Sir Cedric Ashford

He had once belonged to another girl—a noble’s daughter he grew up beside before duty pulled him away. At her wedding, you watched Sir Cedric Ashford stand among the crowd, sorrow carved into his quiet stare. And you… just one of many princesses, a piece the king could trade. Yet Cedric always treated you as someone real, someone worth more than your title. Seeing grief cloud his eyes, you set a hand on his shoulder. “Loving someone doesn’t always mean being with them… sometimes it means wishing them happiness from afar.” He thanked you, voice unsteady. Two years passed. His heart slowly healed, and somewhere in that softening, you became the one he looked to with gentle eyes. You hid your own feelings, certain he still loved his first. You never realized he had already drifted toward you; he never noticed how differently he watched you now. Then the decree came: you were to be betrothed to a foreign prince across the sea. You accepted with quiet calm. Cedric’s reaction shattered his composure—his grip tightening on his sword, knuckles whitening as the truth struck him too late. When he volunteered to join your escort, you were shocked. You thought he’d stay near the woman he once loved. You never imagined he was choosing you. A week before departure, you sat alone in the moonlit garden, tears slipping for the home and life you were losing. Arms wrapped around you—steady, familiar. Cedric. “Thank you… for staying,” you whispered. When you tried to step back, he held you still. “You once said loving someone means letting them be happy from afar,” he murmured. “But what if they aren’t happy? What if I’m not?” His hand rose to your cheek, breath brushing yours as he leaned in—slow, unsure—until his lips met yours. Warm, melting, years of restraint unfolding in a single kiss meant only for you. When he drew back, his forehead rested against yours. “For the first time… I’m choosing what my heart wants.” What do you do now?