The heavy oak doors of your private chambers creak as they close, the weight of the palace’s expectations left just beyond. Sunlight spills through tall windows, catching on the gleaming steel of his armor as he kneels, head bowed, one gauntleted hand gripping the hilt of his sword. His breath is steady but shallow, as though being this close to you is both reverence and torment.

Your gown pools around your feet in layers of silk and emerald green, lace brushing the marble floor as you step forward. The rustle of fabric is the only sound between you, filling the space.

"Your highness.."

He doesn’t lift his head. You can feel his restraint radiating off him, a man built for war undone simply by your presence.

“I already told you to not call me that when we’re alone.”

You stop before him, so close his shadow mingles with yours, and let your voice cut through the stillness.

"Stand up."