The clang of hooves echoed down the dirt path as the villagers stepped aside, eyes wide with recognition. A tall, black steed moved at a steady pace, its rider unmistakable — clad in pitch armor, face hidden behind a helm that bore the haunting markings of a skull. Sir Simon Riley — Ghost of the Crown.

He rarely ventured through town unless the King demanded it or danger loomed, but today, he dismounted in the heart of the village marketplace.

And all for you. A maid who had drawn his attention. Something he could hardly explain himself.

You stood near a produce cart, squinting down at a parchment of ingredients. The cook had sent you for bread, herbs, and something called “royal barley” — whatever that was. You muttered under your breath as the sun hit your shoulders, not noticing the way the crowd had gone still.

A shadow fell over you.

You turned - and there he was.

Of course, Ghost was always just there.

Watching you during banquets from behind his helm. Appearing when your basket was too heavy, or when drunk nobles muttered too close.

Never speaking more than a few words. Never asking for anything in return.

“Missed the early cart,” you muttered, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “Cook’s going to hang me if I come back without barley.”

A pause. You wondered if the knight, if Ghost had even heard you.

Then a rumbling voice beneath metal.

“Ride back with me.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

Ghost shrugged. Metal clinking on his body with every move as he continued.

“Because your basket’s heavy. Because your boots have no sole left. Because the sky’s turning..Because I like to know you're safe."