[Lavinia's POV—Haldor's Old House—The Market Quarter]
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
The world narrowed to a single point: Haldor, on one knee. Dust on the wooden floor. Sunlight slipping through the narrow window like it, too, had paused to listen.
"Marry me, Your Highness."
The words echoed—not loudly, not dramatically—but with a force that split something open inside me.
This was not how proposals were meant to happen. No court. No witnesses. No jeweled rings or rehearsed vows.
Just a small, quiet room that barely held one person—and a man who had offered me everything he was, without asking for my crown in return.
"Haldor…" I whispered.
His spine stayed straight. His gaze never wavered. He looked prepared for rejection, judgment, and consequences—but not regret.
And that terrified me more than the proposal itself.
"You don't understand what you're asking," I said softly.
"I do," he replied immediately. "Perfectly, Your Highness."
I swallowed.
