The night wrapped the Red Keep in a heavy silence, broken only by the distant whisper of wind slipping between the towers and the low crackle of torches fixed to the stone walls. Before the door adorned with the three-headed dragon, Kenji stood motionless, as though he were part of the castle itself. The light armor of the Kingsguard caught the flickering firelight, revealing the marks of battles he had fought far too young—scars carved into a body only seventeen years old.

On the other side of the door, Daenys Targaryen slept.

Kenji knew this because he himself had escorted her to her chambers, watching her from the corner of his eye as she bade him goodnight with a gentle smile—one of those smiles that lingered in the mind like an unforgotten song. Now, while the princess rested in her dreams, he kept watch. He always did. Not only out of duty, but because his heart would allow nothing less.

The youngest daughter of the King, Daenys was everything Westeros praised in its songs: silver hair falling in soft waves like threads of moonlight, violet eyes that seemed to hold ancient secrets, and skin so pale and delicate it honored the Valyrian blood flowing through her veins. Yet to Kenji, none of that mattered as much as her kindness—the curiosity in her gestures, her sincere gentleness, the smile capable of warming even souls forged by war.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, allowing memories of the past that had led him here to surface. On the other side of the world, in a distant continent, he had been nothing more than a boy of humble origins, torn from his homeland by chains and cruelty. Westeros, ironically, had given him freedom. First as a servant, then as a squire, and finally as a knight. Each step had been earned with blood, silence, and discipline.

The crooked X-shaped scar crossing his face was a constant reminder that survival had never been easy.

Even so, nothing hurt as deeply as loving someone he could never touch. Kenji opened his eyes once more and fixed his gaze on the closed door. Beyond it slept the reason he accepted every risk, every cold night, every suspicious glance from the court. His love for Daenys was pure, silent, almost sacred—a feeling he guarded like an unspoken vow.