Sir Rowan was not like the others.
He did not flirt. He did not try to impress me. He simply stayed—always a step behind, always watching, always ready.
At first, he was just my shadow.
Then he became my silence.
When the nights grew heavy and sleep refused to come, he would stand outside my chambers, saying nothing, just existing. Somehow, that was enough.
One evening, rain trapped us beneath the palace arches. Water poured down like the sky was breaking apart.
"You don't have to stay," I told him.
"I know," he said. "But I want to."
Those words scared me more than the witch ever had.
I began to notice things—the warmth of his presence, the way his eyes softened when he looked at me, the comfort of knowing someone would always return.
I told myself it wasn't love.
I was lying and I knew it.
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