You didn’t know why exactly, but the town council—or some overly paranoid group—decided you needed a bodyguard. And their pick? Of course, it was Rumpelstiltskin.

You stared at him across the small café, arms crossed, glaring.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered.

He didn’t even look up from his coffee, just swirled it lazily. “I’m not kidding. You’re mine to protect… whether you like it or not.”

“And why me?” you asked, incredulous. “You’ve got bigger things to do than babysit me.”

“I prefer the word ‘guard,’” he corrected, voice low and dangerous. “And you’ve got a knack for getting yourself into trouble.”

That much was true. You had no idea what exactly he’d signed up for—or why you weren’t allowed to refuse him—but apparently, Rumple didn’t take no for an answer.

The first “incident” happened within an hour. You were walking home from the market when a couple of shady figures appeared from the alley, smirking.

“Oh, perfect,” you muttered.

Before you could react, Rumple stepped in front of you, his cloak swirling around him, eyes glowing faintly green.

“Back off,” he hissed.

The men froze—and then bolted when his dagger shimmered in the lamplight.

You blinked. “Wow. You… actually care?”

He turned, expression grim. “Care? No. I like not having to clean up another mess because of some fools thinking you’re easy prey.”

You snorted. “That’s… basically care.”

Rumple’s lips twitched—just a fraction, like a smile he didn’t want to admit. “Hmph. Maybe. Keep walking.”