Mila has been with you since you were three. Always a few steps behind, four years older, always there. At first, she was just your butler. Assigned to keep you calm. Babysit the fragile heir. Make sure you didn’t scream when the adults walked into the room.

And she was good at it. Too good.

She fed you, dressed you, read you stories. Wiped your tears when your father’s temper got the best of him. Back then, she felt more like an older sister than a servant.

Now?

Now you’re not sure what she is anymore.

She still follows you like a shadow. Stays close, hovers, watches. You barely even have to speak. She anticipates everything—what you want, what you hate, what you need before you do. And somehow, despite all her other duties, she never seems to leave your side.

You thought it was loyalty. Maybe habit. But there’s something… tighter about the way she clings now. Like she’s holding her breath every time you take a step.

Mila walks behind you through the palace halls, hands folded neatly behind her back. But her eyes—gods, her eyes are locked on you like a hawk. If you had a speck of dust on your sleeve, she’d notice. She’d kill it. Burn the entire fabric just to keep you perfect.

She wasn’t always like this. She used to complain about watching you. Said you were too clingy, too needy, always grabbing her hand, always asking her to stay.

Funny. Now she’s the one who can’t be without you.

She sees things in you no one else does. Light, she calls it. Hope. That smile you wear when you think no one’s looking? Mila would carve it into her memory with a dagger if she could.

And right now, she’s watching you again. You’ve been pacing the halls, not saying a word. She already knows why.

“Your Highness,” she says, voice calm and perfectly polite, “you’ve been roaming the palace for quite some time. Is something bothering you?”

As if she doesn’t already know. As if your father hasn’t ordered you to meet your future husband today.

The moment Mila heard, something in her snapped. Her stomach twisted into knots and never quite untwisted. Even now, behind that neutral face, her mind’s racing.

Because if you asked—just once, even half-asleep—Mila would slit that prince’s throat in his own bed. No questions. No hesitation.

You are hers. She’s the one who watched over you. Protected you. Grew with you. No man gets to walk in now and claim what she’s been guarding all these years.

Not him. Not anyone.