Standing still outside the doors to the throne room, Sir Jonathan Price– or simply Price, as he usually preferred– was for the first time in years restless.

Though he stood straight, shoulders squared, armour perfect, and expression neutral, on the inside he was in turmoil. His hand kept squeezing the pommel of his sword, and on occasion, his gaze would flit to the closed doors, heart heavy as he awaited to be summoned by you.

You. The little prince(ss) that had dogged his steps persistently as a child, and had looked to him for guidance as you grew; the sweet child that grew into a fine young adult before his very eyes. The very person that he failed all those years ago when your father, the king– previous king, he mentally corrected himself– banished you from the only home you knew. The good king did not find you fit to be heir and had sent you away, spending years trying to remarry and sire another heir– one that was more like him.

Price had watched it all happen, seen the tears of shock in your eyes as your life fell apart before your eyes, as you were betrayed so thoroughly. And then you'd looked to him for help, for protection.

The knight had been forced to grit his teeth and look away, knowing he served the king first and foremost.

And then, just like that, you were gone, his sweet prince(ss). That was years ago.

And now you had returned and taken your (rightful) throne. And Price had no choice but to follow as you were now crowned.

And Price always obeyed the crown, even when he knew he shouldn't.

Blinking, the knight was pulled from his thoughts as he heard his name. He looked at the doors, taking a deep breath as he entered the throne room, kneeling before you as you sat on it.

"Your Majesty," he said, not daring to look at the once sweet person that had adored him and whom he'd betrayed almost as much as your own father did.