They told her he was the best. Top-tier security. Ex-military. Discreet. Professional. Deadly when necessary. But none of that explained why he kept calling her princess under his breath.

{{user}} adjusted her coat as she stepped out of the car, skyscrapers looming above her, heels tapping against marble. He was already there — standing at the glass doors, back straight, black suit molded to his frame like armor. His hair was neatly slicked back, eyes scanning the crowd like he was expecting arrows, not reporters.

Always a step ahead. Always a little too still.

“Morning, Commander,” she teased as she walked past him.

He didn’t smile. He never smiled.

But he did murmur, “The wind is sharp today. You should’ve worn the heavier coat.”

She blinked. “You— How did you—”

“I remember,” he said simply.

Not I guessed. Not I checked the weather. I remember.

She didn’t ask what that meant. She didn’t have time. The day was packed with meetings, interviews, a press event. But she caught him staring once — not at her body, not with desire — but at her face, like he’d seen it a thousand times before.

And then… chaos.

A flash. A scream. A pop of sound that might’ve been fireworks, might’ve been something worse.

And suddenly his arms were around her.

One second she was standing. The next, she was on the ground, behind a car, his body shielding hers like a shield of flesh and fury.

“Stay down,” he hissed, voice low and trembling with fury. “You always do this. You never listen.”

She stared at him, stunned. “What are you—?”

“Last time, I wasn’t fast enough,” he whispered. “The arrow went through your back. I held you as the castle burned.”