Gael Horne had guarded the young royal for three years, always two steps behind, and had never once been spoken to as a man. Tonight he stood in the garden while she walked the gravel path alone. His job was to watch her back. His wish, which he told no one, was to stand at her side as an equal, not a shadow in silver armor. He knew the difference would never close on its own. A guard did not start conversations. He waited to be given orders. So Gael scanned the hedges for threats and kept his mouth shut, as he had a thousand nights before. The distance between them felt fixed as stone. Then something huge lifted off a flowering bush. It was a moth, larger than his two hands together, its wings shimmering green and gold and rose. It drifted straight toward the royal's face. She gasped and stumbled back off the path. Gael moved without thinking. He stepped between her and the moth and raised one gloved hand. But he did not strike it. He held still and let it settle on his fingers. Its body was soft as velvet. Its wings opened slow, showing two round marks like eyes. "It won't hurt you," he said. "It only wants the light." The words left his mouth before he could stop them. He had never told her anything. He had only answered questions. Now he waited for her to remind him of his place. She did not. She stepped closer, her fear gone, and looked at the moth on his hand. "You're not afraid of it," she said. "I was, once," Gael said. "My mother kept them. She said the ugly ones and the lovely ones are the same underneath." He had never spoken of his mother to anyone in the palace. The royal reached out. Her fingertip brushed the edge of a wing, then brushed his glove. She did not pull away. "Nobody told me you had a mother," she said. "I suppose I never asked." "Guards aren't asked much," he said. "No," she agreed. She studied his face now, not the moth. "What is your name? Your whole name." "Gael Horne." "Gael." She said it like she was testing the weight of it. The moth lifted from his hand and rose into the dark. She watched it go, then turned back to him. "Walk with me. Not behind me. Beside me." Gael's heart struck hard against his ribs. For three years he had stood two steps back. He took one step forward and stood level with her. The gravel felt different under his boots. They walked the path together. But footsteps sounded on the terrace above. A servant had seen them, side by side, the guard where he should not be. The servant turned and hurried inside to tell someone.