Dawn came softly pale light spilling across the palace walls, brushing gold against marble. But to the princess, it felt like the morning after a storm that had changed everything.
She woke with his face in her mind.
That scar. Those eyes. That quiet strength.
She'd seen him truly seen him and the memory refused to leave.
In the courtyard below, Kaelion was back to his duties. Armor polished. Helmet on. Expression unreadable.
If anyone had looked closely, they might've noticed how his hands lingered a little longer on the sword's hilt, how his eyes, behind the visor, sometimes turned toward the tower window but no one looked that closely.
Except one.
Sir Alaric.
The king's favored knight. Tall, proud, flawless in both skill and arrogance.
He'd seen the way the princess had paused at the window during training. The way her gaze searched the courtyard. The way Kaelion had looked up once just once.
He noticed.
He always noticed.
Later that morning, the king summoned his guards for inspection. The princess sat beside him, bored and quiet, pretending not to see the line of knights standing tall before the throne.
And there fourth in line stood Kaelion, head bowed.
For a moment, her breath caught.
He didn't move. Didn't look up. Didn't betray a thing.
But she felt it that silent thread that now connected them, stronger than any vow.
The king's voice broke the stillness. "You remove your helmet."
Kaelion obeyed without hesitation. The room shifted. For many, it was the first time seeing his face. For her, it was the first time pretending she hadn't.
The king studied him. "You're the son of Armand, are you not? The craftsman from the Eastern Vale."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Hmm." The king nodded. "Your father was a good man. Stay loyal, and you may yet rise to his name."
Kaelion bowed, but his eyes flickered once toward the princess a flicker so brief it could've been imagined.
Yet to her, it felt like fire.
That evening, she slipped into the garden again, pretending to admire the roses.
He was already there, fixing the old marble bench that had cracked under years of rain.
Neither spoke at first. The air between them was enough.
Then she said quietly, "He made you remove your helmet."
"I don't fear being seen," Kaelion said. "Only being misunderstood."
"And what do they misunderstand?"
"That silence doesn't mean emptiness. It means control."
She smiled faintly. "You talk like you've lived a hundred lives."
He looked up at her, eyes softer now. "Maybe I have."
A bird fluttered between them, shaking drops of rain from its feathers. She laughed a sound so delicate it almost didn't belong in the world they lived in.
He watched her, his jaw tightening as if he were trying to memorize every breath. "You shouldn't come here anymore," he said finally.
"Why not?"
"Because people are starting to notice."
She stepped closer. "Then let them."
"Princess"
"Say my name."
He froze. The air seemed to still around them.
"Say it," she whispered again, her voice trembling but brave.
"…Lyra," he said softly.
Her eyes shone like dawn breaking through shadow. "Good. Now, if the world asks why I smile, they'll never know it's because of the way you say my name."
But what neither of them saw hidden beyond the hedges was Sir Alaric, standing in silence, his expression unreadable.
He turned away slowly, a faint smile curling his lips.
He knew now what the king didn't.
And he would use it.