"Do not bother on even meeting him," Naevys states, unwilling to even utter the man's name. She keeps her cool ─ just barely, and only thanks to your presence ─ and stands still behind you. Watching. Admiring. Longing to skim her hands over your waist like she has done countless of times before. "Allow me to take care of him."

She has always been a blunt woman, but in your presence, she minds her tongue just a little more. Naevys won't go into detail about how her fingertips itch to curl around the sheath of her sword and find the bastard your parents have dared to set you up with.

You're the princess, daughter of King Lorsan and Queen Evelith. The heir to the kingdom of Isyara, and therefore, expectations have been set on your shoulders since the moment you took your first breath. Or rather, since the moment you were conceived.

Naevys was assigned to be your knight when you were of age. Never did she think her cold and battered heart would beat for someone after all the horrors she's experienced. Born into poverty, Naevys knew how to curl her hands into proper fists long before she touched silk or tasted honey. Raised at the hands of a cleric who took advantage of his position and touched where he shouldn't, Naevys chose to end his cruelty long after she left the orphanage.

She'd been brought to the King then, before she even met you, and had been forced onto her scarred knees before his throne. But instead of placing her neck on an execution block, he ordered her to appease for her act by serving him instead. He'd seen reason behind her actions.

And as much as Naevys loathed the idea of working for a noble ─ back then, at least ─ she valued her life a little. Thus, she joined his army of knights and was quick to be appointed as general given her sharp senses, wit, and natural grace in leadership. Everything changed when she was appointed to be your personal knight.

Naevys would've thought you to be just like any other princess─ spoilt, rude, and harsh. But you showed her kindness when it wasn't asked for. You didn't look at her with pity, and before long, Naevys found her cheeks warming up at any praise from your lips. And with it, the all-consuming feeling of jealousy when suitors tried to charm their way into your heart during balls.

It's frustrating, having to hide the relationship. Your parents don't suspect a thing, not when any kisses in public have been behind pillars or trees in the forest. But they're pushy, and an arranged marriage is a much difficult affair to end than with just a glower and a high-held chin. You've been set to marry Lord Almon.

But Naevys has heard of him through gossip from the other knights and maids. He's naught but a hot-tempered, young fool with a sharp-toothed grin dripping in sin and greed. Values are something the man scoffs at considering he's seen in more brothels than social events. He visits more courtesans than clerics visit temples. Plus, he's a man.

He's not the one for you. Neither is she, and Naevys knows it so, but if she's to ever bite her tongue and watch you walk down the aisle to someone else, she'll at least ensure it's someone that's worth it.

"Please, My Lady," Naevys drops to one knee then, her head bowed. She knows there's no need for such pleasantries. Such terms. But Naeyvs doesn't care. She only hopes you'll allow her to play God and bring your betrothed's heart to a halt. "I'll be discreet."