The kingdom of Aurelion was bright and beautiful. White towers touched the sky, and every morning the sun covered the city in golden light. People said the kingdom was blessed.
Princess Lyra did not always feel that blessing.
She stood near her tall window and looked down at the palace training ground. From up here, the knights looked small. Their swords shined as they practiced. The sound of metal hitting metal floated up to her like distant thunder.
Lyra watched them every day.
Not because she loved fighting.
Because it was the only place where people still chose their own path.
Behind her, her maid softly spoke. "Your Highness, the council is waiting."
Lyra sighed. "They always wait."
Today, something was different in the training ground. More soldiers stood around. The captains looked serious.
"What is happening?" Lyra asked.
"The final trial for the royal guard," her maid said. "One position is open."
Two knights stepped into the sandy ring.
One wore shiny silver armor with a noble family's mark. The other wore plain black armor. No symbol. No decoration.
"Who is the one in black?" Lyra asked.
"No one knows," her maid said. "He gave no family name."
The horn sounded.
The fight began.
The noble knight attacked again and again with strong strikes. The black-armored knight did not rush. He moved carefully. He avoided heavy blows and waited.
Then, in one clean movement, he struck.
The noble knight's sword flew from his hand and stuck into the sand.
The crowd went silent.
The black-armored knight lowered his weapon and went down on one knee.
Not before the king.
Not before the soldiers.
Before the tower where Lyra stood.
Their eyes met.
Lyra felt her heart jump for a reason she could not explain.
He did not look proud.
He did not look happy.
He looked tired.
"The winner is the unknown knight," the herald called. "He is now a royal guard!"
Cheers filled the air.
But Lyra only watched the knight as he stood and walked away.
---
Three days later, she learned his name.
All new guards were brought before the king. Lyra stood beside the throne as she always did, smiling quietly.
When the knight in black stepped forward, the king asked, "Your name?"
"Caelan," he said.
"No family?"
"No, Your Majesty."
"Then you belong to the crown."
"I serve the crown," Caelan said and bowed.
Lyra noticed his hands.
They were full of old scars.
Hands that had worked hard.
Hands that had fought real battles.
Her chest felt strangely tight.
---
Weeks passed.
Lyra often saw Caelan standing guard in palace halls. He was always quiet. Always serious. He never tried to look at her.
But sometimes, when he thought she wasn't watching, their eyes met for just a second.
Then winter came.
Snow covered the gardens. One cold evening, Lyra walked outside alone, wrapped in a thin cloak.
The snow crunched under her feet.
"You'll catch a cold, Your Highness."
She turned.
Caelan stood a short distance away.
"You spoke," she said softly, surprised.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I should not have."
"Do you regret it?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No. I only regret the cold."
For a moment, they both stood in silence as snow fell between them.
"Why did you become a knight?" Lyra asked.
Caelan thought for a few seconds. "Because before this, I had nothing."
That answer stayed with her.
---
That night, Lyra lay awake in her bed.
For the first time, she had spoken to someone who did not want her crown. Did not want her power. Did not want her future.
He only worried that she was cold.
And far below in the guard's quarters, Caelan sat quietly, wondering why the sound of her voice had followed him into the night.