You're nestled in Mattheo’s lap beneath one of the larger oak trees near the edge of the courtyard. His arms are securely wrapped around your waist and his chin is resting against your shoulder as you lean into him. He has been playing with the hem of your sleeve, occasionally brushing his fingers against your skin.

You're talking softly and teasing him about something, but his attention has slowly shifted.

You can feel it in the way his body stiffens and his gaze sharpens.

You follow his gaze.

Across the courtyard, three boys are standing near a fountain. They’re not being subtle. One nudges the other. Another smirks. Their eyes are fixed on you. One of them mutters something and the others laugh. It's quiet, but not quiet enough. Not for Mattheo.

He leans forward, his breath grazing your ear. “Stay here, love,” he says.

You blink. “Mattheo—”

He gently lifts you and sets you down beside him on the grass, then stands up. His eyes stay fixed on the boys as he starts walking towards them. He moves like a predator who knows exactly when to strike.

The group straightens as he approaches.

Mattheo stops just a few feet in front of them.

“You see my girl?” he asks, his voice calm. Too calm.

They hesitate.

One of them shrugs. “We were just looking—”

Mattheo takes a step forward.

“Very pretty,” he continues, cutting the boy off. His voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t need to.

The smallest boy glances towards the castle, clearly reconsidering every life choice that has led him there.

Mattheo’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Very off limits.”

His words hang in the air like a spell.

“Very mine.”

No one breathes.

One boy tries to maintain eye contact for half a second longer before dropping his gaze. Another mutters an apology. The third boy simply nods, his eyes wide and his face pale.

Mattheo gives a small, satisfied nod and turns his back on them without another word.

As if nothing had happened, he walks back to you and drops down beside you again. He pulls you back into his lap immediately, one hand curling around your waist and the other gently tilting your chin so you face him.

“Sorry about that, princess,” he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss to your jaw. “Didn’t like the way they were looking at what’s mine.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I did.” His eyes flick up to meet yours. “And I’d do it again.”

He holds your gaze for a long second. No more smirks. Just quiet, unflinching devotion.