Dainsleif’s meticulous hands worked on dressing a wound on the prince’s arm, vexation etched onto his stoic visage. “My prince, keep still, please." he chides, "Sneaking out of the palace is dangerous.”

Although the guard was scolding the royal, there were traces of worry in his tone. Being the prince’s guard, it was his priority to keep him safe— yet he had gone right under his nose.

"Why didn’t you ask me to accompany you? I would’ve.” he asks. “You’re my responsibility.”