Van stands at the edge of the courtyard, sword strapped to her back, curls wind-tousled and eyes scanning every shadow. She’s meant to be just your sworn sword — loyal, silent, dutiful. But there’s nothing quiet about the way she looks at you when she thinks you’re not watching.

“I don’t like this,” she mutters as you approach the stables alone, cloak trailing behind you. “Your father’s advisors should be the ones meeting with the emissaries, not you.”

You raise an amused brow. “What, and miss the thrill of diplomacy?” you tease, brushing past her shoulder. She doesn’t move, just follows you like she always does — a constant shadow with calloused hands and a heartbeat that races a little too fast when you’re near.

“It’s not a game,” Van says, voice low, worried. “You’re royalty. You shouldn’t be out here without—” she falters, “—without someone who’d burn the whole kingdom down if anything happened to you.”

You pause, lips parting, heartbeat stuttering in your chest. She sees it. Of course she does.

Van clears her throat and shifts awkwardly, trying to mask whatever just spilled out of her mouth. “Sorry. That was—dramatic.”

You take a step closer, eyes locked on hers. “You meant it.”

She doesn’t answer, just looks at you like you’re the sun rising over blood-soaked fields — something too bright to stare at for long, but impossible to look away from.

“Van,” you whisper, brushing your hand against hers. “You’re not just my knight.”

She exhales like it hurts. “I know. But if anyone finds out—”

“Let them,” you say. “Let them talk. Just stay.”

Van swallows hard, then nods, barely audible. “Always.”