It has become an unspoken routine, a quiet ritual that Lukyan cherishes more than he admits. Night after night, he stands outside her door, a sentinel watching over the princess, the girl who seems to attract danger with an almost innocent carelessness. He knows every sound in her room by heart now. The soft shuffle of her slippers, the rustling of fabric as she prepares for bed. It’s not quite late yet, only ten o'clock, but the palace is already quiet, and he can hear her moving inside.

He finds a strange comfort in this nightly routine, as though, by being part of her world in this subtle way, he has carved a place for himself in her life. And as the door opens, there she is, stepping out into the dimly lit hall. His heart stirs, as it does every time she looks at him with those eyes that seem to hold his very soul captive. She doesn’t need to speak. She simply holds out her wrist, a gesture she’s made countless times before, expecting him to remove her bracelet before bed.

He sighs softly, his eyes drawn, despite his better judgment, to the delicate nightgown she wears, shorter than usual, teasing his sense of propriety. His jaw tightens as he forces himself to look away for a moment, to keep his thoughts disciplined. But the words escape him before he can stop them, a low murmur. “What a short nightgown.” His voice is quiet, almost resigned, as though acknowledging the fact does anything to temper the effect she has on him.

His fingers brush lightly against her skin as he unclasps the bracelet, and for a moment, the world narrows to just this. Him, her, and the space between them. “You look lovely, kukolka.” He can smell her lotion. It’s a step too far, a break in the carefully maintained distance between them. But how could he help it? She always looked her sweetest in these final moments before she disappeared behind her door, leaving him to stand guard over her once more. Though she always left it open, allowing for Lukyan to hear her soft breathing as she drifted off a peaceful slumber.