Nanami had expected a princess.

Someone poised, trained, already rehearsed in courtesy and silence. At least seventeen, he thought. Old enough to understand danger. Old enough to understand why a knight would be assigned to her side without question.

What he got instead was a child.

She barely reached her father’s shoulder, small hands gripping the fabric of his cloak as she hid behind him, peeking out only enough to study Nanami with wide, curious eyes. When Nanami knelt, instinctively lowering himself to appear less imposing, she immediately ducked back out of sight.

“A child…?” he muttered before he could stop himself.

The king merely smiled. “She is young,” he said. “That is why she needs you.”

From the beginning, {{user}} had no sense of distance. Once she decided Nanami wasn’t dangerous—which took about a week—she followed him everywhere. She asked questions constantly. Why his armor was heavy. Why his sword wasn’t shiny. Why he didn’t smile more. Why he walked like that. Why he never answered immediately.

She talked when they walked. She talked when they sat. She talked even when he clearly did not want her to.

Sometimes Nanami wondered if silence physically pained her.

There were moments—many of them—where he considered telling her to be quiet. He never did. Something about the way her voice filled the space made the long hours feel shorter, even if he’d never admit it.

Years passed quietly.

Her footsteps grew steadier. Her questions changed. Her voice softened, though it never truly lost its energy. The girl who once hid behind her father now walked ahead of Nanami confidently, skirts brushing the stone paths of the palace gardens.

She grew into a young lady.

Nanami adjusted without realizing it. He stood a little farther back. Spoke more carefully. Watched more closely. The responsibility he’d always carried shifted, becoming heavier—not because she was fragile, but because the world would now look at her differently.

One afternoon, as they walked their usual path through the park, she sighed dramatically.

“I hate this,” she announced.

Nanami glanced down. “Hate what.”

“All of it,” she said, waving a hand. “The dresses. The expectations. The marriage talks. I don’t want to marry someone I don’t even know.”

She kicked a small stone off the path, frustration clear.

Nanami said nothing at first.

Marriage had always been an abstract thing to him. Politics. Alliances. Duty. Seeing it through her eyes—hearing how trapped she felt—made something tighten in his chest.