That night, the palace burned with celebration.
Music filled the halls. Wine flowed freely. The king smiled like a man who believed tomorrow was guaranteed. Adam sat among nobles and generals, listening more than he spoke, his hand resting in Annabelle's lap beneath the table.
Princess Ella watched him from across the hall.
Not with desire—but with curiosity.
She had seen warriors before. Loud men. Proud men. Men who drank too much and boasted too loudly. Adam did none of those things. He laughed when spoken to, bowed when required, and kept his eyes mostly on his wife.
"Why does everyone fear him?" Ella asked her mother quietly.
Queen Seraphine smiled, slow and measured. "Because even heroes have shadows, my dear."
Her eyes, dark and unreadable, followed Adam as he rose from his seat.
Outside, away from the noise, Adam stood beneath the night sky. Annabelle joined him, slipping her hand into his.
"Do you ever wish," she asked, "that you were just a man? Not a shield. Not a sword."
Adam exhaled. "Every day."
She smiled sadly. "Then why don't you stop?"
He looked toward the distant hills—the direction of the Abyss.
"Because if I stop," he said, "someone else will bleed in my place."
She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder.
Neither of them noticed the queen watching from the balcony above.
Neither of them heard the whisper that left her lips.
Soon.