The warmth of his robe still lingered on her shoulders as Yulian wiped her face with the back of her sleeve.
She was tired.
Bone-tired.
Her eyes burned, her throat raw from crying.
Just as she was about to lower herself back onto the straw bed, the man stood and extended a hand.
"I want to show you something."
Yulian blinked up at him.
His eyes were unreadable, but his hand was steady — not demanding, not forceful.
Curious, and unsure why she trusted him, she placed her hand in his.
His palm was rough. Calloused. Like someone who knew war.
"Wear this," he added, draping a heavier outer robe over her frail form.
Then he led her out.
The night was cold, the air thick with mist. The corridor was silent as they walked — stone floors beneath their feet, lanterns unlit, the world asleep.
They arrived at a pair of wooden doors bound by black iron rings. He opened them slowly, and beyond was a high-walled courtyard shrouded in darkness. She could only see the faint outline of the stone fence surrounding it.
Yulian hesitated.
Something about the place felt... strange.
Too quiet.
Too still.
But the man gave her hand the gentlest squeeze — not to push her forward, but to say I'm here.
So she took a step.
Her bare foot met something soft.
Damp.
She recoiled immediately.
Before she could speak, the ground beneath them began to stir.
One light.
Then two.
Then ten.
Tiny glowing orbs blinked to life at her feet, then around them, spreading outward in every direction.
Fireflies.
Hundreds of them.
Thousands.
They crawled up from the grass, from between stones, from hidden burrows, then lifted into the air like floating stars. The garden glowed, lit by a soft golden hue that cast gentle shadows across the earth.
Yulian gasped.
Her pale eyes darted from petal to petal, from branch to branch — now revealed by the light.
The garden was not just alive — it was thriving.
Massive jade-colored leaves hung heavy with dew. Moon-blooms glowed a soft silver in clusters. Vines wrapped themselves around stone pillars shaped like ancient blades. A shallow stream cut through the garden like a silver ribbon, its surface calm and glass-like. Soft moss blanketed the stepping stones scattered across the path.
She'd never seen such a place. Not in all her life.
This wasn't a garden.
It was a world hidden from the empire.
From everyone.
Her awe grew still as her eyes landed on a familiar symbol carved into the side of a low stone wall near the center.
A silver shield, two dragons curling around it, etched with a blade crossing through the middle.
She'd seen that before.
Her breath caught.
"That's... the crest of the Empire's Silver Knight."
She turned to face him, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why is it here?"
He didn't answer immediately.
But as the fireflies moved around him, lighting his features in full for the first time, Yulian's heart skipped.
He stood tall, white hair almost glimmering beneath the gold light, grey eyes sharp and unwavering. There was something about him now — the way he carried himself, the subtle shift in how he stood.
Like armor she hadn't noticed before had returned to his frame.
He looked... noble.
Formidable.
"I am the Silver Knight," he said at last.
The words hung in the air.
Yulian stared at him, stunned.
That name — Silver Knight — was spoken only in hushed tones within palace walls. No one had ever seen his face. Not the public. Not the ministers. Only the Royal Family knew his true identity.
He was a myth.
A legend.
The man who slayed the rebel leader of the North five years ago, ending the year-long civil war that had drained the empire of its strength. His victory had changed the course of history. He was given the highest honor — the title of Eternal Guardian — and disappeared from the public eye.
This man… this quiet, strange man who made her tea and listened to her tears… he was him?
Yulian's knees nearly gave out.
She turned away, unable to hold his gaze.
This is the man I cried in front of… the man who saw me broken…
"I'm sorry," she said barely above a whisper.
"For what?" he asked.
"For… treating you like some stranger. For not knowing."
He let out a small breath — was that a laugh?
"You didn't treat me like anything," he said. "You were just... honest."
Yulian's eyes lifted, taking him in again.
In the golden haze of fireflies, he looked impossibly far from the world she once knew. But not unreachable.
Not now.
"I built this garden myself," he said, stepping forward. "With my own hands. After the war ended. It's the only place in the empire where no one bows, no one kneels, and no one begs."
He looked at her, his expression softer.
"You're the first person I've ever brought here."
She didn't know what to say.
"I thought I was alone in this world," she said finally. "Like a mistake that shouldn't have been born."
"You're not a mistake," he replied, voice steady. "And neither am I."
She took a slow step beside him, watching as the fireflies danced around them.
I didn't know what I was feeling. Not fear. Not desire. Just... overwhelmed.
The garden felt sacred, and somehow, so did he.
He turned to her once more, that faint smile returning — the first she'd seen from him.
It was real.
And for a moment, she smiled back.
Not out of politeness.
Not out of duty.
But because something in her chest had cracked open, and the cold air inside was finally letting in warmth.
"I want to show you something else," he said, nodding toward a path that curved deeper into the garden.
She nodded slowly, following him.
Not as a noble lady.
Not as a betrayed bride.
But simply as Yulian — a girl who was learning what it meant to be seen.