches dancing in his eyes. He ignored the crossbows and the tension in the air, focusing entirely on the man who had dared to touch the crown’s most precious asset. He didn't order an execution, not yet. Instead, he looked at Wonwoo with a terrifying, quiet curiosity.

"You have thrown away your life, your honor, and the safety of your family for this," the King said, gesturing vaguely to the dark woods behind them. "A common guard, raised in the barracks, believing he could steal a Princess. Tell me, soldier, before I have you stripped of your rank and thrown into the black cells: why? What could you possibly see in my daughter that was worth the certain death you are facing now?"

Wonwoo didn't flinch. Even with the tips of the crossbow bolts glinting in the light around him, he stood tall. He felt Y/N’s fingers tremble in his, and he squeezed them once, firmly, before finally speaking.

"It wasn't a choice, Your Majesty," Wonwoo began, his voice surprisingly steady. "I didn't look at her and see a Princess or a political alliance. I saw a girl who was forced to grow up in rooms full of people who only wanted something from her. I love her because I am the only one who knows what her silence sounds like. I love her because I have seen the weight she carries every single day, and I wanted to be the one person she didn't have to be strong for."

He took a small breath, his eyes meeting the King’s without a shred of apology. "I love her because I noticed the things no one else cared to look for. I know how she breathes when she’s afraid, and I know exactly how much she has sacrificed for a crown that only feels like a cage. You see a legacy, My Lord. I see a person. And if loving her as a person instead of a puppet is a crime, then I am guilty a thousand times over."

The King’s expression didn't soften; if anything, his jaw tightened at the raw honesty in Wonwoo's voice. He looked at his daughter, seeing the way she was looking at Wonwoo, not with the practiced grace of a royal, but with a desperate, heartbreaking devotion.

Y/N stepped forward, her movement so sudden and determined that the guards with the crossbows shifted their weight. She did not let go of Wonwoo’s hand; instead, she used it to pull herself level with him, standing shoulder-to-shoulder against the light of the torches.

"He is right, Father," she said, her voice ringing out with a clarity she had never possessed in the Council chambers. "You ask why he loves me as if it is a mystery, but the real question is why you never bothered to know me well enough to ask that yourself. For years, I have been a piece on your board. I have smiled when told, spoken when prompted, and agreed to a marriage that would have withered my soul just to keep your peace."

She looked at her father, seeing the king first and the parent second, and for the first time in twenty one years, she didn't look away.

"You see his devotion as a betrayal of his rank, but it is the only honest thing in this entire palace," she continued, a single tear silvering her cheek but her gaze remaining steady. "Wonwoo didn't steal me. He saved me. He saw the girl you forgot existed beneath the silk and the titles. If you punish him for loving me, then you are punishing the only person in this kingdom who actually knows who your daughter is. You can throw him in the cells, or you can take his life, but you cannot undo the fact that he has already given me more freedom in his silence than you ever gave me in your halls."

She took a shaky breath, her grip on Wonwoo’s hand tightening until her knuckles were white. "If he is a criminal for seeing me as a person, then so am I. If he goes to the dungeons, I will follow him. If he is exiled, I will walk beside him. You taught me that my life belongs to the crown, but tonight I am telling you that my heart belongs to him. You can keep the Princess, Father, but you will never truly have me back."

The King stood motionless, the flicker of the torches casting deep, unreadable shadows across his face. 

The King stood motionless, the flicker of the torches casting deep shadows across his weathered face. He looked at his daughter, really looked at her, and saw not a political pawn, but a woman whose spirit he had nearly extinguished. He saw her hand gripped tightly in Wonwoo’s and realized that the "loyalty" he had demanded from his guard was nothing compared to the devotion Wonwoo had actually given her. The silence stretched, the guards waiting for a command to strike, but it never came.

"I have spent my life building walls to protect this kingdom," the King finally said, his voice losing its iron edge and sounding, for the first time, like that of a tired father. "I thought that by securing your future through alliances, I was protecting you as well. But standing here, seeing the way you look at him... I realize I have only succeeded in building a prison for my own child." He let out a long, heavy breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "If I force this, I lose my daughter. And if I lose you, what was the point of the kingdom?"

He signaled to the archers, and with a collective rustle of leather and wood, they lowered their crossbows. The King stepped forward, stopping just a few feet away. He looked Wonwoo in the eye, not with fury, but with a searching, heavy solemnity. "You say you know what her silence sounds like. You say you know the person beneath the crown. That is a burden heavier than any sword, soldier. If I allow this, you are no longer just a guard. You are the guardian of her happiness. If you fail her, there is no corner of this world where you can hide from me."

He turned back to Y/N, reaching out a hesitant hand to brush a stray hair from her forehead. "The alliance with the North will be difficult to mend, and the Council will scream for blood. There will be no secret flight into the woods tonight. If you want this man, you will have him, but you will do it properly. We will find a way to make him more than a soldier in the eyes of the court. It will take time, and it will be a scandal that tests us all, but I will not be the man who broke my daughter’s heart to save a border."

He looked at their joined hands and gave a small, weary nod. "Go back inside. Both of you. We have a great deal of work to do to explain why the Princess is marrying her shield instead of a Prince."

The transition from being hunted fugitives to an officially recognized couple happened with a dizzying speed that left the palace reeling. After the King’s public dismissal of the guards, the heavy atmosphere of the courtyard evaporated, replaced by the hushed whispers of the court. But for Y/N and Wonwoo, the noise of the world didn't matter. They were led not to a cell or a hidden path, but back to the private solar overlooking the moonlit gardens, the very place where their secret had lived in the shadows for so long.

As the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind them, the silence was no longer a weapon used against them; it was a sanctuary. For a long moment, they simply stood in the center of the room, the space between them finally free of the "three-pace rule." The torchlight from the hallway was gone, replaced by the soft, silver glow of the moon spilling across the floorboards. Wonwoo was the first to move. He unbuckled the heavy leather vambraces from his forearms, the metal clattering onto a side table, a sound of a soldier finally laying down his arms.

"It doesn't feel real," he whispered, his voice thick with a vulnerability he had never been allowed to show.

Y/N crossed the room, her silk skirts rustling like a long-held breath finally released. When she reached him, she didn't just take his hand; she leaned her forehead against his chest, listening to the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart. It was beating fast, matching her own. Wonwoo wrapped his arms around her, pulling her so close that the cold metal of his remaining armor was the only thing between them. He rested his chin on the top of her head, his eyes closing as he inhaled the scent of jasmine in her hair, a scent he had inhaled from a distance for years, but could finally claim as his own.

The relief was a physical wave, washing away the exhaustion of the last few days. Wonwoo pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands sliding up to cradle her face. There was no urgency now, no four-minute timer, no shadow guards lingering in the doorway. He traced the line of her jaw with a slow, reverent thumb, his gaze lingering on her eyes as if confirming she was truly there. "For three years, I thought the only way I could love you was in the dark," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rasp. "I thought I would spend my whole life being the man who stood behind you, never the man who stood beside you."

Y/N reached up, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down until their lips were inches apart. "You were always beside me, Wonwoo. Even when you were standing at the door."

When they finally kissed, it was slow and deep, a silent vow exchanged in the moonlight. It wasn't the frantic, desperate kiss of a doomed couple; it was the quiet, steady beginning of a life lived in the light. They had a long road ahead, angry councilmen, broken treaties, and a court that would never truly forget, but as Wonwoo pulled her back into the safety of his embrace, Y/N knew that for the first time in her life, she wasn't just a Princess. She was home.

The walk to the royal chambers felt entirely different than it had for the last three years. Usually, Wonwoo followed several paces behind, his eyes scanning the corridors for threats, his presence a comfort but a distant one. Tonight, as they climbed the grand spiral staircase, his hand remained firmly in hers. There were still guards posted at the turns of the halls, but as the couple passed, the men didn't move to intervene; they simply lowered their heads in a new, uncertain kind of respect.

When they reached the heavy, gold-inlaid doors of her bedroom, Wonwoo paused. It was the threshold he had stood outside of for a thousand nights, guarding her sleep while he sat in the cold silence of the hallway. He looked at the handle, then back at Y/N, a trace of his old professional hesitation flickering in his eyes. Y/N smiled and tugged on their interlaced hands, an invitation to further break the boundary that the crown had set. 

"I have spent three years imagining what it would be like to walk through this door with you," he whispered, his voice low and private. "And now that it’s open... I find I’m almost afraid to step inside. As if the dream might break."

Y/N didn't say a word. She simply squeezed his hand and pushed the door open.

The room was bathed in the warm, amber glow of a dying fire in the hearth. The scent of cedar and dried lavender hung in the air. As the door clicked shut behind them, the finality of the sound felt like a seal on their old lives. The palace, the King, and the looming scandal were all on the other side of that wood. Inside, there was only the soft crackle of the embers and the two of them.

Wonwoo turned to her, the firelight catching the sharp planes of his face and softening the intensity in his dark eyes. He reached out, his fingers slowly unlacing the heavy cloak from her shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a pool of silk. He moved with a reverence that made her heart ache, his touch light as if he were handling something incredibly fragile.

"No more doors between us," he murmured, stepping into her space until their shadows merged against the far wall. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering there, his thumb brushing against her temple.

For the first time, he wasn't looking for assassins or listening for footsteps in the hall. He was only looking at her. He leaned down, his lips ghosting against her forehead before he pulled her into a slow, deep embrace. In the quiet of the room, far above the rest of the world, they finally let the weight of the crown and the sword fall away, ready to face the first night of a future they had finally earned.

In the quiet of her chambers, the adrenaline of the confrontation finally broke, and the reality of their survival crashed over her. Y/N looked up at Wonwoo, her eyes shimmering in the dying firelight, and a single, heavy tear escaped, tracing a slow path down her cheek. It wasn't a tear of sadness, but of a profound, overwhelming relief that had been three years in the making.

Wonwoo’s expression softened instantly, his heart aching at the sight. He reached out with a hand that had spent years gripped around the hilt of a sword, but now moved with the most delicate tenderness. Using the pad of his thumb, he caught the tear before it could reach her jaw, wiping it away with a lingering touch. He didn't pull his hand back; instead, he let his palm cradle her face, his thumb brushing over her skin as if to ensure she was truly real and truly safe.

"No more tears, Y/N," he whispered, his own voice thick with emotion. "The fighting is over. We don't have to hide anymore."

He leaned down, his eyes searching hers for a brief second before he closed the distance. The kiss was slow and deep, a quiet anchor in the middle of their changing world. It tasted of salt and the lingering heat of the hearth, a soft promise that he was no longer just her guard, but her partner. As he pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her waist to pull her flush against him, the last of the tension left her body. In the safety of her room, with the world outside finally silenced, they stayed like that for a long time, two people who had finally found their way home.

Y/N wrapped her arms around Wonwoo’s neck to also pull him closer, before slightly pushing him towards her bed. 

“Your Highness,” Wonwoo breathed against her lips, the habit of three years of service flickering in his voice even now.

But Y/N didn't let him finish. She pressed her fingers gently to his lips, shaking her head as a fresh tear of relief welled in her eyes.

“No titles,” she whispered, her voice a soft command that had nothing to do with royalty and everything to do with the woman she had finally become. “Just Y/N. From tonight on, it’s just Y/N and Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against hers. A small, genuine smile finally broke through his stoic mask, the kind of smile he had only ever saved for her in the shadows of the garden. He reached up, his thumb catching the tear on her cheek and wiping it away with a lingering, tender touch.

“Y/N,” he repeated, the name sounding like a prayer in the quiet room.

He leaned down again, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was no longer a secret, but a beginning. There were no ranks between them now, no barriers of stone or silk; there was only the steady heat of the fire and the two of them, finally whole. 

When Y/N started fiddling with the latchings on his armor, his heart stuttered, “are you sure?” He asked, looking down at her with nothing but love in his eyes. 

“I’ve been in love with you the moment you offered to carry that huge bread basket for me when we were children,” Y/N confessed in between pressing kisses all over his face. “I don’t want to wait any longer.” 

Wonwoo chuckled at the confession and nodded before undoing the latches on his chestplate. Y/N watched him undo his left shoulder and when he was finished, undid the right for him. Letting the metal arm pieces fall to the ground. They worked together to take the rest of his armor off, from the chestplate to the leg pieces until there was just Wonwoo in the simple shirt and pants. 

“There’s the boy I fell in love with,” Y/N sighed, before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. 

Wonwo quickly moved his hands from cupping her jaw to the lace of her dress, trying his hardest to undo the laces without looking and not accidently knotting them. 

Y/N chuckled and reached behind her own back to remove Wonwoo’s hands to undo the laces herself. Wonwoo’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment but went back to cupping her cheeks as she quickly undid the laces of her dress and then pushed the heavy fabric off her shoulders when it was loose enough, leaving her in a light frock. 

He cupped her ass and slightly nudged her with his legs causing Y/N to lift both of her legs and let Wonwoo carry her while making his way toward the bed. Once he felt his legs hit the edge of the bed, he gently lowered her onto the bed. 

Y/N gasped when he disconnected their lips and slowly started kissing all over her face. Her nose, her eyes, her forehead, then started moving down towards her jaw and neck. She sighed, reveling in his attention and moved her hands from around his neck to in his hair. 

Wonwoo groaned, when she started pulling on his hair when he started pressing kisses to her collarbone and started pushing the straps of her frock off her shoulders and slowly pulling it down to reveal her chest. 

“You’ve always been beautiful,” Wonwoo confessed, his voice dropping to a low, rough velvet that made her heart skip. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his dark eyes tracing every curve of her face in the firelight as if he were seeing her clearly for the very first time. “But tonight, here with the truth between us... you’ve never looked more like yourself. And that is what I’ve always been in love with.”

Y/N felt a fresh wave of warmth spread through her chest, her fingers tightening in his hair as he peppered kisses along her chest and stomach. 

Wonwoo looked up in between kisses to her nipples to watch her glistening face melt at the pleasure he was giving her, before giving a particular harder suck to her left nipple. She let out a moan and tightened her grip on his hair. 

“Wonwoo,” she panted as his hand went to spread her legs and started moving his kisses lower. She finally let go of his hair so he could move further down her body, grasping the bed sheets feeling him settle between her legs. 

“I don’t exactly know what I’m doing here,” Wonwoo said, pressing kisses against her hip bones. “If anything doesn’t feel right, tell me.” 

Y/N nodded, and reached down to lace her hand with his, “You weren’t out bedding every maiden that looked your way?” 

Wonwoo scoffed and squeezed her hand, “I was sworn to celibacy when I became your knight, lest you forget.” 

Y/N chuckled, and squeezed his hand back, “I trust you Wonwoo.” 

Wonwoo smiled up at her before moving his other hand to her hip to keep her in place and lowering his lips to her core.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, but the other knights had shared stories about pleasuring women. They talked about tasting women and the sounds that they made, so he knew that the moans Y/N was making when he was kissing her earlier was what should happen as well. 

He started licking through her folds, tasting the arousal that was nestled between her legs, and noticed that the spot at the top of her mound made her moan the most. He moved his attention towards the top of her cunt and started rubbing his tongue in circles feeling her whimper and buck her hips gently. 

“Does this feel good love?” He asked, the vibration of his low voice causing waves of arousal shoot through her body, causing her to wrap her legs around his shoulders, locking him in place. 

He switched between rubbing her sex and sucking the pebble before she squeezed their interlocked hands again. 

“It feels good Wonwoo,” she trembled, hips stuttering before releasing all over his face. Wonwoo continued licking her through her release, eager to taste every last drop of her. 

“You taste devine,” he praised, running his tongue all around her, triggering another build up. “Can you do it again for me? Please?” 

Y/N whined, tightening her legs around his head, the overstimulation on her clit turning from discomfort to pleasure again.  After a few more hard sucks to her mound she fell apart on his tongue again, back arching this time and moved her free hand to try and pry his head away from her in case he wanted another orgasm. 

Wonwoo licked his lips, not wanting to waste a single drop of her arousal before slowly kissing his way back up her body. A kiss to her kip, below her belly button, her rib, below her breasts, her nipple, her sternum, her jaw, and then finally her lips. 

She moaned into his mouth, not used to the sweet taste of what she could only assume was herself, before tugging his shirt off him. 

Wonwoo’s training had done him well. He was no longer the skinny baker's boy she had known in their youth; he had grown into all his features quite well. His chest was broad, a testament to the grueling years spent on the training grounds and the heavy toll of his duties, his shoulders strong enough to carry the weight of her safety for years, and the solid muscle of his arms provided a sense of security that no stone wall ever could. The lean, awkward teenager had been replaced by a man of formidable presence, forged by the discipline of the guard and the silent fire of his devotion to her.

She ran her hands across his chiseled chest, before tugging on his pants. He chuckled, and nodded sitting back to take them off. 

As she watched him remove his pants and reveal his cock. Y/N’s cheeks flushed at the size of him, as Wonwoo's breath also hitched at the cool air flooding the room from the open window. He leaned back down over her, interlacing one of their hands together and pinning them by her head. His other hand went back between her legs to make sure she was wet enough to take him without any pain. 

When his hand came in contact with her wetness he lined himself up with her before looking back up into her eyes. 

“I love you,” he softly smiled, connecting their lips before slowly pushing himself into her. 

“I love you too,” she sighed, trying to adjust to his size. Wonwoo winced, as Y/N tried to adjust to his size, clenching his cock a few times, panting heavily, rubbing her hard nipples against his own, and holding onto his bicep.

Once Wonwoo was all the way in her, Y/N moaned, and squeezed his bicep harder. Wonwoo groaned at how tight she was, before pushing his hips back, taking a second to catch his breath and rocking his hips back into hers. 

Y/N threw her head back into the pillows as Wonwoo continued to move, the pleasure building up in her stomach before she gently put her hands onto his chest, asking him to stop. 

“What? What’s wrong?” He asked, a concerned look spreading across his face. 

Y/N batted her eye lashes up at him before turning onto her stomach and propping herself up on her elbows and knees, the sheets catching under her. Wonwoo groaned before leaning over her and interlocking their hands again before sliding back into her. This time thrusting into her harsher. 

“I’m close,” Y/N panted against the pillows. Wonwoo would have almost missed it, if he wasn’t so focused on the noises she was making. He smiled and squeezed their interlocked hands before moving to cup her breast and squeezing her nipple. 

The stimulation was enough to cause Y/N to climax, her walls fluttering around his cock, causing Wonwoo to also climax, emptying himself into her. As Wonwoo’s climax finished, he smiled and slowly pulled out of her, pressing kisses along her spine as she stayed propped up on her elbows and knees to catch her breath.

Once he finally noticed that her breath was evening out, he laid down beside her, arms under his head to look up at her glowing face. Her eyes were closed, but she was smiling. He chuckled and reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. 

“Where did you learn all of that Sir Wonwoo?” She panted, finally opening up her eyes and slowly moved her legs so that she was laying on her stomach. She turned her head toward him to see him reaching towards the floor to grab something off the ground before coming up with a rag to wipe her down. 

“I have only heard stories from the other knights I trained with. Although they never told me how the deed is done, they did tell me what their lovers enjoyed,” he smirked.

Y/N smiled, rolling on to her back so he could clean between her legs, before spreading them. “Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t complaining. More so in awe of how good it felt for our first times.”

Wonwoo carefully opened her legs and gently pressed the rag between her legs, dabbing the remaining release from between them and pressing a kiss to her clit. 

Y/N gasped, at the contact before nudging him with her foot. “Give me some time to recover.” 

Wonwoo chuckled, “sorry. I couldn’t help it.” 

He moved back up to lay beside her, the mattress sinking slightly under his weight. With a gentle, inviting smile, he patted his broad chest, signaling for her to lay on top of him. Y/N didn’t hesitate; she shifted closer, resting her head against the steady thrum of his heart and draping her arm across his torso, finally feeling the warmth she had only been allowed to imagine for years.

“I can’t believe that we get to be together,” she whispered, her voice muffled against the soft fabric of his tunic. The words felt fragile, as if saying them too loudly might wake her from a dream. “For so long, I thought the only way I could keep you safe was to keep you away. I thought our lives would always be lived in glances and whispers.”

Wonwoo’s hand found her hair, his fingers stroking the tresses with a slow, rhythmic grace that acted as a balm to her nerves. “The wait is over, Y/N,” he murmured, his chest vibrating beneath her cheek as he spoke. “No more hallways between us. No more watching you walk away into rooms I wasn’t allowed to enter.”

He tilted his head down, resting his chin atop her hair, his other arm wrapping securely around her waist to hold her flush against him. In the quiet of the room, the only sound was the crackle of the fire and their synchronized breathing. The baker’s boy who had become a soldier, and the Princess who had become a woman, were finally just two souls sharing a bed and a future.

“We have the rest of our lives for it to feel real,” Wonwoo promised, his voice a low, steady anchor in the dark. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

The palace was no longer a labyrinth of secrets, but a home filled with the sound of celebration. The scent of orange blossoms and expensive wine lingered in the air, drifting up from the courtyard where the kingdom was still toasted to the health of the newly titled Consort and his Princess. But inside the royal chambers, the heavy oak doors had been shut against the world, finally granting the couple the one thing they had fought the hardest for: a moment of absolute peace.

The transition from a disgraced guard to the Grand Commander of the Royal Guard was a transformation that changed the very foundation of the kingdom. The King, recognizing that no man was more capable of defending the crown than the one who loved its heir, officially placed the silver seal of the Knights into Wonwoo’s hand. He was no longer the skinny baker’s boy or the silent shadow; he had become the kingdom’s most formidable pillar. His broad chest now filled out the midnight-blue velvet and silver-plated armor of his station, a physique forged by years of discipline and the heavy weight of a responsibility he took with absolute gravity.

Under Wonwoo’s leadership, the atmosphere of the palace shifted. He replaced the atmosphere of surveillance with one of brotherhood, training a new generation of knights who looked at him with the same reverence the common people did. In the war room, he sat at the King’s right hand, his directness as a soldier cutting through the political noise of the Council. He had become a man of such presence that the Northern factions no longer dared to test the borders; they knew the Princess was guarded by a man who had already proven he would face death for her.

The ceremony had been a masterclass in royal spectacle, yet for Wonwoo, it felt like a dream occurring in slow motion. As he stood at the altar in his formal whites, the sunlight filtering through the stained glass caught the sharp, handsome lines of his face. When Y/N walked down the long stone aisle, the room fell into a hush that wasn't born of protocol, but of genuine awe. She wasn't just a Princess being wed; she was a woman reclaiming her life. When they finally stood face-to-face, Wonwoo didn't wait for the priest's prompting. He reached out and took her hands, his large, calloused fingers enveloping hers with a grounding strength that said, I have you.

The reception had followed with endless toasts and the clinking of crystal, but the true wedding happened in the small, stolen glances they shared across the high table. Every time a lord addressed him as "Lord Consort" or "Commander," Wonwoo would feel a phantom weight of his old armor, but then he would feel Y/N’s knee brush against his under the table, anchoring him. They danced once—a slow, sweeping waltz that cleared the floor. In that moment, with his hand on the small of her back and her hand on his broad shoulder, the "patterns" of their love were on display for the whole kingdom to see. They moved as one, a seamless harmony that proved their souls had been married long before the rings were ever exchanged.

Now, hours later, the echoes of the cheers had finally faded, replaced by the crackle of the fire in their private suite. Wonwoo finished unbuckling the last of his formal gear, the heavy silver-trimmed cloak hitting the chair with a dull thud. He stood in his simple linen undershirt, his chest broad and rising steadily with his breath as he looked at Y/N by the hearth. The transition from the public hero to the private husband was visible in the way his shoulders finally dropped, the tension of the day melting away.

He moved toward her, his bare feet silent on the rugs. He didn't say a word as he reached her; he simply wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her back against the solid warmth of his chest. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the lingering scent of her wedding perfume and the familiar, sweet warmth of her skin. "I thought the day would never end," he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating rumble against her back. "I spent the whole night wanting to spirit you away from the crowds and bring you back here, where it’s just us. I think,” Wonwoo began, his voice raspy from a day of formal vows and political pleasantries, “that if I had to shake one more Duke’s hand or hear one more toast about 'border stability,' I might have actually seized the crown and run for the hills.”

Y/N laughed, the sound bright and clear in the quiet room. She stepped toward him, reaching up to help him with the stubborn silver fastenings at his throat. “And here I thought the Grand Commander was supposed to have infinite patience. You looked so stoic at the altar, Wonwoo. Like a statue carved from marble.”

“I wasn't being stoic,” he admitted, his hands coming up to rest on her waist, pulling her flush against his broad chest. “I was terrified that if I moved too quickly or breathed too loud, the illusion would shatter. I kept waiting for a guard to tap me on the shoulder and tell me to get back to my post at the door.”

He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers, his eyes closing for a moment as he breathed her in. “But then you took my hand, and your skin was so warm. That was when I knew it was real.”

Y/N leaned back just enough to look at him, her fingers tracing the sharp, familiar line of his jaw. “No more posts at the door, Wonwoo. From now on, you’re the one inside the room. With me.”

“It’s a strange promotion,” he murmured with a small, lopsided smirk, the one he only ever showed her. “I went from guarding your life to being your life. I think I prefer the new title.”

“And what title is that?” she teased, her heart thudding against her ribs as his grip on her waist tightened.

Wonwoo didn't answer with words at first. He swept her up into his arms, his strength effortless as he carried her toward the bed. He laid her down against the silk pillows before settling beside her, patting his chest in that silent, sacred invitation. Once she was tucked against him, her head rising and falling with his breath, he whispered into her hair.

“Just Wonwoo,” he said softly. “Your Wonwoo.”

“That’s the only one I ever wanted,” she replied, closing her eyes as the peace of their new life finally settled over them both