Illiantar

I escaped. I escaped the throne room, filled with false smiles and the scent of expensive perfume. My father had arranged a bride-viewing—the daughters of dukes and marquises had come from all over the kingdom to become my bride. But they were all a blur. I looked past them, feeling only boredom.

I only need him.

I stole a sunflower from a vase—bold, alive, out of place among the fading roses. And I went looking for it. I knew where I'd find it: the east wing, a quiet hallway overlooking the garden. He was sitting on the windowsill, writing something in the book I'd given him as a child. The light tangled in his hair, slid across his cheek.

I approached silently and pressed him against the wall. My fingers touched his chin, lifting his face. His lips were parted, his eyes closed—trusting, defenseless. He was more beautiful than all the princesses in the world. I brought the sunflower out from behind him and whispered just for him:

• Will you become my princess?