The Knight's Claimed Bride

Rebecca’s POV  

Tonight, Jelita was bursting at the seams.  

Music, laughter, and the bright swirl of lanterns all crashed together in a wild celebration as the city welcomed home its knights, returning victorious from the border after three long years away. 

The whole kingdom felt like it was holding its breath and then exhaling in pure joy.  

Upstairs, in the small room above my potion shop, Maddie and I were wrestling with my hair.  

“Ow! Maddie!” I yelped as she yanked a comb through my dark red waves. “Are you trying to rip my scalp off?”  

“It’s your hair’s fault,” Maddie snapped back, tugging harder. “It knows we’re going to the palace and it’s panicking.”  

“Ugh. I’m panicking.” I dropped my face into my hands. “Remind me why we’re doing this again?”  

Maddie paused to fluff her own short brown hair in the mirror. “Because the Queen invited us, genius. It’s a private welcome party for the knights. And you know who’s going to be there…”  

I groaned. “Don’t you dare.”  

“Rhys Ashford,” Maddie sang, grinning wickedly.  

Heat shot up my neck. Of course. Rhys.  

Blond hair, eyes the color of deep summer skies. He had been my best friend since we were kids in The Royal Orphanage, the boy who once dared me to steal pastries from the palace kitchens and taught me how to climb the tallest oak trees.  

Somewhere along the way, that mischievous boy had turned into a man who made my chest ache every time he smiled.  

Now he was a knight, a real one. Which felt impossibly out of my league. 

“Gods,” I muttered. “He probably doesn’t even remember me like that.”  

Maddie snorted. “Please. You’ve been in love with him since before you had boobs. And I’m not letting you chicken out tonight.”  

“Maddie, no.”  

“Yes. And besides,” Maddie added, lowering her voice dramatically, “I have a plan.”  

I narrowed my eyes. “Maddie. No. We are not doing this.”

“Love potion!” Maddie stage-whispered.  

My jaw dropped. “Maddie Lyn, are you insane?! The Queen has a death penalty for love potions!”  

“So we don’t tell her.” Maddie shrugged. “Becca, you’re the daughter of Isabelle Rosewyn. If anyone can brew it right, it’s you.”  

At the mention of my mother, my chest tightened. Isabelle Rosewyn, legendary potion master of the realm, until the fire that killed her and destroyed our shop. 

I could still see the flames licking the walls. I could smell the smoke. I could hear the timbers splintering and crashing. I had been twelve years old, standing in the street, certain I had glimpsed five royal knights just watching the fire from the shadows, doing nothing. 

But I had never been able to prove it or speak of it to anyone. 

My father was a mystery. I had grown up with only my mother. When she died, I was sent to The Royal Orphanage. That was where I met Maddie and Rhys. Somehow, life had started to make sense again. 

Maddie folded her arms, chin high. “This is our chance. Pour it in Rhys’ drink and he’s yours forever.”  

I swallowed hard. “Except I made that potion from scraps of my mother’s old notes. I don’t even know how strong it is. How it works. Or if there’s an antidote. This is practically suicide.”  

Maddie rolled her eyes. “It’ll be fine.”  

But hours later, as I stood trembling just inside the glittering palace ballroom, I knew nothing was fine at all.  

The palace glittered like a dream. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, scattering tiny rainbows across towering marble walls. Music swelled, echoing off stone and velvet. Perfume, expensive and sweet, drifted through the air like silk. 

I stopped dead just inside the ballroom doors, clutching Maddie’s arm. My simple blue dress felt like a rag next to gowns sewn with real silver thread.  

Nobles swished past in silks and jewels. Knights, out of their steel armor and looking alarmingly handsome, laughed and toasted under the chandeliers. 

Maddie elbowed me. “Stop gawking. We belong here.”  

“No, we don’t,” I hissed. “Look at their clothes! We’re practically wearing dish rags.”  

Maddie tilted her chin. “Speak for yourself. I was born to mingle with royalty.” She seized two champagne glasses from a passing footman and shoved one into my hand. “Drink. It'll help.” 

I took a shaky sip, scanning the room. And that is when I saw him. 

The Knight Commander, Gideon Malik. 

The infamous Iron Wolf. 

He stood near the dais, silent and watchful, wearing dark velvet instead of his usual steel. Even without armor, he radiated danger. Broad shoulders, a sharp jaw, and eyes like glacial storms. He was devastatingly handsome and equally terrifying. 

My stomach knotted. I had never spoken to him, never stood close enough to see his smile. 

Beside him, Lady Kalali fluttered like a jewel-colored bird. Blond hair piled high in curls, hazel eyes sparkling, lips painted red. The Queen’s cousin. And officially the most beautiful woman in Jelita, according to last year’s beauty contest. 

Lady Kalali hovered close, talking a mile a minute, probably plotting how to get Gideon to marry her. He didn’t even twitch. I almost laughed at how spectacularly uninterested he seemed. 

Then, out of nowhere, his eyes were on me. 

I froze. The noise of the ballroom faded. I forgot how to breathe. A chill ran through me, as if he had peeled back every layer I had ever tried to hide. My pulse hammered so hard it drowned out the orchestra. 

Then I heard a voice. 

“Becca! Maddie!” 

Rhys’ voice cut through everything like sunlight. He barreled toward us, blond hair shining under the chandelier, blue eyes crinkling in a smile. He looked older, stronger, and so heartbreakingly handsome in navy and silver that I thought I might actually faint. 

Maddie squealed. “Rhys Ashford, look at you! You’re practically glowing!”  

Rhys laughed and hugged her. “You’re one to talk, Mads. You both look amazing.” 

Then he turned to me, and the world seemed to stop. 

“Becca,” Rhys murmured, his voice softer all of a sudden. “Gods… it’s really you.” 

I managed a wobbly smile. “Hi, Rhys.”  

“That’s it?” Maddie demanded. “Hi, Rhys?! You’ve been mooning over him for years and that’s all you’ve got?”  

Rhys laughed, reaching out to tug gently at a lock of my hair. “I missed you both.”  

Maddie poked his chest. “We missed you too. Now tell us, how many princesses proposed to you while you were gone?” 

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Zero princesses. And zero proposals. Please tell me we’re not talking about my love life all night.”  

Maddie shot me a wicked grin. “Then maybe we should talk about Becca’s love life instead.”  

“Maddie!” I squeaked.  

Maddie winked at me. “Someone has to make a move before some noblewoman with big hair and a castle takes him.” 

Rhys laughed. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere.”  

I was about to answer when the trumpets blared. The entire ballroom fell silent. 

At the top of the marble staircase, the Queen appeared, Omara Grizzy. She looked older than I remembered, with streaks of silver glinting through her dark hair. She raised her hand, and the hush deepened. 

"My beloved people," she proclaimed, her voice ringing across the hall, "tonight we honor our knights, who fought bravely to protect our kingdom. Drink, dance, and let joy fill these halls, for tonight Jelita rejoices." 

Applause thundered, and the music swelled again. 

Maddie grabbed my arm. "Okay. Time to get you dancing with Rhys."

"No. No, no." I shook my head, backing away. 

But Rhys was already offering me his hand, smiling. “May I have this dance, my lady?”  

My brain short-circuited. “You know I’m terrible at this,” I admitted, wincing. 

Rhys grinned, unfazed. “Since when has that ever stopped us?” 

He offered his hand, and before I could think twice, I let him guide me onto the dance floor. 

Maddie was already swept away by a nobleman, shrieking with laughter.  

Rhys spun me into a slow waltz, his hands warm on mine. The world felt suspended. 

"So," he murmured, "three years. And here we are." 

My chest tightened painfully. "Yeah. Here we are." 

"Did you… miss me?" 

My throat went tight. "Every day." 

Rhys grinned. "Same." 

The waltz wound to an elegant finish. The music shifted, a faster reel crashing in with pounding drums. Partners switched in a swirling chaos of color and laughter. 

"Oh," I cried as another pair swept between Rhys and me. I was spun away before I could catch his hand again. 

I stumbled, caught off balance, and collided chest-first with someone solid and unyielding. 

Strong hands gripped my waist, steadying me. 

I looked up. 

Gideon Malik. 

He stared down at me, his eyes as cold as winter ice. The music thundered around us, but he did not even glance away. 

“Careful,” Gideon murmured, his low voice barely audible over the drums. “Left foot. Now turn.”  

My heart leapt into my throat as he guided me into the dance. His grip was precise, his steps perfectly measured. Despite the frost in his eyes, his touch was gentle and protective. He moved me like a chess piece, keeping me from colliding with the chaos swirling around us. 

"I-I’m not really good at this," I stammered. 

"I noticed," Gideon said dryly. And somehow, though he barely spoke another word, I danced an entire reel without falling on my face. 

The music finally ended. He released me gently, and I almost ran back to Rhys. 

Rhys arched a brow. "Survived dancing with the Iron Wolf?" 

I gave a shaky laugh. "Barely." 

We stumbled off the dance floor, breathless and laughing. I was red-faced and trying desperately not to think about how Gideon’s gloved hands had felt on my waist. 

Maddie seemed completely swept up in the excitement, or perhaps genuinely interested in the nobleman she was talking to. She was laughing, leaning closer, eyes sparkling as though the entire ballroom had vanished around them. 

Rhys and I stood near a table, watching Maddie grin and chatter away. 

"Looks like Maddie’s enjoying herself," Rhys chuckled. 

"Yeah," I murmured, though my thoughts were spinning somewhere else entirely. 

I suddenly remembered exactly what I was supposed to be doing. My eyes darted to Rhys’ goblet, waiting for the perfect moment. My fingers curled around the tiny glass vial hidden in my pocket. 

Come on, just a second, I told myself. That’s all I need. 

Before I could act, a royal messenger appeared out of nowhere. "Sir Ashford. You’re needed at once. It’s urgent." 

Rhys frowned. “Right now?” 

“Yes, sir." 

Rhys hesitated, looking torn, then sighed, squeezing my hand. “Don’t go anywhere, Becca. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

Then he disappeared into the crowd. 

My pulse pounded so loudly it nearly drowned out the music. This was my chance. 

I slipped the vial from my pocket, uncorked it, and quickly tipped a drop of shimmering pink liquid into a goblet on the table. 

Except in my panic, I poured it into the wrong goblet. 

My breath caught. I reached for it, my fingertips brushing the stem, when another hand reached it first. 

Black gloves. 

I looked up, heart thudding. 

Gideon stood right in front of me, somehow having escaped Lady Kalali, eyes cold and piercing as he lifted the goblet to his lips. 

“No, wait!” I blurted out. 

But it was too late. 

Gideon tilted his head back and took a long, slow sip. Lowering the goblet, he stared at me, his voice low and edged with danger. “What did you put in this drink? It tastes unusual.” 

“Commander, there you are!” Lady Kalali’s shrill voice rang out as she swept over, latching onto Gideon’s arm. She paused, sniffing the air suspiciously. “What is that strange smell?” 

I swallowed hard, my voice caught in my throat. 

Lady Kalali glanced between us, and my stomach twisted as she reached for the goblet still in Gideon’s hand. She might be famous for her beauty and scandalous gossip columns, but she had also spent two years studying advanced potion theory at the Royal Academy. 

She lifted it, inhaled carefully, then drew back, eyes wide. Her voice was sharp and accusing. “This smells like a love potion.” 

In that single, breathless moment, the ballroom fell silent. Every single pair of eyes turned to stare straight at me.