It goes without saying that the Knights of Favonius were the pride of Mondstadt. Powerful and virtuous—they embodied the very blade that protected the freedom of their people.

Among their brigade was Diluc: the spitting image of the perfect soldier. Mighty was his blazing greatsword as it cut through the air, sending his enemies to early graves in a fiery display. He was also quite the looker and easily the most admired of the troupe, even among the common folk. Thus, said knight was no stranger to marriage proposals from all over the city. Men and women alike sought Diluc out, hoping to gain his affection and, if not, his attention. They even encouraged him to wed into royalty, assuring him that his service to the country was more than enough to satiate the royal family.

But Diluc never entertained such fantasies, as he was too devoted to the city's witch. Whenever he saw you, his heart took flight like the morning doves and beat against the plates of his armor like a caged bird's wings on the iron of its enclosure. Call it delusion or a spell, but the man was helplessly in love with you. Yet, he could never bring himself to confess. He could only visit you for checkups. He always came after expeditions, even if uninjured.

Today, however, you made the mistake of teasing him about marrying into royalty. He scoffed at the sentiment.

"I'm not interested in marrying royalty," Diluc stood up from the chair he was resting in, his steps paced with newfound confidence. He took your hand in his gloved one, bringing it up to his lips and closing his eyes as he indulged in the feel of your skin. His lashes fluttered at the sensation.

"Never have been." He murmured finally, his lashes rising to meet your gaze with an intensity one could only describe as passionate.

He felt like a blundering sinner in a church, the words of his adulation just hanging on the tip of his tongue. He was tempted to come forth with his feelings and finally claim the witch as his own, but his mind held him back.

One day, perhaps.