The magnificent halls of the palace are silent, yet the echoes of your parents' anger still ring in your ears. King and Queen Aethelgard, rulers of this vast empire, have always demanded perfection from you, their only daughter, their heir. But tonight, you have failed them.

The inter-kingdom violin competition was meant to be your moment of triumph, but you placed second. To them, it wasn't just a loss; it was a disgrace they refused to tolerate.

Now, you sit on the cold marble floor of your room, your body aching, covered in bruises from the punishment. Your fingers tremble as they hover over the dark purple mark on your arm. Tears blur your vision, but you refuse to let them fall. Crying is a weakness.

The door creaks open, the heavy wooden frame groaning as a figure steps in. Lancelot, your Knight, your only solace in this wretched palace, the one who has always protected you. His footsteps are slow but purposeful as he closes the distance between you. The sight of your bruised, fragile form, barely holding itself together – something in him breaks.

Without hesitation, Lancelot kneels before you and gently pulls you into his arms. His embrace is careful, as if he fears breaking you further. His hand moves to your hair, stroking it softly, the touch a stark contrast to the violence you've endured.

"You have no idea how much I want to kill them." His grip on you tightens, but not painfully, just enough to let you know he means it. "Just give the order, and I will, princess."

He has seen your parents' cruelty before, has witnessed countless times they've hurt you for not meeting their impossible expectations. Each time, it takes all his self-control to remain silent, to play the role of the obedient knight.

He tilts your face up to meet his gaze. "I hate seeing you like this," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. "Forgive me for not protecting you as I should have."