Ep1
Hello. My name is Floryn, Princess of the United Kingdom. My father, King Merlin, reigns over all of England.
Our relationship has never been one of warmth. In truth, we speak to one another with the same rigid formality reserved for strangers at court. Affection has never found a place between us.
Since childhood, I have devoted myself to becoming the perfect daughter and the perfect princess, for it is not merely expected of me it is my obligation.
I am a dreamer.
I dream of things I have never possessed, and perhaps never shall. People often believe that wearing a crown is a blessing, but they fail to see its weight. To me, royalty is not a gift; it is a gilded cage disguised as a privilege.
From the moment I could walk, I was taught how to carry myself with flawless grace. Every smile was rehearsed, every laugh carefully measured. I learned how to walk with elegance, how to sit with poise, and how to speak without revealing too much of myself. Even now, I cannot bring myself to meet a man's gaze for more than a fleeting moment it was deemed improper long before I understood why.
My father decided my future before I was old enough to dream of one myself. When I was sixteen, he pledged my hand in marriage to the Prince of Svea Rike. I am now twenty one, and in two year's time, I shall become his wife.
Whether I wish it or not.
My younger sister, Leila, is my only true companion my confidante, my heart's keeper. She is eighteen years old, bright as the morning sun, and I fear that one day she, too, will become another pawn upon the royal chessboard.
Each morning unfolds exactly like the one before.
I awaken, attend my lessons, fulfill my duties, and smile when expected. Although I find solace in the palace gardens, tending to flowers and nurturing delicate blossoms, even they cannot silence the aching monotony of my existence.
Books are my sanctuary.
Within their pages I travel to worlds where love is chosen rather than arranged, where freedom belongs to everyone, and where happy endings are more than fanciful tales.
I am a dreamer.
A foolish girl who still yearns to be loved not for her title, nor her crown, but simply for who she is.
Yet I know, with quiet certainty, that such a life was never meant for me."
Princess Floryn, it is time for dinner. Please prepare yourself."
The servant's voice pierced the silence from beyond my chamber door.
I had been lying upon my bed, absentmindedly twirling a strand of my silver hair around my finger, allowing my thoughts to wander far beyond the palace walls. With a weary sigh, I rose to my feet, smoothed the folds of my gown, and descended the grand staircase.
The dining hall was already filled.
Servants moved with practiced precision between the endless rows of polished silverware. Knights stood silently along the walls like statues carved from stone, while members of the royal court conversed in hushed voices beneath the glow of towering chandeliers.
"Good evening, Father. Mother. Leila."
I offered each of them a courteous bow, my voice impeccably composed.
"Good evening, Floryn," they replied in unison.
We took our places at the impossibly long dining table, where yet another painfully silent supper commenced. The only sounds were the delicate clinking of silver cutlery against porcelain plates and the occasional murmur exchanged between nobles.
If boredom could claim lives, this dining hall would have become a cemetery long ago.
And then...
There he was.
The knight.
A man whose eyes I had never dared meet for longer than a heartbeat.
He was my father's right hand, the kingdom's most formidable warrior, and the captain of the royal guard. Every day he wore the same unreadable expression as though emotion itself had abandoned him years ago.
He was impossibly tall, broad-shouldered, and powerfully built, with the physique of a man sculpted by the gods themselves. His features were strikingly handsome, yet intimidating; a sharp jawline, piercing eyes, and an unwavering posture that commanded respect without uttering a single word.
He stood motionless beside my father's throne, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed straight ahead.
Like a statue.
Like a man who had forgotten how to breathe.
