I was the youngest child of my parents, the king and queen, and the youngest daughter of the royal family in the 1800s. I never longed for power; I cherished the small freedoms I was allowed, as much as anyone could be in a life dictated by duty and protocol. The moment I met the knight assigned to me, I knew he was different. Young, kind, and seemingly flawless in every way, he carried himself with a quiet grace that made my heart flutter. Everything about him felt natural, effortless, as if he belonged in my world despite the rigid walls that surrounded it. But the thought of my father finding out terrified me. In our kingdom, it was an unbreakable law: a princess could only marry a nobleman. Anything less would be seen as scandalous, even treasonous. The knight’s presence in my life, as wonderful as it was, carried danger. Every glance, every quiet moment shared felt thrilling but forbidden, a beautiful secret I could never let the world, or my father, discover. And yet, in his presence, I felt alive in a way I never had before, caught between the life I was born into and the pull of something far more human, far more real than the gilded cages of royalty.