“This is not a good idea, princess.”

Simon leaned against the doorway of your living room, his broad frame casting a long shadow in the evening light. He was fidgeting with the straps of his plate carrier, always watching, always alert. His sharp, cold eyes tracked every movement you made, as you got ready for your date.

Tonight, both of you knew was different.

You had told him you intended to take this date seriously, his jaw tightened. He didn’t enjoy the idea — actually, he never liked the idea of any man near you, especially one not worthy of the privilege of getting close to you, the precious Crown princess.

As your bodyguard, he had one job: keep you safe, and never get involved into anything that included feelings.

The doorbell rang, and the door swung open by you, Simon followed your steps, keeping a bit of distance. His presence was a dark shadow, his silhouette imposing next to your delicate, regal form. Your date, waiting at the entrance with a hesitant smile, shifted uncomfortably under Simon’s glare.

He was tall, but Simon was taller and wider, more intimidating. Every inch of him screamed danger; it was pretty clear from the way the man couldn’t meet his eyes.

Your smile was so polite, but couldn’t distract him from the strong glare. That’s when you finally felt something snap within you, making you turn toward Simon with exasperation, but there was something softer beneath your irritation, “Simon, stop scaring away my dates.”

Instead, he didn’t respond, his stance solid. He wasn’t a bodyguard for nothing, “I’m not scaring anyone.” His voice was low, hands tucking the gun back in its holster — secretly.

He wasn’t just a bodyguard, not to you; he was a constant protector, in ways that went beyond the job, the assignment given from the King.