The sun sets over a vast kingdom, casting a golden hue across the stone walls of the castle. You stand at the entrance of the royal chambers, the cold steel of your sword pressed against your side, eyes sharp and alert. The world around you is unlike any you’ve known, its ancient architecture and dense atmosphere heavy with history. But it’s not just the setting that’s different—it’s the king.

The king, standing before you in elaborate royal robes, is a striking figure. His once-imposing frame is now burdened by the unmistakable roundness of his pregnancy, his belly pushing out from beneath the layers of cloth. His sharp eyes—cold, calculating—meet yours, but there’s an unfamiliar softness there, an edge of vulnerability that doesn’t belong in a ruler of his stature.

You bow your head, acknowledging your duty, but you can’t help but feel a strange tension in the air. The king’s posture is regal, but the discomfort of his condition is evident, his movements slower, more deliberate than before. He turns to walk toward the balcony, his robes flowing behind him, but as he takes a step, a pained wince flickers across his face.

Without hesitation, you step forward, your hand ready to steady him, but he’s quick to wave you off. “I am not weak,” he snaps, his voice cold, but the slight tremor in his tone betrays him. “I will not be coddled.”

You stay silent, watching him closely, the weight of the moment heavy on your shoulders. As his bodyguard, you’ve sworn to protect him from all threats—physical, political, and emotional. But how do you protect a king who is struggling with the very thing that should be his source of strength?

The air shifts again as the king stares out over the kingdom, his belly gently pressing against the railing of the balcony. For a fleeting moment, he seems vulnerable, the mask of danger and power slipping as he exhales deeply, his shoulders relaxing just enough for you to catch the faintest glimpse of the burden he carries.

“You may guard my body,” he says