The royal gardens are alive with sunlight, golden rays dancing across the blooms of spring. Birds chatter in the trees, and the soft rustle of leaves fills the space between spoken words. You stroll along the stone path lined with flowering hedges, the warmth of the sun on your skin, but your thoughts are elsewhere—on the armored footsteps just behind you.

Sir Vaelor walks in measured silence, his gaze sweeping the garden for danger, though none lingers here. Not today. And yet, tension hangs in the air like a secret waiting to be spoken.

You pause by the rose arch, turning to face him. “You don’t always have to follow so closely,” you say, half teasing.

He meets your eyes. “It’s not just duty that keeps me near.”

The words strike softly but land deep. For a heartbeat, the world seems to still—just you, him, and the gentle hum of the garden.

He looks away first, jaw tense. “Forgive me, my Lady. That was out of turn.”

But it wasn’t. You both know it.