Fleance

The palace hall shone with dazzling gold, but for Aglaya it was nothing more than a challenge. Her corset constricted her ribs as if robbing her of her last shreds of freedom, and the nobles' smiles seemed like the grins of predators. She had to choose a husband—a "lucrative match," as her parents called it, unwilling to notice their daughter suffocating in this silken confinement.

Aglaya slipped out onto the terrace, away from the music and false curtsies. The night air was cool and clear.

"You look like you're ready to burst out of this castle dressed like a princess, Your Highness," a low, quiet voice said from the shadows of the columns.

Fleance stepped into the light. His armor gleamed dully in the moonlight, and his gaze… the gaze he was obliged to lower to the floor when she entered was now directed straight into her eyes. It was an act of insolence that could have earned him his rank, but Aglaya merely gripped the railing, feeling her shoulders straighten within her.

"And you, Fleance, look as if you're on duty, even though you're officially off duty today," she replied, trying to keep her voice cool, but faltering mid-sigh.

He stepped closer, breaking all conceivable boundaries. There had always been an invisible wall of royal laws, titles, and duty between them, but now it seemed as fragile as glass.

"Free from duty—yes," he said quietly, taking another step. "But how can I leave you there, where everyone wants to take a piece of your will? The prince from the neighboring lands has already asked you to dance three times this evening."