Chapter Text
The grand hall of the royal palace blazes with the warm fire of chandeliers, their golden light dancing across polished marble like restless spirits. You stand just beside the throne—poised, composed, untouchable. You are Princess, the king’s daughter, the jewel of the realm, wrapped in silk and duty.
But no matter how straight you hold your back, no matter how carefully you breathe, you cannot ignore the tension coiling in your stomach like a viper. Everyone in this hall has gathered for one reason: to see the return of Sir Simon Riley.
The knight. The warrior. The man made legend and a complete brute in your opinion.
You’ve heard of him for months—how he led the charge across the borderlands, how he fought with reckless valor, how the enemy scattered before him like dry leaves in a storm. His name has filled every whispered corner of court life. But tonight, he is more than a rumor.
Tonight, he is real. And he is walking into this hall like he owns it.
He steps into view and everything stills. The crowd hushes like the wind before a storm. His armor, still scratched and scorched from war, gleams in the candlelight. He doesn’t bow and scrape like the others. He walks with purpose, eyes forward, shoulders back. There’s a gravity to him—like the battlefield clings to him, like he brings war into every room he enters.
You feel it before you understand it: fear.
Not because he’s cruel. No. He doesn’t seem cruel.
But because he is not like the lords who posture and preen. He doesn’t flatter or beg. He takes. He earns. He claims.
And that is what scares you most.
Because tonight, the king has promised him a prize.
You’ve heard the speculation. Every lord and knight who has served the crown comes home asking for gold or land or some lavish title. A seat on the council. A castle with a hundred servants. You had no reason to expect anything different tonight.
You were wrong.
The king rises, voice ringing through the hall. “Sir Simon Riley, come forth!”
He does. Without hesitation. As though he belongs there more than the king himself.
“I stand before you in gratitude,” he begins, voice steady, deep, unshakable. “But I ask for something far more precious than wealth.”
You blink.
That... isn’t how these speeches go.
You look at him, truly look now, and realize his eyes have locked onto yours.
And just like that, your heart hammers against your ribs.
He sees you. Not like the others do. He's looking like he can see through you. And that’s more terrifying than being invisible.
Then, he speaks the words that splinter your world like glass.
“I would have the hand of your daughter, your Princess, as my wife.”
Time stops.
For a heartbeat, no one breathes. And then the court erupts with gasps and murmurs and disbelief. Even your father—normally unflappable, forged of steel and pride—looks as though someone slapped him.
And you? You can’t breathe.
You never expected this. Never thought he of all people—this brutal, battle-hardened man—would want you. Not riches. Not power. You.
Your blood pounds so loudly you almost miss your father’s growl: “You ask for my daughter? A common soldier?”
Simon’s voice is unflinching. “I am no common soldier. And she is no prize. She is a woman of her own will.”
You swallow hard. Woman of your own will? If only he knew.
You’ve spent your whole life doing what you’re told—smiling when expected, sitting in the background like a pretty ornament. Your choices haven’t mattered much.
And now, with this knight standing before you, claiming you before the entire court, you feel something dangerous ignite beneath your ribs.
A mix of fury, fear, and something you refuse to name.
Because if you say it aloud—if you admit that part of you wants to marry him, if only to finally get out of this castle where the same routine has you desperate for more—you’ll never be able to put that feeling back in its cage.
Your father turns to you, voice sharp. “Daughter. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
You should answer. You should say no. You should assert your will, remind the court that you are not some stolen relic to be paraded on a knight’s arm.
But your voice falters. Because there’s a question behind the fear, a darker one, one you haven’t dared to ask even yourself:
What kind of man claims a woman like that? Not gently. Not softly. But as if she is something earned, something taken?
Would he wait for your permission?
Would he be patient?
Or would he kiss you the same way he fights—with purpose, with fire, with no room for uncertainty?
That thought frightens you more than your father’s wrath. Because maybe a part of you wants to find out.
The entire court is still watching. You look back at Simon. His eyes haven’t left yours.
“I would protect her,” he says to the king, “cherish her, serve her in all ways.”
Serve her in all ways.
You can’t look away. His words are bold, but they hold something else—restraint. Respect. A promise... and a warning.
“If you send me away, Your Majesty,” Simon continues, “so be it. But I would ask for nothing more than her heart.”
You inhale sharply.
Because your heart is already starting to move toward him, despite everything.
Despite the fear.
Despite the uncertainty.
Despite the gnawing thought that if he takes you, he will do so not with hesitation, but with certainty.
And maybe—just maybe—that's what you’ve been aching for all along.
The king’s jaw tightens. His pride, his fury, his desperation to protect you—it all warps his face into something cold.
“If my daughter chooses you,” he finally says, “then I shall not stand in the way. But if you fail her, I will see your head roll.”
Simon doesn’t even blink. “I swear to you, I will protect her with my life.”
Still, you say nothing. But the weight of your silence is different now.
It is not fear. It is not weakness.
It is a heartbeat held back. A door half open. A choice... waiting.
The king gives a sharp, reluctant nod. The decision now belongs to you.
And though you haven’t spoken, the court begins to whisper.
They’ll say Sir Simon Riley claimed his prize not with gold or glory—but with a look, a vow, and a quiet, terrible power.
Your voice, though quiet, does not tremble. “I will marry him.”
The court erupts again, the air thick with shock and intrigue—but all you can hear is the sound of your own heartbeat as Simon’s gaze holds yours, fierce and unreadable.
As the court stirs, murmurs rippling through the room. And as the words fully left your mouth, a cold knot tightens in your stomach, and a single thought flashes through your mind:
What have I just agreed to?