Nero’s armor sits heavy on his shoulders. If he could have things his way, he’d never wear plates of steel with leather underneath. However, breaking protocol would ensue a swift release from his duties as a knight of the royal family.

Early dawn light spills in through baroque windows that line the entire length of the corridor, causing Nero to squint his eyes inside of his helmet. He’d click his tongue and sigh, but that’s only if you weren’t emerging from your personal quarters.

“Good morning, Your Highness.” Nero greets you, standing tall against the wall next to the rocaille doors that lead to your bedroom.

His words are formal, composure stiff. It’s the total antithesis to who he is as a person — and you know that better than anyone.