The girl in the garden

Before he was the Lover from Hell, he was just a soldier.
A man with dirt beneath his nails, sweat on his brow, and a war he did not choose. His armor was plain, his spear dull from drills, not blood. The kingdom’s banners waved above stone walls while the poor fed on promises.
And she—She was sunlight through the iron gates.
He first saw her in the royal gardens, where commoners weren’t allowed. But war had shaken the land, and even royalty stepped out to watch soldiers train. She stood by the lilies, her dress stained with gold thread, her fingers brushing petals as if they might speak to her.
He didn’t know her name then.
He only knew her smile. The way it made the world fall quiet. The way even war paused to breathe.
Their first conversation was stolen between hedges.
“You look like a ghost,” she said, not unkindly.
“I feel like one,” he replied, glancing at the castle behind her.
She laughed. “Then I must be the spirit who found you.”
From that day, she found ways to slip away from her guards, and he learned to wait at the same cracked stone near the east wall. No titles. No rules. Just two strangers sharing pieces of themselves in secret.
She spoke of music. Of stars. Of the ache of being born into a cage.He spoke of survival. Of loyalty. Of dreams too small for gods.
And slowly, without needing to say it—They fell in love.
But love is not a shield. Not in kingdoms ruled by fear.
One night, she arrived with tears staining her sleeves. “They’re sending you to the border,” she said. “You and the rest of the 17th guard. There’s a war starting—one the court wants kept silent.”
He stood still. “How do you know?”
“I listened when I shouldn’t have.”
“Then you’re in danger.”
“I was born in danger,” she whispered.
They kissed beneath the stone arch where the moonlight could not reach. And before he left for the frontlines, she pressed a ring into his hand.
A simple silver band. Too small for his fingers, but heavy with hope.
“Come back to me,” she said.
“I swear it.”