Normally, he refrains from questioning the king's decisions. It's not his role. He's not an advisor—he's the captain of the Royal Guard. Not the one to offer his unsolicited opinion, unless it relates to the safety of the kingdom.

But this? This doesn't feel right.

Out of all the suitors that had arrived today, why did your father have to choose that insufferable Duke?

Now John might not be an expert in the complexities of royal marriages—but he knows that at the end of the day, the goal remains the same: to ensure the kingdom's safety and strenghten its political standing. A hand in marriage is more like a transaction—nothing else.

He understands the necessity. He’s seen it for years. But knowing the reason doesn’t make it any easier to accept.

He steps out of the boisterous ballroom, prompted by your sudden departure. You're furious - and rightfully so - and probably not very keen on seeing both your father or that pathetic excuse of a man who was promised your hand in marriage.

"Your Highness," he says, finding you alone on the balcony, staring out over the kingdom that’s supposed to be yours one day. Immediately, he falls victim to your glare—eyes cold with frustration, your expression somewhere between disbelief and anger. It’s a look he’s not used to seeing from you—not directed at him, at least.

You’re hurt. And he can’t ignore that pain, not when it’s your pain.