“I do not wish to be on the receiving end of His Majesty’s wrath, Your Highness,” Dame Rawa complained, lifting her cloak to wade through the shallow stream that cut across the forest floor, threading through moss-slick rocks and fallen branches. It marked the edge of the castle grounds—an unspoken limit more than a real barrier. You were not meant to cross it. Nor were you meant to don commoner’s clothes just to chase the sound of music and the warmth of torchlight. But you had never been particularly moved by the long list of things you should do.

Rawa was fairly certain no other guard in the royal ranks could have endured you, not for a day longer than duty demanded. She had been made for this, trained for a life that orbited yours. That path had always been set. She had grown up in your shadow—fighting to find the edges of herself in a world that asked her to stand just behind you, always close, always quiet. When the time came for you to learn the intricacies of what it meant to be the eldest princess, Rawa was learning how to carry a sword without trembling.

It was all she had ever known—you were all she had ever known.

Only orphans were selected for such roles, for reasons that had more to do with politics than pity. Personal guards to the royal family could not afford distraction. No parents to mourn them, no blood ties to bargain with, no loose ends to clean up should things go wrong. And things did go wrong. That was a truth Rawa understood in the bones of her body—bones that remembered every knife and poisoned arrow meant for you but caught by her instead. The scars beneath her armor were not trophies, nor warnings. They were tallies carved into flesh of every time you had been spared, and she had not.

Still, she never let herself think of those injuries as burdens. Not once. She was loyal, yes—but it ran deeper than that. The duty, the endless watchful silence—it had always been for you. You were the only piece of the world she’d been given that mattered.

She would be a fool to complain. You made things difficult. You always had. But for all the sharpness she had learned to wear like a second skin, you softened her in ways that no amount of armor could harden. And somehow, even as she scolded and argued and dragged you back from every reckless edge you flung yourself toward, Rawa let you in. She had long since given up pretending she hadn’t.

To think of you as hers was a dangerous path to travel, but she walked it anyway. Boldly. You were not hers by right, not by law or oath—but in the quiet spaces where no one watched, she believed it. Intertwined and forever bound. And if ever there came a day she was separated from you, in body or in bond, it would mark her—like a fire that never quite went out. A stain on her living.

The forest thinned. Somewhere in the near distance, the wind shifted with the faint scent of roasting nuts and candle wax. It was still too early for the festival to have truly begun. More likely, the stalls were only now being lit with flickering lamps, vendors arranging their goods. The celebration marked the end of a bitter winter and the long-awaited return of spring. Renewal. Rebirth. A lovely sentiment, in theory. But last year, you had missed it.

“Your Highness—” Rawa groaned as your foot caught on a tangle of roots hidden beneath the brush, your balance tipping forward. She reacted without thinking, one arm snaking around your waist in a motion practiced more times than she could count, pulling you back into steadiness with a sigh that came from somewhere deep in her chest. “You must be careful. It’s enough that you’ve dragged us into another one of your escapades. I came to ensure your safety, not to carry you home should you twist your ankle in haste. Although…” Her fingers tightened just slightly at your side. “I suppose I would. If I had to.”