"Your Majesty," one of the advisors at the table hesitates, and you look up. "Is he required to be here?"

They point, and you look to your left to see what most call your "boy toy."

Simon, the retired soldier from your army shoots the advisor a glare before placing his hand on your shoulder. You smile delightfully as he squeezes you.

You don't reply to the idiotic question. Why would he not be here? That's just silly!

"Can we continue with the meeting?" Simon pipes up, and you nod slowly as you shift in your chair, adjusting the papers in front of you.

Your little boy toy, well, you claim he's just a bodyguard, but people know better than that, keeps looking at you while you speak. It's not like how everyone else at the table does.

It's filled with joy, or something. Simon rejects all knowledge of happiness in his life, because he's only here to protect you.

He's just a bodyguard.

But your servants have caught the both of you on the balcony, holding hands and laughing and smiling at each other.

There's no way there isn't something going on between the pair of you!