The grand hall still smelled of old incense and fresh wax.

  Sir Alec Veyron entered, and every eye turned toward him. His golden eyes seemed to glow brighter than before. His presence filled the vast space—tall, imposing, draped in silver and black formal military dress that emphasized his powerful frame.

  Two princesses stood by their father's side to welcome him. Francesca in emerald silk, radiant and eager. Estelle in faded blue, half-hidden behind a marble column.

  Alec knelt before the King.

  The throne room went silent. Even the banners seemed to hold their breath.

  Francesca giggled softly, a blush rising to her cheeks as she watched him bow.

  "Sir Alec," the King's voice rasped, worn thin by years of war. "You have served the crown beyond measure. Yesterday's celebration was but a glimpse of our gratitude. Now, we wish to grant you a proper reward." He leaned forward. "Name it. Lands, titles, gold, a seat at my council—whatever your heart desires."

  The courtiers leaned in, eager to hear what the Hero would claim. A duchy, perhaps? Command of the royal armies?

  Francesca's heart hammered. She'd positioned herself perfectly in his line of sight, her emerald gown catching the light.

  Alec's armor caught the light like liquid moonlight. He did not raise his head.

  "I am humbled by your thanks, Your Majesty. The war was long, but without your armies, it would never have ended." He paused. "But I ask for only one thing."

  The hall held its breath.

  He looked up. Golden eyes locked on the King, unwavering.

  "I wish "

  Francesca's looked eagerly battering her lashes.

  "To the Princess."

  Relief and joy surged through her chest. She felt her cheeks flush, her lips parting in a smile—

  "To be appointed personal knight and guardian for Princess Estelle."

  The name hit like a physical blow.

  Francesca's smile froze on her face.

  What?

  The hall erupted.

  Gasps. Whispers. Shocked murmurs rolling through the crowd like a wave.

  "The Third Princess?"

  "Not the First?"

  "The illegitimate one?"

  "He chose her?"

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  Estelle stood frozen, face drained of all color.

  Francesca heard herself laugh—sharp, incredulous, too loud. "Her? The illegitimate one?"

  But no one was looking at her anymore.

  They were all staring at Estelle.

  The King's brow furrowed deeply. He leaned forward on his throne, studying the kneeling knight as if trying to understand a joke he hadn't heard properly.

  "You are certain?" His voice was carefully neutral. "This is quite... unusual for a reward. Guarding duty?

  Every eye in the hall turned to Alec, waiting.

  "I am certain, Your Majesty."

  Another beat of silence. The tension in the room was suffocating.

  Then the King sat back slowly.

  "Then it is done."

  What is happening?

  Estelle's thoughts scattered. This made no sense. No sense at all.

  "Princess Estelle," someone whispered.

  Then another voice. "The Third Princess."

  The crowd turned as one.

  All eyes fixed on her.

  Faces blurred into dark figures. The hall pressed in from all sides. Sound became muffled, distant. She couldn't breathe.

  Why? Why me? What does he want?

  Her hands trembled at her sides.

  When the ceremony ended, the hall began to empty in clusters of whispered conversation. Courtiers cast lingering glances over their shoulders—some at Estelle, others at Alec, all trying to make sense of what they'd witnessed.

  Alec stayed behind, speaking quietly with the King.

  Estelle remained frozen by the marble column, unable to move, unable to process.

  His gaze flicked toward her once—calm, unreadable.

  Too calm.

  Like he'd expected this reaction. Planned for it.

  Their eyes met across the emptying hall.

  Something flickered in those golden depths. Not warmth. Not kindness.

  Recognition.

  As if he'd been waiting for this exact moment. As if her confusion, her fear, were precisely what he wanted to see.

  She fled.

  The sound of her footsteps echoed too loudly on the marble floors. Behind her, she heard Francesca's voice rising in indignant protest, dripping with disgust and wounded pride.

  ***

  Moments later the heavy doors shut, sealing the room in quiet. Only the King and Alec remained.

  For a moment, the King said nothing.

  “Ha- Ha my daughter is easily overwhelmed,” he said at last. “She must be shy.” he looked towards the exit.

  His gaze settled on Alec.

  "Are you sure about your choice, Sir Alec?

  "Seems like it would be work rather than a reward, doesn't it?" The King's voice held a snide edge.

  "It would be an honor." Alec's voice was steady. "My father's greatest wish was for me to be knight, protecting someone important"

  "That would truly be noble, Alec." The King paused.

  "Why my daughter Estelle, in particular? I must ask."

  Alec smiled. "I have my reasons, Your Majesty."

  The King's smile dropped.

  "This would mean you aren't returning to the North."

  "No, I won't be." Alec's golden eyes were unreadable. "I wanted to explore more of your kingdom. See how you've been looking after your people."

  He took a step closer.

  "Trust me, Your Majesty. Your daughter is in safe hands."

  Alec turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall.

  The King stood there, still and silent.

  Then scoffed. "Unbelievable."

  ***

  Estelle didn’t stop running until she reached the gardens.

  Cold air struck her face like a slap. She pressed her back against the stone wall, gasping for breath.

  Still, she kept moving — deeper into the garden, past shadowed paths and silent hedges — until she found a secluded corner behind the rose trellises.

  Finally alone, she collapsed onto a stone bench. Her hands fell limp in her lap.

  That feeling — the one from last night in the garden. When he’d caught her. When he’d stood so close. When his golden eyes had burned into hers.

  The flutter in her chest. The heat in her face. The way her breath stopped when he touched her hair.

  She had thought — foolishly, stupidly — that it was something else.

  Attraction, perhaps. Or confusion. Or the overwhelming shock of being noticed by a hero after seven years of invisibility.

  But now, remembering those same golden eyes across the throne room — calm, purposeful, choosing her —

  She understood.

  It wasn’t attraction.

  It was fear.

  Fear of a man she could not predict.

  That moment Alec passed through the throne room doors, leaving the king alone he finally allowed himself a small smile.

  Not the controlled, pleasant one he wore for the crowds.

  Something else

  Something sharp

  Like a hunter who had just set the perfect trap.

  End of chapter 7