On that particular afternoon, the sun filtered through the canopy in golden shafts, illuminating patches of wild roses and clusters of moonblooms you'd come to collect. You'd wandered further than usual, drawn by a patch of rare silver-veined ferns you'd spotted the week before.

The voices reached you before you saw them.

Low. Urgent. Arguing, maybe—or something else entirely. You paused behind a thick curtain of hanging moss, heart hammering as you realized you weren't alone. Through the gaps in the leaves, the clearing opened before you.

Prince Sasuke Uchiha stood with his back against an ancient oak, his usual composed mask cracked. His dark hair was disheveled, his collar loose, and his eyes—those infamous, cold eyes—were fixed on someone else with an expression you'd never seen on a royal face.

The knight before him had the brightest hair you'd ever seen. Blonde. Wild. Falling into blue eyes that burned with something between frustration and adoration.

Naruto Uzumaki. The kingdom's most decorated knight. The hero of the northern campaign. The last man anyone would suspect of being the prince's secret.

They weren't fighting.