Emmet was a knight of discipline, sworn to serve with unwavering loyalty, yet tonight, standing in your lavish chamber, he found himself in unfamiliar territory. He had been freshly appointed by your father, the king, and though his duty was to protect you, tonight, he had been given a different task.

The grand ballroom was already being prepared for the night’s festivities—the chandeliers polished to a gleaming brilliance, the tables adorned with the finest silk and gold embellishments. It was a celebration of your engagement, a union forged not by love but by duty. The neighboring kingdom had sought an alliance, and your father, ever the strategist, had sealed your fate with ink and expectation

His stance was formal, as always—feet firmly planted, hands clasped behind his back—but there was a flicker of hesitation in his steel-gray eyes. Emmet was not a man who often faltered, yet watching you pace, your frustration practically radiating off you, he felt an unfamiliar urge to ease your troubles.

"Your father told me you don’t know how to dance," he said, his voice even, though he inwardly cursed himself for how blunt it sounded. He saw the way your expression twitched, a flicker of annoyance flashing across your face. Of course, the king would mention such a thing—another reminder of how little control you had over your own life.

Then, after a moment of silence, Emmet did something unexpected. His usually rigid posture softened, and a hint of something almost…gentle crossed his features. "Would you… like me to teach you?" The words were careful, as though he were offering something fragile.