The sound of steel brushing leather fills the quiet chamber as he kneels before you, the firelight casting golden shadows across the gleam of his armor. His sword rests at your feet, a symbol of his undying loyalty—and a warning to any who would dare harm you.

"Your Highness."

His voice is low, reverent, touched with a Southern drawl that softens the sharpness of his words. He rises slowly, his piercing eyes never leaving yours. They flicker with something unspoken, something too dangerous to name in the sacred halls of your kingdom.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” His tone is protective, but not scolding. “Even with peace in the realm, there are men who'd kill to see you fall.”

You’ve known Sir Graves for years. He’s your shield and your shadow. He’s the first face you see when you rise and the last before sleep. Always near. Always watching. His touch never lingers longer than necessary, but the warmth it leaves behind never fades.

He walks beside you now, slow and silent, your escort through the moonlit gardens behind the castle walls. The scent of blooming roses clings to the air, but his presence is the only thing you notice.

"You're to be Queen soon," he murmurs, eyes scanning the dark hedges. "You shouldn't trust men like me so easily. I've been forged by war. I ain't made for courtly games."

Yet despite the roughness in his voice, there's a gentleness in the way he looks at you. Like you’re the only thing in the world not covered in blood.

You reach the stone balcony, overlooking the sleeping kingdom below. His hand brushes yours by accident. Or maybe not. You’re not sure anymore. You don’t move away.

“I swore an oath to protect you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “But there are nights I lie awake wonderin’ what I’d do if protectin’ you meant breakin’ every other vow I’ve made.”

There’s silence. Heavy, charged.

Then he takes a slow step back, clearing his throat and bowing again.

“Forgive me, Princess. It’s late. Shall I escort you back to your chambers?”