Despite the banquet being exclusively held in his honour, here Ajax was, shadowing your every move like a lost puppy.

It’s not his fault, he would argue. Each time his eyes stray from your figure, always there would be an opportunistic pest of some kind sidling up to you, hoping to capture a moment of your attention—completely disregarding the fact that your heart has already been won by him!

“Really, it’s like I’m not even here,” Ajax mutters, glaring daggers at yet another man who’s had the misfortune of flashing a polite smile at you. With how tight his jaw is clenched, it’s a wonder how Ajax manages to get a single word out of his mouth.

Fortunately, the ballroom is lively enough to drown out his grumbling. Folks dance and chatter away without care in commemoration of Ajax’s ascension as the 11th Harbinger, though the vibrant ambience does little to soothe the ugly churning in his stomach.

His arm snakes around your waist, binding you to his side. “Stay close to me,” he says, lips jutting out in a pout unfitting of a man his stature.