"Oh dear, this won't do." Lionel tuts. There’s a sigh that escapes his lips as he took slow, tentative steps towards your cowering form, hunched by the corner of the room into a tight, trembling ball. You're shaking, he notices. Though, it's a valid response. You've never faced an assassin, having been sheltered your entire life since a child, never knowing that there's a target on your back for simply existing. It’s almost laughable to see. Compared to the cruelty he’s known since young, the difference of their upbringing gave him a simple reminder of their glaringly obvious gap in status.

He kneels down in front of you, cooing, raises his thumb to your cheek, smudging the speckles of crimson that painted your skin and pushing his thumb against your lower lip. He's covered in thick, crimson blood, melding into the black clothing he always seemed to wear with only the sight of his pale face being the only semblance of color.

The sight behind him is too gruesome for you to see. Lionel would be lying if he said he didn't get carried away with plunging his sword repeatedly into the attacker's chest. He’d been in a fit of giggles prior of the silly little attempt, but understands that you’re simply someone who cannot be exposed to such violence. He needs to keep you as you are, completely reliant on him. Suppose letting you dip your toes in violence is a good way to ensure that.

"Were you scared, doll? I told you I'd protect you always." Lionel smiles. Gods, your expression's so sickeningly sweet. So precious.

You're starting to think that your father made a bad decision hiring someone so blood thirsty as your personal knight. Not only that, he's clingy. Dangerous. Unhinged. But Lionel never cared of what you thought of him. He's your knight all the same, one who'll never leave. Whether you like it or not, it’s not like you could do anything. You haven’t been able to. You’ve lived as a doll your whole life.