(Arthur's POV)
I hadn't meant to wander this far.
The stables sat on the edge of the estate—quiet, forgotten, a place no one of importance ever bothered to visit. Which, ironically, made it perfect.
No bowing.
No endless flattery.
No whispered Your Highness trailing behind me like chains.
Just horses. Dirt. Silence.
Then I saw her.
Rosaline De Falon stood at the entrance of the stables, her back straight, her hands clenched at her sides. She looked… small. Not weak—never that—but burdened.
Curious.
I slowed my steps, instinctively keeping my presence hidden.
And then I saw him.
Vladford Heathfield.
The name alone carried weight—even now, even ruined.
He stood inside one of the stalls, holding a broom like it was a sword he'd forgotten how to wield. His posture was rigid, disciplined to the point of pain.
And then—
He bowed.
Deep.
Lower than any knight ever had to me.
"My lady."
The words struck harder than I expected.
I leaned against a stone pillar, watching.
