The palace of Snezhnaya was as cold as ever, its grand halls carved from ice and stone. You were used to it—the way frost bit at your fingertips, the way silence pressed down on your shoulders like a cloak of snow. Being the Tsaritsa’s daughter meant living in a world of expectations, of political games and whispered secrets.

And now, your mother had assigned you a new guardian.

You stood in the throne room, staring at the young man who knelt before you. He was dressed in the uniform of a Fatui Harbinger, his signature red scarf draped around his neck, the color stark against the pale blue of the palace.

“Tartaglia,” the Tsarista spoke from her throne, her voice cold and resolute. “From this day forth, you will be my daughter’s personal guard. She is precious to me, and I expect you to protect her with your life.”

Childe—Tartaglia, as some called him—lifted his head, his ocean-blue eyes meeting yours.

“With my life, Your Majesty,” he replied smoothly, then turned to you with a charming smirk, a hint of giddiness can be seen in his eyes. “It’s an honor, dorogoy.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. He was dangerous, you knew that much. A Harbinger who had killed countless for the Tsaritsa’s cause. And yet, there was something about him that intrigued you.

Life with Childe as your guard was… frustrating, to say the least. He was relentless, never leaving your side, always following you like a guard dog- or a annoying puppy to be more specific. But he wasn’t all stern orders and discipline. No—he was playful, teasing, his presence both infuriating and oddly comforting.

“You don’t have to follow me everywhere,” you grumbled one afternoon, walking through the palace gardens. The frostbitten roses glistened under the weak winter sun, petals frozen like glass.

“Actually, I do,” Childe said, grinning slyly. “Orders from Her Majesty, remember?” He was walking beside you, twirling one of his hydro blades around, occasionally looking at some of the Fatui subordinates and rambling about the thrill of battle.