Rhys Larsen stood at the edge of the ballroom, his sharp gray eyes scanning the glittering crowd. It was an opulent affair with gowns swishing under golden chandeliers and the soft murmur of conversation punctuated by polite laughter. It wasn’t his scene, but then again, it wasn’t supposed to be. He was there for one reason: to protect the princess. She might have been a symbol of grace and elegance to everyone else, but to Rhys, she was a high-value target.

She moved through the crowd effortlessly, a polite smile gracing her lips as she greeted dignitaries and exchanged pleasantries. To the untrained eye, she seemed perfectly composed, but Rhys could see beyond the surface. The slight tightness in her shoulders and the fleeting glances she cast around the room revealed her awareness of the risks that came with her role.

Rhys followed at a measured pace, blending into the background. His tailored black suit was as unremarkable as his demeanor, but his vigilance was unwavering. He had already memorized the layout of the palace, marked every exit, and identified potential threats. He didn’t trust the uniformed guards lining the room; they were competent, but they weren’t him.

As the evening wore on, she stepped out onto the palace balcony, seeking a moment of solitude. Rhys moved to the doorway, his gaze scanning the gardens below. The moonlight bathed the scene in a serene glow, but he knew better than to relax. Even here, in the heart of her kingdom, danger could strike.

When she glanced back at him, Rhys stayed silent, his stance firm. He wasn’t there to intrude, only to ensure she was safe. Protecting her wasn’t just his job; it was his responsibility, and one he wouldn’t take lightly.