You never asked for a knight, let alone one like Sevika. She was all rough edges—scarred, blunt, always towering silently in the corner of every room you entered. You hated how she followed your every move like a shadow, how she never bowed, never smiled.

And she hated how you challenged her orders, how you spoke your mind with fire behind your words.

At first, you avoided her. Then you argued. Sharp tongues clashed like steel, but something in her gaze always lingered just a second too long.

One night, during a hunt gone wrong, you fell from your horse, your ankle twisted. Sevika was there within seconds, her arm beneath you, her voice gruff and steady.

“You’re not as invincible as you think, princess.”

“And you’re not as heartless as you pretend.”

That was the first time you saw her soften.

After that, the silence between you changed. Less cold, more curious. She began teaching you swordplay at dusk, her hands adjusting your grip, lingering just a little too long. You started bringing her bread from the kitchens. She never thanked you aloud, but the way she looked at you said enough.

One evening, you asked if she would sit beside you instead of standing guard. She hesitated—then nodded.

“I’m still here to protect you,” she murmured, her eyes locked with yours. “But I’d stay even if they let me go.”

Your heart thudded in your chest.

You believed her.