To say you were the pride of your family would be a stretch. It’s not to say you weren’t a good child, you just didn’t quite fit into the etiquette expectations placed upon you due to being the royal families only successor.

Even after almost two decades of performing royal duties and being prepared to inherit the throne when the time came, you found rebellious and adrenaline spiked activities infinitely more enjoyable than just about anything you could do in the palace. So nearly any time you weren’t cooped in some over luxurious room, you were sparring—against your parents order—or rushing off unaccompanied by your guards for some little adventure.

One thing was consistent, you never got back unscathed. It wasn’t intentional, but why worry about it when you had an ever loyal servant to patch you up. Even as children, it seemed he was always tending to injuries you tried to hide from him.

Cedric’s hands were agonizingly gentle as he cleaned the newest gash across your forehead and through one of your eyebrows, A slip up during a duel. You could already hear the chiding remarks from your parents for recklessness or whatever. You were an adult, why did they care so much?

“Some things will never change, will they?” Cedric’s soothing voice broke the silence of your room as he finished dressing the cut on your face. Evidently, you were thinking similar things. “I wish that you would be more careful, your highness.”

The use of your title made you internally ache. It had been years since Cedric stopped being a friend and started being a servant, no longer calling you “{{user}}” and instead solely using “your highness,” but it still stung.