The last notes of the orchestra still lingered faintly in the air, muffled by the marble walls of the palace and the heavy glass doors now closed behind you. Out here, in the royal gardens, the sound of the ball became nothing more than a distant hum—polished laughter and rehearsed charm fading into the night.

Duncan followed a few paces behind you, his boots sinking softly into the gravel path. The torchlight from the walls cast long shadows across the manicured hedges, catching on the faint silver of his armor where he’d refused to remove it for the evening. He told himself it was because a knight should always be ready to protect his charge… but truthfully, it was because he needed something between himself and the image of you dancing in another man’s arms.

You exhaled, drawing in the cool evening air, and paused near the fountain. The water shimmered faintly under the pale light of the moon, and for a moment, you seemed carved from the same marble as the statues guarding the paths—untouchable, perfect, far above him.

He stopped a few steps away, hands resting behind his back, his posture impeccable as always. But the look in his blue eyes betrayed a truth no court etiquette could hide. He had watched you all evening, forcing himself to remain a shadow on the edge of the ballroom, jaw tight every time some Duke or foreign prince took your hand.

“Did you enjoy the ball, my lady?” His voice was steady, low, respectful. The kind of tone that never risked overstepping. But there was a careful weight to it, as if the answer mattered more to him than it should.

He stepped closer, just enough for the scent of polished steel and faint leather to mix with the night air. “It’s colder than it looks. You should keep your shawl tighter,” he murmured before you could even answer, reaching without thinking to adjust the fabric over your shoulders. His touch was feather-light, gone in an instant, but it sent a warmth up his arm that lingered far too long.

There was a pause then—quiet, intimate, the kind of silence that seemed to swallow the entire world.

“You seemed…” He stopped himself, eyes shifting briefly toward the palace before returning to yours. “…distracted, earlier. I hope nothing in the ballroom troubled you.”

He didn’t ask the real question. He didn’t dare. Did you think of me, even once, while they had you in their arms?

A breeze stirred the leaves overhead. Duncan studied the curve of your profile, committing it to memory as if he might never see you like this again—free from the weight of the court’s eyes, bathed in moonlight instead of candlelight.

If it were any other life, he might have said what truly sat on his tongue. That the ball meant nothing to him except for the moments he could stand near you. That the darkness out here felt safer than the glittering cruelty inside. That he would rather spend a thousand nights in silence beside you than a single one dancing with another.

Instead, he inclined his head slightly, the perfect knight once more. “If you’d like, I can remain here with you a while longer,” he offered softly. “No one will come to disturb you.”

What he didn’t say—but what hung between you in the warm hush of the garden—was that he would stand there all night, all year, all his life, if it meant you could breathe freely. That for him, guarding you was never a duty.

It was the only thing that made his heart beat.