You weren’t supposed to be there and you knew that. The old, run-down tavern that sat half way across the city, far away from the castle.

The place was loud and rambunctious, it reeked of smoke and spilled ale. The floorboards stuck to the bottom of your boots with every step and there were too many people sardined into the tiny room.

This wasn’t a place for royalty, definitely not the heir of the throne. But that was the point, right?

You were tired of the castle. You were tired of courtiers and suitors, tired of their grimy dealings and hollow conversations that went through one ear and out the other. And God, you were tired of everyone pretending they wanted you, when they really just wanted the title that came with marrying you.

So, you made a plan to slip away for the night. No escort. No titles. You just wore less flashy clothes and pulled a cloak over yourself, hiding your face well enough — enjoying the thrill of being no one for the night.

At first, it was fun. You had a few drinks, not allowed normally. Played a game of cards and bet coin, also not allowed. You were able to pretend to be someone else and you were loving it… until a random man started showing too much interest in you.

The man had a smile that didn’t reach his beady little eyes. The greasy hair that sat on top of his head, messy and sticking out every which way. He talked too close, breath heavy with wine; the smell fanned your face.

You tried to keep things friendly, polite, but he didn’t take the hint. He pressed a hand to your back and leaned in — whispering something into your ear.

“Come on, sweetheart. No need to play shy. An attractive thing like you?”

You moved to step away, his hand staying against your back; you were about to yell at him but he was yanked backwards.

You turned just in time to see the man shoved against a table — glasses spilling liquid amber over the wood, soaking into the grain. Patrons scooted back, their chairs scraping roughly against the wood, curses flying as they did so.

And standing between you and the man from earlier, was Simon.

Not in his armor. No sword. No usual head piece. No flashy robes. Just a dark cloak and a look in his eye that made the man under his grasp cower.

“Get your hands off of my wife,” Simon said flatly, lying for the purpose of letting others know you were accounted for. His voice didn’t raise, it didn’t need too; he was able to strike fear into people without doing so — and you’ve witnessed it many times before. “And you’ve had enough.”

Then it registered— wife? Did he just call you his wife? You were not his wife. You were not his. He was just your knight.

The man looked ready to open his mouth but Simon leaned in close and whispered something you couldn’t hear and whatever it was, made the man pale to white; stumbling off without another word.

Simon turned back to you, you opened your mouth to explain and lie your way out of this but he didn’t let you.

“Are you out of your mind?” He growled under his breath, hand clasping around your forearm and dragging you to the door. “Out here? Blocks and blocks away? Alone? D’you know what could’ve happened if I hadn’t followed you here?”

He hesitated, jaw tight, finally pushing out the door into the cool crisp night air which cooled the heat of embarrassment rising to your face.

“You’re unbelievable sometimes,” he scowled, heeling his hand tight on your forearm as he lead you through the shady streets of the outer city.