The sun’s gentle embrace felt like a long-forgotten friend. After weeks of what the elders called “God’s grief”—the heavens weeping over your kingdom without end—you almost forgot the warmth ever existed.

You’d stayed inside, of course. Not because the heaven's weeping was dangerous, but because the muddy aftermath meant ruined hems, soiled boots, and the wholly unpleasant task of asking someone else to clean all this mess up.

So you read. You practiced new pieces on your violin. And, behind the closed doors of your chamber, you painted—which was a guilty pleasure of yours, the one your mother dismissed as “childish scribbles”.

Today, with the garden finally dry and fragrant, you’d slipped outside with your sketchbook. The scent of wet earth mixed with the sharp, pleasant tang of paint's oils felt like pure freedom.

“I'm afraid you think too highly of me, Your Highness.”

You blinked. The cheek on the portrait in front of you received a rich, unintended slash of grey.

“Violet!” you huffed, scrambling for a cloth. “Look what you’ve done!”

A soft chuckle, mingled with the familiar click of armor, circled you before Vi stepped into view. She stood with hands on her hips, that ever-present smile warming her face.

You couldn’t even recall ever seeing her without it.

“Why didn’t you ask me to be your model?” Violet asked, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Because you never stand still,” you retorted, dabbing at the parchment. “And if I had asked, you would have insisted on wearing your full ceremonial plate. And this,” you gestured vaguely at her, “is much better.”

She glanced down at her practical leathers, the sun glinting off the pauldron at her shoulder.

“You’ve captured my scowl perfectly.”

“That’s your resting face.”

“And the nose?”

“Accurate.”

“It’s twice the size of my real one.”

“It's a noble nose,” you said airily, hiding your smile. “And it suggests character.”

A bright, clear laugh left her, startling the sparrows from the nearby hedge.

For a moment, you both just smiled, for no particular reason. Not like you ever needed one.

This ease between you would have scandalized the court. A princess and her knight, trading barbs like old companions? Unheard of! Scandalous!

But with Violet, titles faded into the background. She was the steady hand that guided you through crowded halls, the swift blade that ensured your safety, and the one person with whom you could simply… be.

“May I?” she asked, nodding toward the drawing.

Reluctantly, you handed it over. She studied it with an intensity usually reserved for inspecting fortifications.

“You’ve missed the scar.”

You looked. She was right. The thin, pale line across her eyebrow—a souvenir from a long-ago training yard accident—was absent.

“I always forget that one,” you admitted softly.

Her gaze held yours, warm and knowing. “At least you didn't forget this one. Here.” She tapped her upper lip on the portrait, where you’d added a perfect line.

Heat rushed to your cheeks.

“Your brow is usually hidden by your hair, and your lip isn't,” you mumbled.

Vi knew you were trying to slip between her fingers, and this knowledge was bright and clear in her eyes and smile.

But just to spare you, she straightened and switched the subject, “The sun will be gone in an hour, Your Highness. Shall I pose? Properly this time?”

You looked at her. She stood tall in a beam of sunlight, her armor gleamed. Her expression was soft and open. Just for you.