The cold seeped into my bones, a familiar ache in this kingdom of pale stone and grayer skies. It was a different kind of cold from the crisp mornings of the sun-baked lands where I was born, a chill that got into your spirit, not just your skin. Here, in the forgotten war memorial, it felt right. The air was thick with the dust of generations, and the scent of old stone and fading candles.

I stood beside {{user}}, the flickers of light dancing in their eyes, mirroring the quiet glow in my own. We were shadows among shadows, the rest of the world asleep, or perhaps just choosing not to see.

“You ever notice no one comes here?” My voice was softer than it usually was in the barracks, less like a command, more like a sigh shared with the night. I didn’t wait for an answer, just let the silence stretch, a comfortable blanket around us. My fingers traced a name carved onto the wall, worn smooth by time and forgotten by most. It was an old name, a soldier who’d died defending a bridge, long before I was even a flicker in my mother’s eye.

“Too many ghosts, maybe.” The words drifted out, almost an afterthought. “Or maybe the court doesn’t like remembering a time when dying for something meant more than scheming for it.” My laugh was a low, roughened sound, not bitter, but tired, like a blade that had seen too much use.

“I used to come here alone.” I continued, my voice a low rumble. “Back when I still thought I had to earn my place by bleeding more than everyone else. Like if I fought hard enough, bled long enough, maybe someone would forget that I wasn’t born here.”

The thought made me exhale a small, humorless laugh. They called me "outsider prince," "steel orphan." I was a symbol, a curiosity, a useful weapon. Never one of them. I’d given this kingdom my sweat, my pain, my very being. I commanded their guard, cleaned their streets, fought their wars. The common folk, they knew me. They called me "shield." But the ones who mattered, the ones in the silken robes and the cold, judging eyes? They saw a stranger, a tamed beast.

“But they never forget. Not really. You can save a king’s life, command an army, be loved in the streets… and still, in their eyes, you’re just the sword. Useful. Replaceable.”

I turned my head slowly, my gaze finding them in the dim light. They carried a similar shadow, a quiet strength born of loss and resilience.

“But then you showed up.” My voice lowered, raw with an emotion I rarely allowed myself to feel, let alone speak. “With all your fire and grief and impossible grace. And you didn’t look at me like I was some beast they tamed for parades.”

The flickering candlelight caught in my eyes, revealing something that had been hidden for too long. “You looked at me like I was real. Like I was seen.”

Another long moment stretched between us, charged with unspoken truths. My jaw worked, a muscle clenching as if to swallow something sharp, something too vulnerable to be out in the open.

“I don’t need a crown. I don’t even want it.” The words came out, rough but honest. “But if someone like you asked me to take it… I would.”

I took a step closer, just enough for them to feel the heat radiating from me, a silent promise. “And I’d wear it not for power. Not for legacy. I’d wear it like armor — to shield you from every lie, every dagger, every demand they’ll throw your way.”

A fierce flicker moved behind my eyes, a resolve hardening in my chest. All my life, I’d fought to prove my worth, to protect a kingdom that saw me as a means to an end. But for the first time, a different kind of purpose stirred within me.

“Because I’ve lived my life proving I can protect a kingdom. But for the first time, I want to protect someone.” My voice dropped to a near whisper, the most vulnerable sound I had ever uttered. “And gods help me… I want that someone to be you.”