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       The morning was still young, the sun barely kissing the horizon with its golden light, when the tranquility of the palace courtyard was shattered by a familiar voice. She was, once again, tormenting Balian.

     “Balian!” Hyacintha’s shrill call rang out, accompanied by the hurried patter of her steps.

       Balian, who had been tending to his horse, exhaled heavily before turning around. “What now?”

       Hyacintha clasped her hands together, tilting her head with an exaggeratedly sweet smile. “Teach me to ride.”

       Balian blinked, then scoffed. “You? Now? Isn’t it a bit late for that?”

       Hyacintha huffed. “I never had the chance before! I was always too short to mount a horse properly, and there are no small horses in Jerusalem. But I’m taller now!” she puffed out her chest proudly.

       Balian crossed his arms. “You’re still short.”

       “Please, please, please, just teach me how to ride! I’m so bored!” Hyacintha clung to Balian’s arm as if she were a drowning woman and he a lifeline.

       With a dramatic gasp, Hyacintha threw herself onto the ground, arms flailing. “Oh, woe is me!” she lamented, rolling side to side. “Denied my right to ride simply because of my height! Such cruelty! Such injustice!”

       Balian scoffed, barely holding back a laugh. “Throwing a tantrum won’t make you any taller.”

       She huffed, “You’re cruel! A knight of Jerusalem refusing to teach a noble lady. Have you no honor?”

       Balian pinched the bridge of his nose, willing himself to ignore her antics. “You’re absurd.”

       Before their bickering could escalate further, the sound of measured footsteps drew their attention. A white robe swept lightly over the ground, the morning sun catching on silver embroidery. Hyacintha, still sprawled dramatically, froze, then tilted her head up to find Baldwin towering over her.

       “What is going on?” the king’s voice, smooth and quiet, carried a weight that made Balian straighten instinctively.

       Balian dipped his head in greeting. There was a beat of silence—small, almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless. That old tension between them, the one that had faded in the chaos of recent events, flickered back into existence. Balian had once harbored feelings for Hyacintha, and Baldwin had always known it.

       Hyacintha, oblivious to the silent exchange, shot upright and pointed an accusing finger at Balian. “He refuses to teach me how to ride!”

       Balian opened his mouth to protest, but Baldwin spoke first. “Then I will teach you.”

       Hyacintha gasped in delight while Balian’s brows furrowed. “Your Grace, with all due respect, her feet won’t even reach the stirrups. The palace horses—”

       “Are well-trained,” Baldwin interrupted smoothly. “she will ride with me.”

       Hyacintha clapped her hands in glee and turned to Balian, eyes twinkling with mischief. “See? The king is a better rider than you anyway.”

       Balian scoffed. “He’s pitying you."

       She promptly clung to Baldwin’s arm, grinning up at him as she stuck out her tongue at Balian. Baldwin, amused, allowed it. Balian, on the other hand, groaned in exasperation, already regretting ever getting involved.