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The training yard rang with steel and laughter, the sharp clang of swords echoing off pale stone walls as the knights moved through their drills. Sunlight spilled across the packed earth, catching on polished armor and turning every swing into a brief flash of fire. Commands were barked, jokes were thrown between sparring partners, and somewhere someone groaned dramatically after being disarmed, earning a chorus of laughter from the others.
Above it all, on the balcony overlooking the yard, Princess Cherri leaned forward over the railing, chin propped in her hands.
She told herself she was watching because it was her duty. A ruler should know the strength of her protectors. A princess should be invested in the safety of her kingdom. This was very important royal business.
Unfortunately, her eyes had locked onto one knight and refused to let go.
Apokuna.
She stood near the center of the yard, sparring with a partner twice her size, yet somehow controlling the rhythm of the fight with effortless confidence. Apokuna didn’t rush. She didn’t waste movement. Every step was grounded, every shift of weight deliberate, as though the earth itself had agreed to steady her.
Her dark hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, swaying with each turn of her shoulders. Sunlight traced the edges of her armor, glinting especially off the silver moon motif set proudly at her chest. It felt symbolic somehow, lunar and watchful, constant in a way that made Cherri’s chest tighten.
Then there were her eyes.
Red, intense, sharp as drawn blades. They tracked her opponent with absolute focus, no hesitation, no doubt. When Apokuna struck, it was clean and decisive; when she parried, the movement was so precise it looked almost graceful. Her opponent’s sword went flying, skidding across the dirt.
The yard erupted in cheers.
Apokuna barely smiled.
Cherri let out a slow, helpless sigh, her fingers tightening against the stone railing.
She didn’t remember when it happened. There hadn’t been a grand moment, no dramatic realization. One second she’d been a princess dutifully observing her knights at work, and the next she was counting the rise and fall of Apokuna’s shoulders, memorizing the way her gauntlets caught the light, wondering, briefly, foolishly, what it would feel like to be held with that same unwavering certainty.
Hooked.
Entirely, hopelessly, embarrassingly hooked.
Her mind betrayed her, replaying a memory unbidden.
“Wherever you go, I follow, my lady.”
Apokuna had said it so simply, so seriously, after Cherri had wandered too close to the outer gates weeks ago. No teasing, no dramatics, just a promise delivered like an unbreakable fact.
Cherri had laughed then, waved it off like it meant nothing.
Now it echoed in her head, looping like a song she couldn’t stop humming. Each repetition made her heart flutter just a little more, made the balcony feel a little too far away from the training yard below.
Her gaze lingered on Apokuna once more.
And that was when an idea, terrible, wonderful, absolutely reckless, sparked to life.
The palace gardens lay hushed beneath the pale light of early morning, wrapped in a softness that felt almost secret. Dew clung to every leaf and blade of grass, turning the hedges into glittering walls of green. The ancient trees stood like patient sentinels, their bark darkened by moisture, their branches heavy with shade and history.
Cherri stood at the base of one such tree, craning her neck to look up.
It was tall. Old. Respectable. Exactly the sort of tree no sensible princess should be climbing.
She planted her hands on her hips.
“I can climb this,” she muttered to herself, narrowing her eyes as if the tree had personally challenged her. “I can climb this.”
The tree, unsurprisingly, did not argue.
Gathering her skirts, Cherri tested the lowest branch with her foot. It held. Then another. And another. She climbed with surprising ease, movements practiced and confident, breath steady as she hauled herself higher. When she reached a thick, sturdy branch about halfway up, she settled there comfortably, legs dangling over the side.
She kicked off her shoes and let them fall into the grass below with a soft thump.
Perfectly balanced. Perfectly safe.
Entirely ridiculous.
Cherri leaned back against the trunk, heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves, and waited.
Morning patrols passed through the gardens every day at this hour. It was routine, predictable, dependable. Cherri knew the timing by heart.
She also knew exactly who led them.
Minutes ticked by. A bird fluttered overhead. Then, footsteps. The soft crunch of boots against gravel, voices low and indistinct.
Right on time.
Apokuna emerged between the hedges, walking at the head of the patrol beside another knight. Her armor was darker in the morning light, less gleaming than in the training yard, but no less commanding. She moved with quiet purpose, eyes scanning the garden out of habit more than concern, posture straight, alert.
Cherri’s heart leapt straight into her throat.
She watched Apo walk closer, closer, close enough now that Cherri could hear her voice, calm and steady, discussing patrol routes and guard rotations. The words blurred together. Cherri barely heard them at all.
She swallowed, suddenly very aware of how high up she was.
Then she cleared her throat.
“…Help?”
The effect was immediate.
Apokuna stopped dead.
The other knight halted a half-step later, blinking. “Was that—”
“Princess.”
Apokuna’s voice had sharpened instantly, her head snapping up toward the sound. In a single heartbeat she was beneath the tree, hand flying to the hilt of her sword as her gaze swept the branches, the shadows, the surrounding hedges.
“Are you hurt?” she demanded, already bracing herself for the worst.
Cherri leaned forward, peering down through the leaves, trying very hard not to smile too much. “I’m… stuck.”
Apokuna stared.
Then she squinted.
“You climbed up there,” she said slowly.
“Yes.”
“…On purpose.”
Cherri tilted her head, hands folded innocently in her lap. “Possibly.”
A silence stretched between them, thick and awkward and full of unspoken understanding.
Behind Apokuna, the other knight cleared their throat. “I’ll, uh—” They coughed into their fist, refusing to meet either of their eyes. “Stand guard. Somewhere else.” And with impressive discretion, they retreated down the path, suddenly very invested in a distant hedge.
Apokuna exhaled through her nose and crossed her arms. “My lady,” she said, trying, and failing, to sound stern, “you are perfectly capable of getting down on your own.”
Cherri swung her legs slightly, toes brushing leaves. “But what if I fall?”
“You won’t.”
“But what if,” Cherri insisted, wide-eyed and earnest.
Apokuna closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting out the long-suffering sigh of someone who had sworn an oath and was now paying for it in full. Still, she stepped closer to the tree, planting her feet firmly and bracing herself against the trunk.
“Hold on,” she said, voice softer despite herself. “Slowly.”
Cherri turned around, lowering herself carefully, then, at the last moment, let herself slip just a little more than necessary.
Apokuna caught her instantly.
Strong arms wrapped around her waist, steady and sure, pulling her safely down. For a heartbeat, Cherri was pressed against warm armor and solid muscle, the scent of steel and morning air filling her senses.
For half a second, neither of them moved.
Apokuna seemed to realize all at once how close they were. She cleared her throat and gently set Cherri back on her feet, hands lingering just a fraction longer than required.
“You’re safe,” she said quietly. “Please… don’t scare me like that.”
Cherri looked up at her, cheeks warm, eyes bright with something that felt dangerously close to joy. “You came so fast.”
“I always will,” Apokuna replied, the words leaving her mouth before she could stop them.
They both froze.
Cherri smiled, small, triumphant, utterly smitten.
And somewhere deep inside, Apokuna realized she had, in fact, taken the bait.
She found she didn’t mind at all.
Cherri took this realization, that Apokuna would always come, and did what any reasonable princess would do.
She abused it.
The next “incident” occurred barely two days later.
Apokuna was halfway through a routine inspection of the east corridor when a breathless servant came skidding to a halt in front of her.
“Miss Apokuna—! The princess—she’s in danger!”
Apokuna didn’t ask questions. She never did.
She turned on her heel and ran.
She found Cherri in the library.
Specifically: standing on a ladder that rose perhaps three steps off the ground, frozen in place as if the stone floor below had suddenly become a bottomless chasm.
“Apokuna,” Cherri said weakly, clutching a book to her chest. “I think I’m… stuck.”
Apokuna stared up at her.
“…You are on a ladder.”
“It wobbled,” Cherri whispered, eyes wide. “Menacingly.”
Apokuna placed one hand on the ladder. It did not wobble. At all.
“My lady,” she said carefully, “you could step down.”
Cherri glanced at the floor, then back at Apokuna. “But what if I fall.”
“You won’t.”
“But what if,” Cherri repeated, hopeful.
Apokuna pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaled, then stepped closer. “All right. Give me the book.”
Cherri handed it down, then allowed herself to be guided off the ladder, again with a touch more drama than necessary.
Apokuna caught her by her elbow. Cherri beamed.
After that, the incidents escalated.
There was the treacherous palace koi pond, where Cherri stood on a perfectly stable stone edge and announced that the stones “looked… slippery.” Apokuna arrived seconds later, hauled her back by the waist, and lectured her for five full minutes while Cherri nodded solemnly and admired the way her brow furrowed when she was worried.
Then came the deadly gust of wind on the west balcony.
Cherri stepped out into the morning light, the stone cool beneath her slippers. A faint breeze stirred the banners overhead. She gripped the railing and let out a sharp, dramatic gasp, just loud enough to carry down the corridor.
“Help!”
The response was immediate.
Apokuna burst through the balcony doors a heartbeat later, armor clinking as she scanned the space, eyes sharp and searching. “Princess!”
Cherri clutched the railing as if it were the only thing keeping her from certain doom. “I think the wind is trying to kill me.”
Apokuna paused.
She looked at the sky. Clear. Blue. Peaceful.
She looked at the banners. Barely moving.
She looked back at Cherri.
“…The wind,” she repeated.
“Yes,” Cherri said solemnly. “It’s very aggressive today.”
A long, silent beat passed.
Then Apokuna stepped forward anyway, placing herself firmly between Cherri and the railing, one hand braced against the stone. “Remain here,” she said, voice calm but resolute. “I’ll escort you back inside.”
For the rest of the morning, Apokuna did not leave Cherri’s side.
The guards began to notice.
It was hard not to, when the princess had to be escorted through the halls yet again, Apokuna walking half a step behind her, watchful as ever. As they passed beneath the arched ceilings, two guards stationed near a pillar leaned closer to one another, voices dropping into what they likely thought was a safe whisper.
“She’s not injured,” one murmured, eyes flicking toward Cherri’s perfectly steady stride.
“No,” the other agreed. “She never is.”
Apokuna’s footsteps slowed, just slightly.
She didn’t turn her head. Didn’t change her expression. She simply stopped walking.
The sound of her armor settling into stillness was enough.
The guards felt it before they understood it: the sudden weight in the air, the unmistakable awareness of her attention. Apokuna’s red eyes shifted toward them at last, calm, focused, utterly unamused.
Neither guard finished the thought forming on their tongues.
They snapped to attention, staring straight ahead as if the stone wall were suddenly fascinating.
Apokuna resumed walking without a word.
Cherri glanced back, caught the stiff posture of the guards, and hid a smile behind her hand.
By the fifth rescue, Apokuna had changed.
She still arrived quickly, too quickly for anyone to accuse her of neglect. She still reached out at the right moment, steady hands catching Cherri before she could ever truly fall. However, something had tightened behind her eyes. Not anger, not irritation. Awareness.
She started to linger afterward, gaze flicking from the loose stone to the low railing, from Cherri’s footing to her expression. As if she were trying to solve a puzzle that refused to present all its pieces at once.
By the seventh time, Apokuna stopped pretending she had not noticed anything.
They stood in a quiet corner of the palace gardens, Cherri very much on solid ground, the supposed danger already passed. Apokuna exhaled slowly and crossed her arms, weight settling back onto her heels.
“My lady,” she said, careful, measured, “is this another one of your… situations?”
Cherri looked up at her, brows knitting. “What situations?”
Apokuna hesitates, choosing her words more carefully than she ever used on a battlefield. “The ones where you call for help,” she said, “and when I get there, you are… fine.” There were no accusations in her tone, just observations.
Cherri opened her mouth. Closed it again. Her gaze slid away, fingers worrying the edge of her sleeve.
“I didn’t mean to—” she started, then stopped. For a moment, Apokuna thought she might apologize. Instead, Cherri looked back up at her and smiled. Not teasing, just open.
“Will you still come?” she asked softly. The question caught Apokuna off guard. Her jaw tightened. She glanced toward the path, towards the hedges, anywhere but Cherri’s face. The answer rose immediately, instinctive and absolute, and that, somehow, made it harder to say.
“…Yes,” she admitted.
Cherri’s smiles spread, slow and unmistakably pleased.
“Well,” she said, light as if she hadn’t just tilted the world on its axis, “then I suppose… I’ll keep getting into trouble.”
Apokuna drew in a breath, ready to object, to tell her this was reckless, improper. That she shouldn’t.
The words never came.
Because the truth, quiet, undeniable truth, was that she liked being needed. Liked the rush of hearing her name, the way her focus snapped so sharply into place. Liked the certainty that followed every time: The princess is safe. Cherri is safe.
And Cherri, watching her knight stand there in thoughtful silence, armor catching the light, resolve bending without quite breaking, knew she wasn’t just hooked anymore.
She had the line.
And Apokuna, whether she admitted it or not, was already hooked.
The first bell rang at dawn.
It wasn’t the clear, steady call of ceremony or the measured rhythm of drills. This one was frantic, wild, uneven, tearing through the palace like a scream. By the time the second bell sounded, the sky beyond the windows was already dark with smoke.
War had come to Soluna.
Cherri was pulled from her chambers before she could even reach the balcony. Servants hurried her through the halls, voices tight, hands trembling. Somewhere above them, something exploded, stone shuddered, dust raining from the ceiling. The castle she had grown up in suddenly felt fragile, breakable.
They took her underground.
The hidden passages beneath the palace were cool and narrow, lit by trembling lanterns. The sounds of battle were muted here, but not gone; she could still feel them, a dull thunder in her bones. Steel clashing. Shouts. The distant roar of something burning.
Her father was waiting in the chamber at the heart of the tunnels, crown discarded, sword at his side.
“Father,” Cherri said, breathless. “What’s happening?”
“The borders have fallen,” the king replied grimly. “They will breach the eastern wall before sunrise.”
Cherri swallowed. “What are we supposed to do?”
He studied her for a long moment, as if committing her face to memory. “I’ll have to stay back and stand with our kingdom. But you, my dearest daughter, you must flee.”
Her hands curled into fists. “But I should be up there. I should be helping. What good am I out there when our people need us here? I can—”
“No,” he cut in sharply.
She flinched. He rarely spoke to her like that.
“Fire magic runs through our blood,” he continued, voice firm but urgent. “With the right guidance, with time, you can unlock your full potential. You won’t save Soluna by dying in its streets today.”
Before she could argue, footsteps echoed down the tunnel. Heavy. Familiar. Apokuna emerged from the shadows, armor already marked with soot, moon emblem dulled by ash. Her expression was carved from stone, but her eyes, those sharp red eyes, flicked to Cherri instantly, checking, counting, assuring.
Unhurt.
Cherri’s heart leapt despite everything.
“Apokuna,” she breathed.
“My king,” Apokuna said, dropping to one knee.
The king nodded once. “You will go with her. You are my most trusted knight. You’ll keep my daughter safe, and when she’s ready… you’ll bring her home.”
Cherri turned sharply. “Father—”
Her protest faltered.
Apokuna had stepped closer.
She didn’t speak. She simply reached out, armored hand open and steady, waiting. The gesture was small, almost formal, yet unmistakably personal.
Cherri hesitated only a heartbeat before placing her hand in Apokuna’s.
Apokuna’s fingers closed around it. Instead of pulling her forward, she lifted Cherri’s hand just slightly, bringing it closer to her face. Her red eyes flicked up once, searching, asking without words.
Then she bowed her head and pressed a brief, reverent kiss to Cherri’s knuckles.
The world seemed to stop.
Cherri’s breath caught, heat rushing to her cheeks so fast it felt unreal. Her mind went blank, heart stuttering wildly in her chest. She could only stare as Apokuna lowered her hand again, expression calm as ever, though her grip lingered, firm and reassuring.
Cherri swallowed, flustered, and gently pulled her hand back.
She turned to her father, determination rushing in to fill the sudden, dangerous warmth in her chest. “Father, please,” she said, voice steadier than she felt. “I can still help. I don’t have to leave—I can stay, I can—”
The king met her gaze, and for all the fire and steel around them, his expression was unbearably gentle.
“It’s already decided,” he said softly. “Now you must trust us, trust me.”
Cherri clenched her hands at her sides, torn between duty, fear, and the echo of a kiss she could still feel on her skin.
“The roads south are still open,” the king continued. “Barely. You’ll take her beyond the mountains. To the allied territories. She will be safer there.”
“I don’t want to go,” Cherri said, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to leave you.”
The king stepped closer and pulled her into his arms. For a moment, she let herself cling to him, breathing him in, steel, smoke, and home. She didn’t know if she would ever feel it again.
“I need you to live,” he murmured into her hair. “That is how you help me. That is how you help Soluna.”
She nodded against his chest, forcing herself to swallow back the tears burning behind her eyes.
Apokuna waited near the tunnel’s end, where cold air rushed in from the mountain beyond. The passage opened suddenly into a cavern, moonlight spilling in from a jagged opening ahead. Waves crashed below, the ocean dark and endless.
A small boat bobbed against the rocks.
Apokuna stepped into it first, steadying herself against the swell. Then she turned and held out her hand.
Cherri looked back.
Her father was already turning away, sword raised as he headed back toward the sound of war. He didn’t look back.
Cherri took a shaky breath, grasped Apokuna’s hand, and climbed into the boat.
They pushed off.
From the water, Cherri watched as Soluna burned. Flames crawled up the palace walls, smoke swallowing the towers she knew by heart. She kept her face still, her jaw tight, her tears locked behind sheer force of will.
Only when the cliffs faded into darkness, when she could no longer see the kingdom, no longer see the light of the fires, did she finally break.
Cherri folded in on herself as if something inside her had finally collapsed, shoulders shaking, breath breaking into uneven, helpless sobs.
“I shouldn’t have gone,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have left.”
The sea answered with its low, endless roar.
Apokuna didn’t move at first. She kept rowing, arms working in slow, steady motions, each pull of the oars carrying them farther from the cliffs, farther from the fading glow of firelight. The kingdom shrank behind them until it was nothing but darkness.
Only then did she stop.
She set the oars in place, tested the balance of the boat, and shifted closer.
Cherri had curled inward, tears darkening the fabric of her cloak. “They were still there,” she said, voice cracking. “I just… got on the boat.”
Apokuna wrapped an arm around her shoulders, firm and grounding. “You didn’t have a choice.”
“It doesn’t feel like that,” Cherri said. Her breath hitched. “It feels like I turned my back.”
Apokuna was quiet for a moment. “Your father turned back so you wouldn’t have to.”
That did it.
Cherri’s hands fisted in Apokuna’s armor as the sobs finally broke free. “What if I never see him again?” she whispered. “What if I never see any of them again?”
Apokuna’s hold tightened just slightly. “I know,” she said, and the words carried weight, like she’d thought them herself. “I’m here.”
Cherri shook her head, tears spilling unchecked. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“You don’t have to,” Apokuna replied softly. “Not tonight. Just know this, wherever you go, I follow, my lady.”
Cherri leaned into her then, exhausted and shattered, crying for her home, her people, and the life she’d been forced to leave behind.
The boat rocked gently beneath them as the sea carried them farther away, into a future neither of them had chosen, but both would now have to face together.