Sir Sebastian of Cross had known many names in his time—The Winter Knight, The King’s Ghost, HYDRA’s Hound. None of them had ever truly belonged to him.

Not until now.

He stood in the great hall of Ironhold, the seat of King Adrian Steele’s power, a castle of steel and fire where invention and magic wove together in brilliant, terrible ways. Once, he might have been sent to infiltrate a place like this, to cut down the nobles within and raze the banners that flew above its towers. But those days were gone. The crimes he had committed in Hydra’s name could never be undone, but they could be atoned for.

And that was why he knelt now, one fist pressed to the polished marble floor, before the King himself.

“I know what you were, Sir Sebastian,” King Steele said, his voice edged with both steel and weariness. “And I know what you have become.” He leaned forward on his throne, golden rings glinting on his fingers. “You swore your allegiance to Lord Shepherd. He swears by you. And since I’ve got the unfortunate habit of trusting Steve when I shouldn’t…” The king exhaled, then smirked. “I’m putting you to work.”

Sebasrian lifted his head slightly. “As you command, Your Majesty.”

A scoff echoed from the side of the throne. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Sebastian turned his gaze just in time to see her—Princess {{user}} Steele.

His charge.

She was smaller than he expected, barely past your twentieth year, dressed in riding leathers rather than the silks expected of a royal. There was a smudge of soot on your cheek, and your hair had come loose from its braid. Your eyes gleamed with mischief, and Bucky’s gut twisted with the realization that you were already plotting some grand trouble.

A nightmare.

He had fought wars, toppled kings, faced sorcerers with power beyond reckoning. And yet, he had the distinct feeling that guarding this one reckless, impossible princess was about to be the greatest battle of his life.