Promised hearts

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The palace garden path, farther from the ballroom lights. Moonlight spills between the trees. The music has grown faint behind me.

I stepped off the gravel path into the softer grass, my arms wrapped around myself.

My heels sank lightly into the earth as I wandered past the rose hedges and toward the edge of the orchard.

The crisp night air cooled my burning cheeks.

I needed space. From the court. From the stares.

From Rye's suffocating presence and the way his words clung to me like vines.

My footsteps slowed as I reached the stone archway leading into the secluded side gardens — usually quiet, forgotten during large events.

Tonight, the path felt dreamlike, blurred by the flickering torches lining the walls.

"Your Highness," came a voice from the shadows.

I turned, startled. A small group of young noblemen my age stood near the edge of the courtyard — clearly tipsy from too much wine and privilege.

They weren't strangers, not exactly. I recognized their house colors.

Sons of nobles who were always too eager to please my father, too proud of their last names.

"Out walking alone?" one of them asked with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I needed air," I replied coolly, my posture straightening.

Another boy, older, stepped forward.

"It's not safe, you know. A beautiful princess like you, unguarded. Someone might think you're inviting company."

My jaw clenched. "I am not."

"Didn't mean offense," the third one said, though his gaze said otherwise.

"You just looked… lonely."

The first boy stepped closer.

"You don't have to pretend for us, Princess. You've been crying."

I took a step back.

The air shifted.

One reached toward my arm, not roughly — not yet — but as if I were some delicate thing they had the right to touch.

Something on display. Something owed to them.

I recoiled. "Don't."

His hand froze midair. He smirked.

"You don't want Rye. You didn't want that soldier boy either. Maybe you don't know what you want."

"I said no." My voice was firm now.

But the garden was too quiet. The ballroom too far.

The second boy stepped into my path, smiling. "We could help you figure it out."

Panic rose in my throat.

"Back away from me," I said, louder, sharper — my voice echoing off the stone.

That's when another voice cut through the darkness.

"Is there a problem here?"

The boys froze.

Rye stepped into view, his expression unreadable, his voice low and smooth — but icy.

"Because it seems like Her Highness has made herself very clear."

One of the boys scoffed, straightening his cuffs.

"We meant no harm—"

"I don't care what you meant," Rye interrupted, stepping forward.

"You put your hands near the crown's heir. That's treason dressed up as flirtation."

He looked at each of them, his calm even more dangerous than anger.

"Leave," he ordered.

They hesitated, but the cold steel in Rye's voice broke their pride, and one by one, they backed away, muttering weak apologies before vanishing into the shadows.

Silence fell again.

I stood frozen, still shaking. my hands were fists at my sides.

Rye stepped toward me, slower this time, careful not to touch me.

"Are you alright?"

I nodded quickly, blinking away the sting in my eyes.

"You shouldn't have come out here alone," he said, softer now.

"There are too many wolves dressed as lords."

"I know," I whispered. "I didn't think…"

He offered his arm.

This time, I took it.

But as we walked back toward the light of the palace, I couldn't help but feel like I hadn't escaped the danger completely — only stepped into a different kind of cage.

 ******

The crowd has thinned slightly, but the most important guests remain — dukes, lords, foreign envoys, and high-ranking nobles.

Candles burn lower, casting golden shadows on velvet and marble.

I walked beside Rye through the gilded archways of the ballroom. My steps were steady, my chin lifted — the perfect image of royal grace.

No one would have guessed what had nearly happened just an hour earlier.

Rye's hand rested gently over mine, his touch warm and grounding.

To the rest of the court, we looked like the kingdom's future.

At the far end of the room, the King and Queen stood in quiet conversation with a cluster of men — all cloaked in power.

House sigils gleamed from rings and brooches. their whispers carried weight.

When the Queen caught sight of I and Rye approaching, her smile widened.

"Ah, here they are," she said, gesturing us forward.

"Our beloved Evelynne… and the ever-reliable son of House Valemir."

The King turned, his eyes sharp beneath the weight of his crown.

"Come. There are men here you should know."

I exchanged a brief glance with Rye, my stomach tightening. But I stepped forward as I'd been taught — poised and unreadable.

"This is Duke Arlen of Braevan," the Queen said, gesturing to a tall man with dark hair and a hawk's gaze.

"And Lord Cedric, whose family has long supported the southern gates. You've met them both as a child, I believe."

"Yes, Your Graces," I said with a small bow.

"It's an honor to be reintroduced."

"She's grown into something exceptional," Lord Cedric remarked.

"Truly, Your Majesties — her beauty will rival her reign."

"And with Lord Rye at her side," Duke Arlen added,

"The court speaks often of your united presence."

Rye bowed slightly. "It's an honor to serve and stand beside her, my lords."

I offered a tight smile, but my grip on Rye's arm didn't loosen. I could feel it —

The subtle stage being set. Every compliment, every gaze, every nod of approval… it wasn't just about me.

It was about us.

As if we were already promised.

Already inevitable.

"You both make a fine pair," the Queen said, her voice laced with pride.

"We've heard it often tonight. And as our kingdom moves forward, we must consider alliances that protect not just borders, but the heart of the crown."

The King glanced at me then — not unkindly, but with the weight of duty in his eyes.

"What's best for the realm, daughter, is often what's hardest for the heart. Remember that."

I lowered my gaze, hiding the flicker of pain behind my lashes. "Yes, Father."

Rye's hand subtly tightened over mine — just enough for me to feel it.

Another round of introductions followed. Nobles who smiled too broadly.

Lords who praised me too easily. And Rye, ever the charmer, weaving himself further into the eyes of power.

By the time we stepped away from the group, my breath came shallow.

The ballroom suddenly felt colder, like the walls were pressing inward.

"They're already pairing us together," I said quietly.

"Of course they are," Rye replied, his voice soft and reassuring.

"Because they see what I've always seen."

I looked up at him. "Do they?"

His eyes were unreadable for a moment.

Then he smiled — the same gentle, golden smile that everyone trusted.

"They will."