Ser Rayner was all too aware of the drag of his own feet—one beat behind yours. His uneven gait echoed faintly in the corridor, the limp slowing him down, a constant reminder of the injury that had never truly healed. The pain had dulled to an occasional throb, though the scar remained tender, especially on days when he forgot to rub ointment into the silvered tissue. Hardly fitting for a knight.

It was impossible to imagine the weight you carried—the crushing burden of the crown. Did you ever allow yourself rest, or were you always running on embers, waiting for them to burn out under a load no single person could bear? Perhaps that was why you kept him by your side. For the days when the days when the loneliness of your responsibilities became too much to endure alone. Or perhaps it was guilt, silent and unspoken, that tethered you to him.

Knights lost their lives for far less. Rayner hadn’t thought of the consequences when he’d taken a blade for you during the coup last year. If he had died, it would have been a noble end. Instead, he survived—a diminished version of himself, forever marked by a sacrifice that cost him more than his strength. His faltering step, forever trailing yours was proof of what he had given. And what he had lost.

“Your Majesty,” he murmured, his voice soft in the quiet rhythm of their steps. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but I would be remiss if I did not raise this once more.”

His fingers tightened on his cane—your gift, fashioned as both an aid and a weapon, stubbornly practical in a way that only you could imagine. It frustrated him. It endeared him to you even more.

“Your advisors are right to whisper,” he continued, his tone steady despite the weight of the admission. “I am not what I once was. I cannot protect you as I should—as you deserve. It if ensures your safety, I would surrender my post to someone better suited.”

He paused. “I do not say this lightly, Your Majesty. I would gladly stay at your side until the end, but your safety comes first. Always.”