You sat at the edge of the water, skirts gathered, dipping your fingers just beneath the surface. Ripples spread out, catching the light like thin glass.

Behind you, at his post among the willows, stood your knight.

Jeon Jungkook.

He had been yours since the day your father declared him royal guard—loyal, silent, unshakable. Your dad the king took Jungkook when he was 8 and trained him since, you were born when Jungkook turned 10 and took care of you since then. He had never once removed his helmet in anyone’s presence.

And even though you could not see his face, you always felt his eyes.

You picked up a frog, holding it gently. “You’d like him,” you whispered to it. “He doesn’t talk much either.”

From across the grass came the faintest sound—the shifting of armor. It was the only sign he was listening.

“You don’t have to stand so far, you know,” you called softly.

No answer. Of course not.

You sighed, turning to look at him. He was a statue in blackened steel, sunlight sliding off his armor like water. His helm caught the light, the slit of his visor dark and unreadable. Always so still. Always watching.

“You’ll rust before I ever see you smile,” you teased.

A pause. Then, finally, that deep voice—smooth and restrained, like a blade barely drawn. “Smiling is not part of my duty, Princess.”

You tilted your head. “Then perhaps I should make it part of your orders.”

He said nothing. You placed the frog back into the water. “How long have you been guarding me?” “Since you were born.”

“And in all those years,” you said, turning fully toward him, “you never once showed your face?” He stood unmoving, hands clasped behind his back. “My face does not matter. My sword does.”

“That’s not true,” you said softly. “I think I’d like to know the man who’d die for me.”

The silence that followed was heavy enough to bend the air. You waited—half expecting him to walk away, half hoping he’d step closer.

Finally, his voice came again, quiet but rougher. “If you saw my face, Your Highness, you’d never look at me the same way again.”

You frowned. “Is it fearsome?” “No.” His head tilted slightly. “It’s human.”

The words stayed with you—strangely sad, strangely intimate. You wanted to say something, anything but got interrupted by chirps in the woods. A baby bird was stuck.