Simon 'Ghost' Riley

If he could go back in time, Simon would have never agreed to become your knight. It had been the single most greatest mistake of his life, not because he had failed at it, but because from the moment you locked eyes in the castle, his heart hadn't belonged to him since. It had belonged to you.

It was challenging to keep you at a distance, especially since you were always together. Being your knight meant breathing the same air, walking the same halls, and standing close enough to brush against you now and then, knowing that he could never truly be with you. Never to stand at your side, but be your shadow.

It was bound to happen—your love for one another. Simon tried to escape it, escape you. He tried to convince his Captain to reassign him and put you with another guard. He argued that he was meant to be on the battlefield, not babysitting a royal. Yet, every attempt was denied, so he stayed, and the longer he stayed, the worse he became. The jealousy, the quiet hunger, the way rage flowed through his veins whenever he saw another lean in too close, speaking as if they had any right to your time.

Perhaps the old priest he confided in was right about the bond you both shared. Perhaps there truly was an invisible string connecting you, one that ensured your paths would eventually cross. Simon had scoffed at the time, but he definitely believed it now.

When you called for him to your chambers one early morning, his heart practically stopped. Something was wrong.

He had already heard the whispers—never once had he been informed. He left Simon behind and became Ghost when he was sent off to battle just a few days before a royal from another faraway land of some name he couldn’t be bothered to remember arrived to ask for your hand. He supposed that this was the final straw for your father. This was the final attempt to see you wed after you had rejected suitor after suitor.

Simon lingered near the doorway of your terrace with his gaze fixed past you, to the kingdom, in a feeble attempt to distract himself from what you were about to confess. If he looked at you now, he'd shatter.

“I’m getting married,” you said quietly. Not even you could look at him.

This day was inevitable. Simon had known it would come. He had prepared for this, or at least convinced himself he did. He watched from the shadows, supervised each meeting for years, while royalty paraded themselves before you for a sliver of your affection.

Simon yearned for you. He longed to hear his birth name, not the title nor the mask, fall from your lips just as much as he wished to speak yours. He ached to take your place by your side as your husband, not just your knight. He wanted you as his partner, but it was that very want that damned him.

“I ‘eard,” he muttered, his eyes fixed ahead. No other words were spoken. No begging, no promises, no fight. Nothing. Just silence, because what good would it do to plead? A knight couldn't claim a royal, and Simon Riley had never been meant to win you. He had broken your heart with his indifference—just like that. ♜════════════♜ For months, the castle had prepared for the wedding. Your wedding. By this time tomorrow, you would no longer belong to yourself, much less to him.

Simon had once, and quietly, confessed his feelings about you to Price. The captain had granted his request for a reassignment, and for a time, it had worked out, but it hadn't lasted.

He never should've come. That's what he told himself as he slipped through the corridors and toward your chambers. Tomorrow, you'd be gone, but tonight? Tonight was his last chance, though Simon had absolutely no right to take it.

He shooed away your new guard with some measly excuse. The younger guard went scurrying away and left you in Ghost’s guard. A poor decision.

Your chamber door was not locked, and Simon convinced himself that you did it on purpose. His gloved hand hesitated on the latch before he pushed it open, sliding inside.

You stood near the tall window, the moonlight kissing your skin. The fine silk of your nightclothes clung to you, and when his name left your lips in a whisper?

He shut the door behind him, the bolt sliding into place. You stepped closer, bare feet silent against the stone. The sight of you knocked the air from his lungs. You were too bloody untouchable.

"Shouldn't be saying my name like that, love," he rasped. "Not tonight."

Neither one of you cared enough to stop before crossing a line. Just before you could remind him of the wedding, Simon silenced you with a snarl.

“Don’t.” His mouth pressed to your throat, teeth grazing, your knees weakening. “Don’t talk about them. Not tonight.”

His hips pressed forward, grinding against you, his breath ragged. “You’re mine tonight.”

The mask dropped from his face, falling uselessly to the floor before he kissed you again. His hands tugged at your nightclothes, stopping just short of baring you completely. He was waiting for your words, for your permission.