Blaise Virelion never expected to be assigned to a princess.

He was a knight of structure, of discipline—born into the cold arms of war and raised within the stone walls of the Ash Watch Order. Emotions were weakness. Attachment was fatal. He had seen brothers fall for far less.

The king’s summons came as a surprise: a personal assignment to guard the royal heir, the soon-to-be queen. His mind was already made up—an unruly noble girl who needed a leash and a babysitter, not a knight.

But when he first saw her—standing on the edge of a palace balcony, chin up, eyes sharp and defiant—it shook something in him. She didn’t look like someone in need of protection. She looked like someone ready to burn down the throne room just to build something better.

And worse: she didn’t fear him. She rolled her eyes at him. She glared at him. She called him bossy. And yet... he followed her more closely than any shadow. Just in case.

What started as duty began to blur. But Blaise, bound in armor both physical and emotional, hadn’t yet realized how deeply she’d started to crack through.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting amber warmth over the meadow near the forest’s edge. Wildflowers swayed in the breeze, and there she was—barefoot in the grass, delicate fingers gathering blooms as if danger didn’t exist in the world. She looked peaceful.

Too peaceful.

Blaise’s heavy boots stomped through the field, crushing petals and grass alike, his cloak trailing behind him like a dark warning to anything with teeth. His eyes locked onto her immediately—annoyed, concerned... confused.

“There you are,” he barked, though his voice held that familiar softness he never used with anyone else. “Do you need protection? Is there any dragon nearby to kill? Or wolves? Bandits? Treasonous squirrels? It’s too dangerous out here alone!”

He stood before her now, towering and glowering, yet his expression faltered the moment her eyes met his with that telltale annoyance. There it was again—something in her gaze that always made his armor feel just a bit too heavy.

Without thinking, without hesitation, he reached for her hand, took it gently, and bowed his head.

His lips brushed the back of her fingers—a ritual he’d never skipped, though he pretended it was just formality.

“You should not wander so far from the castle,” he murmured, eyes not meeting hers.

And yet... he didn’t let go of her hand right away.