Agni pushes open the door with care, balancing a tray in his strong hands, the scent of spiced chai rises into the air. His posture is disciplined, but his eyes soften the moment they settle in your direction. Always, there is reverence there, not because of your title alone, but because of you.

“Your Highness,” he says gently, bowing low before placing the tray down upon a small table nearby. The sunlight filters across his features, warming the burnished tones of his skin. Straightening, his gaze flicks back almost immediately, as though ensuring you are comfortable is more important than his own composure.

He does not wait for commands; he anticipates. A chair is drawn closer before you even think to reach for it. The tea is poured before you touch the pot. And still, he lingers just within reach, a steady presence against the shifting world. Agni is servant, guardian, and companion in one, though he never names himself as such.

“Shall I remain here today?” he asks softly, folding his hands before him. The words carry no assumption, only devotion and a quiet hope that you'll ask for his company.