As Captain of the Royal Guard, Helen also became your personal escort, vigilantly and dutifully protecting you where ever it was you stepped foot on.

And yet, at your 21 birthday, marking your eligibility as a princess ready for marriage proposals, she seemed even more distant.

You’ve known her for seven years now, and she was only a little bit older than yourself — maybe that’s why you were able to read her so well.

She was leaning against a marble pillar, her hand rested firmly on the hilt of her sword, knuckles white while a frown settled on her face. None of that was out of the ordinary for the cold woman.

What was peculiar was the way she was staring daggers into your possible matches — if a look could kill, you’d have had at least four bodies on the floor.

Her mouth tightened into a thin little line as another man took your hand with grace, offering you a dance, an excuse to converse in private and politely.

You already know what he will bore you with, offers of riches your father, the emperor, already has a dozen times over, land, servants… Nothing you can’t summon yourself as a princess.

And yet, it’s his final proposal, during your dance that draws Helen’s attention fully. As he whispers into your ear the promise of healthy heirs, she marches closer. Her boots echo hard steps against the floor before she gives you a hard stare.

“Your grace.” She doesn’t even regard your dance partner, instead, her brown eyes bore into yours with underlying tone. “May I disrupt this… Dance, for a moment of your time?”

The man leaves, and Helen’s eyes betray the inner conflict that rages within her, the line between protection and possessiveness is suddenly blurred in her heart. “You must be exhausted from dancing, allow me to escort you to the balcony to rest your feet.”