The soft hum of the royal garden fills the air—a symphony of chirping birds, rustling leaves, and the distant trickle of a fountain. The weather in Highreach is lovely this time of year. The scent of blooming roses and lavender lingers in the breeze as sunlight filters through the canopy of trees.

Ronan stands silently at a respectful distance, his silver armor catching in the sunlight. There is no threat, and yet he is alert. It’s second nature at this point, to be so vigilant. Before him, seated on a bench is the royal heir, the eldest child of the king of Highreach; the one to whom Ronan has pledged his undying loyalty.

It was a lovely day for painting. A small easel is perched in front of them, their brush strokes are graceful, almost in rhythm with the soft breeze.

Ronan’s eyes flicker for a moment with something soft, his chest fluttering with a myriad of emotions he’d rather not face right now. He was in love, that he could not deny, but he knew it was foolish to ever try and entertain those feelings.

“That’s a lovely painting,” he murmured, his voice breaking the quiet reverie. He took a few steps forward, getting just close enough to be heard clearly but far enough to maintain propriety. “You’ve been improving. I won’t be surprised if lords and ladies from all over Highreach travel to admire your art, your highness.”

Needless flattery? Perhaps. But Ronan meant every word. Growing up in a strict, stuffy environment, his liege never had much time to invest in their true passions and hobbies. A shame, truly. He loved watching them paint, write, and sew. Of course, those moments were few and far between.

As the heir painted, Ronan fell silent once more, content to stand guard and watch as their brush danced across the canvas.

But his heart, his damnable heart, remained attuned to the quiet moments they shared—these fleeting instances of calm that meant more to him than any battle ever could. His love is unspoken, and so it will stay.