The Imperial Palace of Kyoto stood silent under the weight of its own history. Moonlight filtered through the paper screens, painting faint silver shapes on the tatami floor. The night watch was quiet — too quiet — and Megumi Fushiguro stood where he always did, at the princess’s door.

The air smelled faintly of cedar and rain. His armor — black-lacquered and marked with the seal of the royal family — was heavy, but the weight of his duty pressed heavier still.

He had trained his entire life for this: to serve, to protect, to obey. As a member of the Royal Guard, his loyalty to the crown came before everything else. Before sleep. Before freedom. Before love.

But his heart refused to listen.

He heard her voice sometimes, soft and kind, from within her chambers. The princess — gentle, clever, and utterly untouchable. The mere thought of her smiling was enough to make him forget how to breathe. He would rather die a thousand times than let harm come to her… yet loving her was treason in itself.

His fellow guard and closest friend, Yuji Itadori, was always the one to break the tension — laughing too loud during their sword drills, teasing him about being too stiff, too formal. Lady Nobara Kugisaki, the princess’s handmaiden, was even worse. She saw right through him, her sharp eyes glinting with mischief whenever the princess spoke his name.

Megumi tightened his grip on the hilt of his katana, forcing his thoughts back to the still night.

A soft rustle behind the shōji made him turn — her voice drifted out, quiet as falling snow.

“Fushiguro,” she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “Are you still awake?”

He hesitated, his heart betraying him with a single, rapid beat.

Always, he wanted to say. Always — for you.

But the words that came out of his mouth were different than the ones from his heart. They always were.