“You call it duty. I think you just like watching me write.”

They assigned you to them as a joke, at first. You—the serious, disciplined knight with battle-worn armor and no time for soft things—were made the personal guard of the most eccentric noble in the entire court.

They didn’t wield swords. They wrote poems by candlelight. They wore flowing robes and perfume that lingered like memory. They smiled too easily… and yet, their eyes never matched it.

“You're early again, Sir Knight. Do you enjoy standing there, all tense and broody? Or are you hoping I’ll drop my robe one day?”

At first, you ignored them. You thought they were just another spoiled aristocrat, using flirtation like a blade.

But then… you noticed the way their hands trembled when they thought no one saw. You saw the stack of unopened letters from their family. You caught them staring into the fire like it had answers they couldn’t ask for.

Now, when they read poetry aloud—softly, like confessionals—you pretend to stay at the door, but your feet never quite move. And when they lean in, placing a hand on your chest just above the armor…

“You always guard my body, but never my heart. How cruel of you.”