At sixteen, Viscount Cedric of Ashlorn had lived through more royal galas, royal etiquette lessons, and royal banquets than he cared to count. His life, set within the sprawling marble halls of Ashlorn Castle, glittered with all the finery a young noble could desire: golden candelabras, silk drapes, jewels the size of his hand. But none of it felt like his.

His family, proud of their centuries of noble history, expected him to follow in the footsteps of generations. He was meant to be the poised, courteous heir to his family's title, a perfect prince among noblemen. But the crown of duty felt more like a heavy cloak, stifling his every movement.

Cedric, perched on the edge of a grand balcony overlooking the royal gardens, exhaled a long, frustrated sigh. The roses below, in full bloom with vibrant reds and delicate pinks, seemed to mock him. They were free—free to grow wild, to sway in the breeze, to live without expectation.

The only thing he wished more than anything was to escape the suffocating court and spend a few days of freedom. To be as free as those roses. To not have his every step tracked by maids, tutors, and distant relatives. To not be judged by his every word, as though the fate of Ashlorn depended on him choosing the correct fork at dinner.

But Cedric wasn't allowed such freedoms. His father, the Duke of Ashlorn, was a cold and calculating man, a master of political alliances and familial reputation. Cedric, as his only son, was meant to be his perfect heir. And so, when Cedric had asked to spend his summer break visiting the northern forests—far from the castle—his father had scoffed. 

"You would run away, son?" the Duke had said in his low, rumbling voice. "This is not a game. You are a Viscount of Ashlorn, not some wandering youth in a fairy tale."

And thus, the young noble was trapped, bound by a life he never chose.