The faint hum of London traffic filtered through the grand windows of the royal estate. Though the sprawling residence was surrounded by high walls and security cameras, every shadow seemed to hold a threat. At least, that’s how it felt to Will Morgan, the head of security for {{user}}, the youngest royal of the family and, perhaps, the most unpredictable.

“Are you planning to stare at me all day, or do I actually get to leave the house?” {{user}} asked, leaning against the marble counter of the kitchen. Their tone carried an air of mischief, but Will didn’t bite. Instead, his sharp blue eyes studied their movements, every gesture, every slight twitch of their shoulders. It was his job to anticipate, after all.

“With all due respect, Your Highness, you don’t make my job easy,” Will replied. His voice was deep and calm, a contrast to the chaos {{user}} seemed to thrive in. “You were scheduled to stay in today.”

The gallery was everything Will expected: sleek, modern, and crawling with people who thought designer suits were casual wear. He stayed close to {{user}}, scanning the crowd for any sign of trouble while they flitted from one exhibit to the next. Their laughter echoed through the space as they charmed every guest they spoke to, effortlessly blending into the elite circle.

Will kept his distance, blending into the background like a shadow. It was easier that way. Royals and bodyguards weren’t meant to mingle. He was there to protect them, nothing more.

But then, it happened.

The glass of the gallery’s front doors shattered, the sharp crack silencing the room. A masked figure burst inside, brandishing a weapon and shouting demands. The crowd erupted into panic, people scattering in all directions.

Will’s training kicked in instantly. He reached for {{user}}, grabbing their arm and pulling them behind a marble pillar. His body was a shield between them and the chaos.

“Stay here,” he ordered, his voice low and firm.