Vorondil reentered the princess’s quarters to find her standing before the mirror, adding the final touches to her appearance with the help of her handmaid.

  He silently took his position by the door. Hopefully, no more interruptions would occur—he didn’t like leaving his station, especially not so frequently.

  The princess giggled and gave a little spin, her dress flowing gracefully around her. “How do I look?” she chirped.

  “You look absolutely stunning, mistress,” the handmaid replied with a warm smile.

  “Indeed,” Vorondil added, surprised to feel the ghost of a smile on his own face.

  The princess twirled again, her expression bright with delight. She took the handmaid’s hands in hers, squeezing them gratefully.

  “Thank you, Lorain! This dress is perfect!” she beamed before turning her radiant smile toward Vorondil. “And thank you, too! We would’ve been trapped in there forever without you!”

  Vorondil dipped his head slightly, placing a hand over his chest. “I was simply performing my duties, princess. No thanks are required.”

  When he met her gaze again, her expression had shifted—her brows knit together in concern. He froze. Had he said something wrong? Was this about what had happened in the dressing room?

  That had to be it. He had been so foolish—he had yet to apologize. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could form the words, the princess suddenly stepped closer. He tensed as she reached for his hand, her delicate fingers brushing against his palm.

  “What happened?” she asked softly, turning his hand slightly to examine it. She traced a fingertip lightly over the faint bite mark.

  Vorondil’s thoughts went blank. The scent of her floral perfume flooded his senses, clouding his mind. He struggled to grasp onto anything to say, but the words eluded him.

  The princess met his gaze, her silver eyes searching his. Realization flickered across her face as she suddenly became aware of their proximity.

  She quickly dropped his hand and took a step back, a faint flush creeping onto her cheeks.

  Vorondil cleared his throat, willing his thoughts back into motion. “The rat bit me,” he stated bluntly, his voice coming out more monotone than usual. He shook his head slightly, regaining his composure. “I was planning to visit the apothecary tonight.”

  The princess shook her head. “No,” she said bluntly.

  Vorondil opened his mouth, then closed it. Would it be a problem for him to visit the apothecary? It wasn’t uncommon for him to train through the night, so leaving then should have been fine.

  He was about to ask when the princess suddenly took his hand again. His thoughts froze for the second time that day.

  “We’ll visit the healer now,” she declared, pushing the door open and tugging him softly forward.

  “But mistress... the council,” the handmaid protested, biting her thumbnail—a habit she had, unwittingly, passed on to the princess.

  “They can wait,” the princess said curtly, pulling Vorondil out the door without a second thought.

  The handmaid stammered, struggling to form a response fast enough.

  Vorondil cast her a pleading glance as he was unceremoniously dragged away, but to his dismay, she only covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.

  The princess’s heels clicked softly against the marble floor as they wove through the castle corridors.

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  “Princess, you really don’t have to—” Vorondil started, but she glanced back at him with a pout, her silver eyes shimmering with worry.

  “It’ll get infected if we don’t treat it soon,” she huffed, turning away.

  An unfamiliar emotion twisted in Vorondil’s chest, sharp and unrelenting. He swallowed hard.

  He didn’t protest again. Instead, he let her pull him along.

  As they rounded a corner, a familiar figure appeared—the prince Vorondil had seen harassing the servant earlier. Apparently, he hadn’t had his fill of cruelty for the day.

  "Ah, my lovely sister," the prince sneered, his gaze dripping with condescension.

  A more familiar emotion surged in Vorondil’s chest. Rage.

  The prince’s eyes flicked toward him, landing on the hand clasped tightly in the princess’s. His expression twisted with disgust.

  Vorondil instinctively tried to pull away, but the princess tightened her grip.

  The prince’s lips curled as he prepared to spew something vile, but before he could, the princess lifted her free hand.

  “No.”

  Her tone was final. Without sparing him another glance, she simply continued walking.

  The prince's eyes flared with confusion. He stood there, dumbfounded, as they rounded the next corner and disappeared from sight.

  Vorondil tried—he really did—but for the first time in years, he failed to suppress a laugh. It erupted from his throat, sharp and musical, startling even himself.

  The princess turned to him, wide-eyed at first, before her lips curled into a smile, and she joined in.

  For a brief moment, Vorondil allowed himself to revel in it. The sheer, absurd joy of watching that spoiled wretch get put in his place so thoroughly.

  He wiped a stray tear from his eye as he forced himself to calm.

  The princess, still smiling, turned forward and resumed leading him toward the healer.

  "I've never heard you laugh before," she mused. "It’s nice."

  Heat crept up Vorondil’s neck, his usual control slipping yet again. And as if some angel had whispered the words into his ear, a response formed effortlessly in his mind.

  "Not nearly as radiant as yours."

  The princess let out a soft giggle, her fingers squeezing his just slightly. Pride swelled in Vorondil’s chest.

  He paused, bewildered by his own behavior. Perhaps the rat had infected him with something. He wasn’t usually so... emotional.

  Then, as if on cue, the scent of the princess’s perfume drifted into his senses, floral and intoxicating.

  Perhaps it wasn’t the rat at all.

  Too soon, they arrived at the entrance to the royal healer’s quarters.

  The princess let go of Vorondil’s hand and rapped softly on the door.

  He flexed his fingers, the warmth fading far too quickly.

  "Enter," a deep, aged voice called from within.

  The princess pushed the door open, stepping inside. As they entered, a cat bolted past, weaving deftly between Vorondil’s feet before vanishing into the hall.

  The chamber was lined with shelves, each overflowing with books and neatly labeled vials. At the far end, a robed man stood near a collection of potted herbs, carefully watering them.

  He turned at their arrival, a warm smile spreading across his face.

  "Ah, princess. To what do I owe the honor?" he asked, voice laced with genuine affection.

  "I need you to heal Vorondil. He was wounded defending me," she said, her gaze flicking toward the bookshelves before settling on the healer.

  The old man’s expression softened further. "But of course." He gestured for Vorondil to approach. "Come. Let me see the damage."

  Vorondil strode forward and extended his hand.

  The healer examined the shallow scratch, and a smile tugged at his lips before he let out a low chuckle.

  The laughter died instantly under the weight of the princess’s glare. He cleared his throat, hastily composing himself.

  "Ah, yes… surely a grave wound," he said, voice full of exaggerated solemnity. He raised a hand over the scratch, and a golden light washed over the skin.

  The redness faded, the cut vanishing entirely.

  "There we go," the healer said kindly, stepping back. He bowed to the princess. "If there is anything else, do not hesitate to visit."

  The princess smiled warmly, and Vorondil caught the subtle way her posture relaxed. He hadn't even realized how tense she was.

  "I will. Thank you, Elaris," she said, her voice filled with genuine gratitude.

  Then, without hesitation, she reached for Vorondil’s hand once more, pulling him back into the hall.

  He could get used to this—walking by her side like this. It wasn’t appropriate, but it was pleasant all the same.

  Suddenly, she stopped and turned to him. Vorondil instinctively schooled his expression into something neutral, but despite himself, a smile tugged at his lips.

  Before he could say anything, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

  His entire body went rigid. Panic surged through him, and he nearly pushed her away, but she only held on tighter.

  "I'm glad you're okay," she murmured softly against his chest. "Thank you for always being there when I need you."

  Vorondil’s heart clenched violently. He stood frozen, unsure what to do—what he should do. But after a moment, he let himself sink into the warmth of her embrace.

  He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed gently.

  "I will always be yours, Princess," he whispered.

  She shifted slightly, looking up at him with a radiant smile before pulling away, taking his hand once more.

  As she led him back through the halls, her fingers squeezed his tightly.

  Vorondil watched the way her silver hair swayed with each step—but for some reason, all he could see was the sun.