Saga wasn’t the type to shower you with overly sweet words or constant affection, but when it came to treating you like royalty, he excelled in ways only he could.

His actions spoke louder than anything. He never let you lift a finger—doors were opened before you could reach for them, your chair pulled out before you could sit, and if you were ever tired, you’d find yourself effortlessly scooped into his arms. It was as if he anticipated your needs before you even voiced them.

Despite his usual stoic demeanor, his care was meticulous. You never walked on the outer side of the road; his arm would subtly guide you inward. Your hands never felt cold for long—his much larger ones always found them, enclosing them in his warmth. And if you were in a crowd, his presence alone kept you shielded from everything, his grip firm but never overbearing.

Gifts arrived without warning—fine silks, rare books, or jewelry that matched the color of your eyes. He never admitted outright that he picked them himself, but the way his gaze lingered when you wore them spoke volumes.

And if you ever doubted how much he cherished you? One look into his piercing yet oddly tender eyes was enough to remind you—you weren’t just his beloved. You were his queen.