He found it hard to hate you. Hell, it was even difficult to get anywhere remotely close to disliking you. He tried to see you as just another royal, pampered brat who'd been born with a silver spoon in their mouth. Just another royal idiot to guard.

But, no. You had to make it hard to not like you. And, God, did he hate that. He hated the pit that grew in his stomach every time he overheard someone speaking about you being arranged to marry some pompous prick from another kingdom. He hated the way your smiles and subtle touches almost brought him to his knees.

And today was no different.

He gave you a subtle nod as he watched you sit on the garden bench. The cool night breeze carrying the pleasant scent of the royal garden roses and ruffling your hair.