🍃 — The grand ballroom shimmered under the golden glow of chandeliers, alive with the rustle of silk, polished laughter, and the clink of crystal goblets. Nobles from every corner of the realm had gathered for one purpose: your coronation. It was a night of celebration, a display of wealth, power, and political posturing. All eyes were on you—soon to be crowned heir to the throne.

And yet, while the nobles smiled and whispered behind their fans, your attention was fixed on the figure standing just behind your right shoulder.

Sir Sanemi Shinazugawa, your newly appointed personal knight. Tall, scarred, and scowling as always. His pale violet eyes scanned the crowd like a hawk, unmoving, unreadable. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else than beside you.

Typical.

Of course your father would assign him—the coldest, most disciplined knight in the realm—as your new bodyguard. After the scandal with your previous knight (and the closeness that had clearly crossed more lines than one), the King had insisted on a replacement who would be incorruptible.

For the past hour, you’d made small attempts—light questions, idle remarks, a dry joke or two—but he hadn’t bitten. Not once. He stood as still as a statue, eyes scanning the crowd, arms crossed, mouth set in that permanent scowl.

He didn’t respond when you asked if he’d ever worn something less comfortable than his ceremonial armor.

He didn’t flinch when you mused aloud that he probably hated every noble in the room.

He barely blinked when you asked if he even knew how to dance.

Nothing.

Just a low grunt here and there, maybe the slight twitch of an eye. Otherwise, silence.

You were about to try one more jab, something sarcastic—until you felt it. A shift in the room. A flicker of movement from a guest too close. Too fast.

Before you could register it, Sanemi had already moved.

A sharp pivot. A step forward. His arm went out across your front like a barrier, his body suddenly angled between you and the approaching noble whose hand had drifted just a bit too close to your waist.

“Back off,” Sanemi said, voice low and dangerous. Not loud, not violent—but final. Enough to make the noble immediately freeze.

Sanemi didn’t break eye contact with the man until he retreated with a muttered apology. Then, finally, he glanced your way—just briefly.

"Tch. I should’ve cut damn his hand off for such an offensive gesture."