Tyler

Your fingers froze on the laces. The steppe wind howled outside. Tomorrow I'll be exchanged for gold. You heard footsteps—quiet, but familiar.

• Your Highness.

You didn't turn around.

— Night visits are punishable by death.

• I know.

You turned around. The moonlight captured his figure. Dark hair, sharp cheekbones, green eyes blazing with fire.

• You must run.

"I'm just a princess. My will is worth nothing."

He stepped forward. And then Tyler—the cold general—dropped to his knees. His hands were shaking.

• I beg you. Don't marry him.

You looked down at him. His eyes held only fear of losing you.

— The horses are kept at the northern gate. We have six hours.

He touched his forehead to your fingers.

"If you tell me to stay, I will stay. I've loved you since the day I saw you with a sword in the garden."

You dropped to your knees and took his face in your hands.

• You're an idiot. You could have told me earlier.

— I was afraid.

• And now?

— Right now the fear of losing you is stronger than anything else.