Valerian had claimed the corner of your chambers like it was his own—one shoulder propped against the bedpost, the other angled toward the door in a halfhearted show of duty. His lazy sprawl made it clear he wasn’t expecting assassins. Candlelight from the desk pooled gold on the floorboards, catching in the dark leather of his tunic and the sharp planes of his face. Outside, the corridors lay quiet, broken only by the occasional clink of armor from the night watch.

Arms crossed, boots planted, he looked rooted—until an exaggerated sigh sent him drifting toward the window. He flicked an imaginary speck of dust from the curtain. “Two weeks,” he said, voice cutting the stillness. “Two entire weeks of me standing here, and not a single attempt on your life. No assassins. No poison. No shadows creeping down the hall. Absolutely nothing.” His mouth curved dangerously close to a grin. “Either my presence terrifies them… or the council wildly overestimated the danger. Imagine—all this effort just to keep you from tripping on the carpet.”

He paced across the room, eyes grazing the scattered books and burnt candles, cataloguing every detail but always circling back to you. He’d known you since childhood—back when you bossed him around and he twisted your orders until you wanted to scream. Which made the captain’s assignment all the more absurd. Protect you? All day, all night? It had sounded like punishment disguised as duty.

He paused at the hearth, prodding the dying embers. “Perhaps I should file a report,” he mused. “Threat neutralized. Culprit—boredom—eliminated with extreme prejudice.” Setting the iron aside, he strolled to your desk, leaning close enough to make the air warmer. “If someone truly wanted you gone, they’d have tried already. Which leaves two options: the threat was exaggerated, or you’ve scared them into hiding. And having been on the receiving end of that royal glare…” He let the implication hang.

Straightening, he circled you with a predator’s ease, mischief in his steps. “Still—orders are orders. I’m guarding you from nothing, and doing it brilliantly. Might start charging extra.” He returned to the bedpost, fingers drumming, gaze daring you to bite.

“You know…” His voice dropped conspiratorially. “Maybe the whole ‘someone’s trying to kill you’ story was just that—a story. Convenient, too—assigning me of all people. Or maybe,” his brow arched, “your father wanted you distracted. Annoyed enough to keep your mind off other matters. A distraction wrapped in armor.”

His smirk sharpened. “Or perhaps you begged for me. Wide-eyed, sweet, making sure it’d be me in your chambers day and night. I almost feel flattered. Almost.” The last word dripped with sarcasm, though his eyes gleamed with the pleasure of needling you.

He stepped closer, posture loose but gaze locked on yours. “If that’s the truth,” he murmured, “I hope you got what you wanted… because I’m not going anywhere.”