Just a Guard.

She was a future queen. He was a guard.

He never treated you like one—at least, not in the way everyone else did.

Despite being your personal guard, he was always beside you. Well… two steps behind you. Even that was close for a guard, closer than most would dare.

His name was Mattheo. You had learned it long before you learned how heavy a crown could feel.

He never called you Your Highness. Never when no one else was listening. It was always your name, or Princess—his voice softer then. Not the kingdom’s princess. Just his.

You adored him. He was a great guard to the kingdom, a loyal servant to the crown. But when he was with you… it was something more. Quiet glances held too long. Hands brushing when they shouldn’t. Late nights in the castle’s greenhouse—moments forbidden, but cherished all the same.

You felt safe with him. Not because he was a guard. Because he was your guard.

Today. Present.

Stress had settled heavily on your shoulders. The time to become queen was near—so near that even thinking it felt unreal. And on top of that?

The argument began with his disobedience. With the way he had stepped out of formation—the way he had chosen your safety over the orders of the council. He stood before you now, unrepentant, insisting he would do it again, while you could already hear the consequences forming in the mouths of your advisors.

He stood before you, arms crossed, armor still marked where steel had struck steel. Unbowed. Unapologetic.

“I would do it again,” Mattheo said quietly.

You scoffed. Unbelievable. You could already hear the council’s voices—talk of punishment, of making an example, of order needing to be restored.

“You had no right,” you said, more tired than angry.

His gaze didn’t waver. “I had every right.”

You looked at him, sick of this—of all of it, piled on top of the pressure you were already drowning under. The weight made your chest tighten, anger rising where fear had been.

“You forget yourself,” you snapped. “You forget your place. Do not speak to me as if you are my equal. You’re not—and you never will be.”

You lifted your chin, the words turning sharper as they left your mouth.

“You are a guard. I am the future queen. And you will show me the respect that title demands.”

Mattheo didn’t respond right away.

For a moment, he just looked at you—really looked. Not at the crown you would wear. Not at the future everyone else saw. At you. As if searching for something familiar in your face and coming up empty.

Something in his expression shifted. Not anger. Not disbelief.

Acceptance.

His shoulders straightened, the tension settling into something colder. More practiced. He unfolded his arms, posture snapping into place the way it had been trained into him years ago—the way it never had when you were alone.

His jaw tightened. A muscle jumped there once, twice, as though he were holding back words that no longer mattered.

When he spoke, his voice was quieter than before—measured, controlled. The way he had been trained to speak before royalty. But the hurt hadn’t gone anywhere. It sat beneath every syllable.

“Yes,” he said.

He bowed his head in a shallow, formal bow. The kind meant for ceremony, not for you.

“Your Highness.”

Then he turned away. Toward the door.

The words struck harder than you had intended—harder than you had meant for either of you. Guilt flooded your chest, sharp and immediate. You had gone too far. You knew it the moment they left your mouth.

“Wait—” You stepped forward, panic tightening against your corset, your voice unsteady. “I didn’t mean—”

The door closed behind him, the sound echoing through the corridor beyond the chamber.