Paladin!Mike Wheeler x Royal GN!Reader
[Mike Wheeler whose honourable paladin persona not so secretly crumbles under his growing love for you, the one person he’s not allowed to love…]
CW: SFW!! knight+royal to lovers, fluff, weapons, kissing, forbidden love, yearning, slow-burn, arranged marriage
Music ~ Can’t help falling in love, Elvis Presley
The day Sir Michael Wheeler swore his oath to the crown, he was just sixteen, the entire hall expected confidence. Knights stood tall when they took their vows. Proud. Certain. Mike looked like he might pass out.
He could feel the entire court watching him. And worse, you. Standing beside the throne as heir to the kingdom. Mike didn’t dare look up yet.
“State your oath,” the king commanded.
“My life belongs to the crown,” he said. His voice was quieter than he intended. He cleared his throat and forced himself to continue, “I will defend the realm, obey its laws, and protect the royal bloodline with my sword, my strength, and my life.”
The words felt heavier than armor. The king stepped forward, “You will serve as personal knight to the heir.”
Mike’s brain stopped working. The heir. You. Slowly, very carefully, Mike lifted his head. The first thing his eyes met yours, was your smile. Kind, not dutiful, but real. Which somehow made it worse.
Mike immediately dropped his gaze again like he’d just stared at the sun, “Yes, Your Majesty,” he managed.
Three weeks later, everyone in the palace had noticed something about Sir Wheeler. He knelt constantly. You approached? Kneeling. You spoke to him? Kneeling. You called his name? Kneeling.
Mike was completely different in the training yard. The other knights respected him, not because he was loud, but because he was good.
Steel clashed as he sparred with one of the senior guards. The fight was fast and controlled, Mike’s movements precise and smart. He wasn’t the biggest knight. But he thought faster than most of them.
He ducked under a swing, twisted, and disarmed his opponent in one clean motion. The watching soldiers cheered lightly. Then he noticed you standing near the edge of the yard, watching. His brain melted. The sword immediately slipped out of his hand and clattered to the ground. The entire yard went quiet, Mike turned bright red.
One of the knights snorted, “Sir Wheeler,” the man said. “You just defeated a veteran guard and then lost to gravity.”
Mike bent down quickly to grab the sword, “I was distracted.”
You smiled, “That was impressive,”
Mike froze. His brain scrambled for something knightly and dignified to say, “Thank you, Your Highness.” His voice came out slightly strangled.
You stepped a little closer, “You’re very skilled.”
Mike looked like someone had just told him the sky was falling, “I- I uhm train often.”
Your hand brushed his shoulder briefly, Mike stopped functioning. Completely. Every knight in the yard watched Sir Michael Wheeler ‘respected protector of the crown’ stand there looking like someone had unplugged him from reality.
It started as a joke, at least that’s what you told yourself. Mike Wheeler was, without question, the most obedient knight in the palace. Not blindly obedient. But when it came to you? There was a very noticeable difference.
You noticed it the first time you tested it. You were walking through the palace gardens when you stopped suddenly, “Sir Wheeler.”
Mike halted immediately behind you, “Yes, Your Highness.”
He dropped to one knee without hesitation. Not even a second. It was so immediate it almost startled you. You tilted your head slightly, “You didn’t even ask why.”
Mike looked up at you. That look again. Focused. Steady. Completely attentive. “You asked,” he said simply. That was all the reasoning he needed.
You crossed your arms thoughtfully, “Stand.”
“Take three steps forward.”
Mike paused for half a second this time, not questioning, just slightly confused. But he still did it. You laughed.
“What are you doing?” he asked cautiously.
“With how obedient you are.”
Mike looked faintly horrified, “I am not a dog.”
Mike opened his mouth, then closed it. Because the problem was he couldn’t actually refuse you. Not easily. Not when you were looking at him like that. So instead he muttered quietly, “This is highly inappropriate.”
“And yet you’re still doing it.”
Over the next few days, the ‘experiment’ continued. Mostly small things, “Walk beside me instead of behind me.” Mike hesitated, that wasn’t proper knight protocol, but he stepped beside you anyway.
“Hold this.” You handed him random objects constantly now. Flowers, letters, a ribbon from your sleeve. Mike kept every single one.
“Sit.” Mike froze the first time you said that.
He sat, grumbling under his breath, but still sitting. You were smiling so brightly it made his chest hurt.
The first time love teased Mikes heart, it was only a week after you’d met. The library was quiet. Too quiet. Mike had been reading a history text aloud for nearly an hour. You had insisted you were still listening.
“…and in the fourth year of the northern war-“ Mike stopped.
Because your head had slowly tipped sideways onto his shoulder. You were asleep. He froze immediately. Not moving a single inch. Because if he moved, you might wake up. And if you woke up, you might move away. And strangely… he didn’t want that.
Your breathing was soft and steady. Mike stared down at the book without actually reading the words anymore. He could feel the warmth of your head resting against him, the gentle weight of it. And somehow that felt more dangerous than any battlefield.
Minutes passed. Then more minutes. Eventually his eyes started getting heavy too. He had been up since dawn training. Guard duty. Lessons. Now this. His head tipped slightly. Then- shuffling.
Mike jerked awake. Only to find two other young knights standing nearby trying very hard not to laugh, “Oh this is incredible.”
Mike’s eyes widened in horror. You were still asleep. On him. “You need to leave,” Mike whispered yelled.
One knight grinned, “You fell asleep too.”
“If you wake them up I will duel you.”
The other knight snuck closer, “You look cute.”
Mike went bright red, “Go away.”
The two boys started walking out. Then one added over his shoulder, “Ever read Romeo and Juliet? You’re doomed, by the way.”
“Romeo was stupid and reckless.” Mike grumbled under his breath as he looked down at you again. Still sleeping peacefully. And for a moment, he thought, maybe the boy was right.
The day he’d realised he was in love was just a week later. It was supposed to be a quick walk through the gardens. That was all. Mike had agreed to accompany you while you gathered flowers. A perfectly normal activity. Nothing suspicious. Nothing dangerous. Except now he was sitting on a stone bench while you stood behind him doing something to his hair.
Mike sighed, “You’re braiding my hair.”
“And putting flowers in it.”
That argument apparently ended the discussion. Mike sat there in silence while your fingers moved gently through his dark hair. Weaving small braids. Tucking little flowers between the strands. Every so often your hand brushed the back of his neck. And every time, Mike’s brain went completely blank.
“Done!” you announced proudly.
Mike looked deeply suspicious, “You’re smiling too much.”
You stepped in front of him. Mike froze. Because you were looking at him like you had created something wonderful. You tilted your head slightly, admiring your work. Mike felt his ears turning red.
“…don’t tell the other knights.”
“I’m absolutely telling the other knights.”
You plucked one tiny flower from the braid and tucked it behind his ear, your hand resting at his collarbone as it dropped. Mike’s breath caught. And suddenly, something inside him shifted. Not a crush. Not admiration. Something deeper. Stronger. Terrifying. Because the realization hit him all at once. He didn’t just care about you. He didn’t just admire you. He didn’t just want to protect you.
He loved you. Completely. Hopelessly. And you were standing right in front of him smiling proudly about flowers in his hair. Mike cleared his throat quickly, “We should go.”
You laughed, “But you look so pretty.”
“You’re a pretty knight.”
Mike stood abruptly, trying very hard not to think about the fact that he would probably keep those flowers long after they wilted, because you had put them there.
The first time you realised you loved Mike was the night of your eighteenth birthday. It was a feeling that had crept up on you for years, you just hadn’t noticed until it was unavoidable.
The ballroom glittered with candlelight. Music drifted across the marble floor while nobles spun in elegant circles, silk and velvet brushing together in soft flashes of color. You were supposed to be enjoying it. Technically this celebration was partly for you. But your attention kept drifting to him.
Across the room, Mike Wheeler stood near the edge of the ballroom with the other young knights assigned to court duty tonight. Except tonight he wasn’t wearing armor. He was dressed in formal black instead. A perfectly tailored suit.
Your court called it proper attire. You had only one thought about it. He looked… handsome. In a way you had never noticed before. His hair was neatly combed back, though a few strands still fell stubbornly across his forehead like they always did.
The dark fabric fit his shoulders well. Too well. Which was a problem. Because apparently other people had noticed. You watched as a noblewoman approached him. She said something. Mike straightened immediately. Then, he knelt. Just like he always did.
Your stomach twisted strangely. The woman laughed lightly at whatever he said in return. Mike stood again, polite and calm, saying something respectful before stepping aside to let her pass. Your chest felt tight. Weird. Annoyed. You didn’t like that. You weren’t sure why.
A court advisor was still talking to you, but you had completely stopped listening. Across the room, someone else approached Mike. Another bow. Another polite conversation. Another small smile. And again, that strange feeling.
Why did he have to kneel for everyone? Why did he look so calm about it? Why did he smile at them like that? You frowned. Because the thought suddenly slipped into your mind. He wasn’t yours. Not really. He served the crown. Which meant he served everyone.
The music changed. Couples shifted across the dance floor. You looked down at your hands, still empty. Still waiting for some noble partner you didn’t care about.
Across the room Mike noticed you watching. His entire posture changed immediately. The polite smile disappeared. Concern replaced it. He excused himself from the knight beside him and crossed the room quickly. Once he reached you, he knelt. Of course he did. But this time it felt different. Not distant. Not formal.
His head tilted slightly upward as he struggled to meet your avoidant gaze, “Your Highness,” he said quietly, “Is everything alright?”
You sighed, then said the first thing that came to mind, “You kneel for everyone.”
Mike looked confused, “Yes?”
“I don’t like it.” your arms stubbornly crossing.
That confused him even more, “…it’s my job.”
He studied your expression for a moment, then something softer appeared in his eyes, “You know it’s not the same, right?”
You frowned slightly, “What isn’t?”
“The way I kneel for you.”
That caught your attention.
Mike lowered his voice slightly, “When I kneel for nobles or guests, it’s duty.” His gaze softened, “When I kneel for you…” He hesitated, “…it’s something else.”
Your chest fluttered strangely, “What do you mean?”
Mike shrugged lightly, “I don’t really know how to explain it.” He stood again, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. Then offered his hand, “Dance with me.”
“Since when have you cared for rules?”
“You aren’t supposed to.”
You glanced toward the watching nobles, “…you’ll get in trouble.”
Mike smiled slightly, “Probably.”
Your heart was beating faster now, “Why are you suggesting this?”
He tilted his head, “Because I want to, and it looks like you do to.”
Your hand slowly slid into his. The music shifted into a slower rhythm. Mike guided you gently toward the dance floor. He was careful. Respectful. But still confident. One hand lightly at your waist. The other holding yours.
You stared at him, “You’ve never danced with me before.”
“I know how to dance, thank you very much.”
“Knights get invited to formal events sometimes.”
“That seems suspicious.” and it was. He wouldn’t admit it but he’d learnt from practicing for a week in preparation with a mop, while reading the steps from a book. Of course he had.
He smiled faintly, “I’m full of surprises.”
You watched him for a moment. The candlelight caught in his dark hair. In his eyes. And suddenly, that strange feeling returned. Stronger this time. Your chest felt warm. Fuzzy. Your stomach fluttered in a way that had nothing to do with the music.
Oh. Oh no. You realized it all at once. The reason you didn’t like people flirting with him. The reason seeing him kneel for others bothered you. The reason he suddenly looked so beautiful tonight.
You loved him. More than a friend. More than a knight. More than anything you had words for yet.
“My hair looks stupid right?”
“You’re looking at me funny, I know it looks weird, it’s formal though right?”
You quickly looked away, Mike laughed softly. And without realizing it, your fingers tightened slightly around his hand. Because somewhere during that dance, your knight had quietly become something much more dangerous to your heart.
You were twenty now, things were more serious. One evening the two of you ended up back in the gardens. It was quiet, the palace lights glowed softly behind you. Mike leaned against a stone pillar, arms crossed. You stood in front of him. Watching. Thinking.
Mike straightened, his brows jumping a little in that way they do every time you say his name, “Yes.”
He did. Immediately. The movement was fluid and familiar now. One knee on the ground. Head slightly lowered. Waiting. You stepped closer, closer than usual. Mike felt his heartbeat pick up. You tilted your head slightly, “Do you ever say no to me?”
Mike thought about it, then realised. “…rarely.” Never. He never said no to you.
You crouched slightly so you were closer to his level. That was new. Mike swallowed. “Why?” you asked quietly.
Mike forced himself to keep his eyes respectful. But he could still see you. Too close. Too warm. “Because you are my responsibility,” he said carefully.
“That’s not the real reason.”
Mike didn’t answer. You reached out, fingers gently lifting his chin so he had to look at you. Mike stopped breathing. Up close, his expression was intense. Soft. Completely devoted.
“You look at me like I hung the moon,” you murmured.
Mike’s restraint was starting to crack. He could feel it. Months of careful distance. Months of reminding himself of his place. And now you were crouched in front of him like this. Looking at him like this.
“…your Highness,” he said quietly.
Mike hesitated. Because the honest answer was dangerous. But you were still holding his chin. Still close enough that he could see the tiny details of your expression. The warmth in your eyes.
Before he fully thought about it, his hand came up, gently but firmly wrapping around your wrist. Not hurting, just stopping you. Mike stood up in one smooth motion. Now he was towering over you.
The air between you suddenly felt very small. Very warm. His voice dropped low, “Because,” he said carefully, “you are testing something you do not fully understand.”
Mike’s grip on your wrist loosened immediately. Like he’d just realized what he’d done. His expression was slightly different, sadder, pained. His voice stayed quiet, “My self-control.”
The court was louder than usual that evening, the energy had entirely shifted since that moment in the gardens. It was all too serious.
Mike stood beside the throne as always, posture rigid. He didn’t pay attention to most court discussions. His focus stayed on you. Always.
But then he heard something that made his stomach drop. People muttering about “…an alliance…”, “…a noble house from the north…”, “…a very suitable match…” Mike’s hand tightened slowly around the hilt of his sword. You looked just as surprised as he felt.
The prince arrived two days later. He was everything a royal suitor was supposed to be. Confident. Charming. Well dressed. And immediately interested in you.
Mike stood nearby during the first meeting in the palace gardens. Watching. Silent. The prince smiled easily as he spoke with you. Mike didn’t like him. Not for any specific reason. Just… instinct.
Every time the prince stepped a little closer, Mike subtly adjusted his position. Always between you and him. Not obviously, but enough.
Eventually the prince noticed, his eyes flicked briefly toward Mike, “And this is your knight?”
You glanced at Mike, “Yes. Sir Michael Wheeler.”
Mike bowed slightly, “Your Highness.”
The prince studied him for a moment, “You seem very… attentive.”
Mike’s voice stayed perfectly neutral, “It is my duty.”
The prince smiled faintly, “Of course.” But the look he gave Mike said he understood something more. And Mike didn’t like that either.
Over the next few days, the prince spent more time at court, which meant more time near you. Mike was always present. Always watching. And you noticed something. The playful, slightly flustered knight you knew? Disappeared whenever the prince was around. In his place was someone colder. Sharpened. Professional to an almost intimidating degree.
The prince laughed at something you said during dinner. He reached out slightly toward your arm, Mike moved instantly, not aggressively, just one smooth step. Blocking the gesture without making it obvious.
The prince’s hand stopped, Mike didn’t look at him, but his voice was calm, “Careful, Your Highness. The floor is uneven.”
The prince’s eyes narrowed slightly, he understood the message.
Later that night you found Mike in the gardens. He stood near the same stone path where everything had changed before, watching the moonlit courtyard.
He turned immediately. Knelt. Again.
You stared, “…you did it again.”
Mike sighed quietly from the ground, “I noticed.”
“I still didn’t ask you to.”
“Why do you keep doing that?”
Mike didn’t answer at first.
You stepped closer, “Stand up.”
You crossed your arms, “You’ve been different.”
Mike avoided your gaze, “How so?”
Mike finally looked at you, his expression was calm, but there was tension underneath it, “You are meeting potential allies of the crown,” he said carefully, “My role is to ensure your safety.”
Mike hesitated, then said quietly, “I don’t trust him.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Finally Mike said, “…I don’t.”
Your heart beat slightly faster, because there was something in his voice you hadn’t heard before. Not just protectiveness. Something sharper. Possessive, almost. Mike seemed to realize it too, his expression tightened slightly, “I apologize,” he said quietly.
“You’re allowed to have opinions.”
“Yes,” he said carefully.
“But not about who you marry.”
The words hung heavy between you, Mike looked away first, his jaw tightened slightly. Then he did something he always did when he didn’t trust himself. He dropped back to one knee. Your knight. Back in the position that kept him safe. Back in the position where he belonged. Waiting. Silent. Trying very hard not to want things he had no right to.
Dinner that evening was worse. The prince was clearly enjoying himself, you were seated beside him while the court talked around you, Mike stood behind your chair. Watching. Always watching.
At one point the prince leaned slightly toward you, speaking quietly, “You trust him a great deal,” he said.
You glanced back briefly. Mike immediately straightened when you looked at him.
The prince hummed thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. Then, very deliberately, he reached out and brushed his fingers lightly against your wrist while making some comment.
Mike moved before he even thought about it, his hand closed around the prince’s wrist. Firm. Controlled. But unmistakably stopping him. The entire table went silent. Mike realized what he’d done. Very slowly, he released the prince’s wrist.
“My apologies,” Mike said calmly, “There was a spider.”
The danger came two days later. A diplomatic parade through the capital. Crowds filled the streets. Mike walked beside you, scanning everything. Every movement. Every face.
Then something felt wrong. A shift in the crowd. A flash of metal. Mike reacted instantly. He grabbed your waist and pulled you down just as a blade flew through the air. The dagger struck the wooden frame of a carriage behind you.
Chaos erupted in the street. Guards rushed forward. Mike had already drawn his sword. His movements were precise and fast. Two attackers pushed through the crowd. Mike intercepted them before they could get close to you.
Steel clashed. One clean strike. Then another. The fight lasted seconds. When it was over, the attackers were on the ground and the royal guards were closing in. Mike turned immediately. Looking for you.
You were standing a few steps away, alive, unhurt. Mike’s sword clattered to the ground. He crossed the distance between you in two long strides, “Are you hurt?”
He was already checking your arms, your shoulders, your hands. Your heart was racing.
But he didn’t hear you. Not really. Because the realization had just hit him. You could have died. He could have been one second too slow. One mistake, and you would be gone.
Before he thought about it, Mike pulled you into him. One arm wrapped tightly around your back. The other came up to cradle the back of your head under his chin. His entire body was shaking. You could feel it.
“Don’t,” he said quietly. His voice was rough, “Don’t ever do that again.”
His arms tightened slightly.
For a moment you could feel his heart pounding through his armor. Fast. Unsteady. Like he was still trying to recover, so you wrapped your arms around him. Mike completely fell apart. The tension left him all at once. His shoulders dropped slightly as he held you closer. His head lowered just a little against yours. Like he needed the contact just to make sure you were real.
Until the adrenaline wore off enough for him to pull away, realising he just crossed a line, publicly.
The prince found Mike in the courtyard later that evening. Mike knew immediately that the conversation wouldn’t be pleasant.
“You’re very devoted,” the prince said casually.
“I watched the incident yesterday.”
Mike kept his expression neutral, his jaw tightened slightly.
The prince studied him, “Tell me something, Sir Wheeler.”
Mike answered immediately, “Of course.”
The prince nodded slowly, “That part was obvious.” A pause, then he asked the real question, “Could you live without Y/N?”
Mike’s composure cracked, just slightly, barely visible. But the prince saw it, and that was enough. The prince smiled faintly, “I thought so.”
This wedding was happening, it had hit Mike how real that fact was when you’d asked him to accompany you to your fitting. You’d asked only him, you hadn’t invited a single other soul, because who else did you truly want or need there.
Bolts of silk and velvet were draped over tables. Pins glittered in little cushions. White fabric, far too much of it, hung from mannequins around the room. Your wedding garments.
Mike focused on the floor, or the window, or the opposite wall. Anywhere but the doorway you would soon step through. Because the truth was, he wasn’t sure he could survive seeing you in it.
The curtain shifted, “Sir Wheeler?” one of the tailors said.
Mike straightened immediately, “Yes?”
He turned, and forgot how to breathe. You stepped out slowly. The room fell silent. The outfit was beautiful. Elegant white and silver, embroidered with delicate patterns that caught the light as you moved. The fabric flowed behind you like something out of a painting.
Mike’s chest tightened painfully, because he could see it so clearly. You walking down the aisle, toward him, but that was just a fantasy.
You looked a little uncertain. Not royal. Not confident. Just… you. “Mike?”
His knees buckled, no one seemed to notice. Your voice always did that to him, “Yes?”
You turned slightly, glancing down at the sleeves, the embroidery, “I’m not sure about it.” The room seemed to wait. You looked back at him, “What do you think?”
Mike stared at you for a long moment, the words came automatically. Soft. Certain. “You’re perfect.” Not the garments, not the embroidery, you.
The tailors quietly excused themselves, leaving the two of you alone in the chamber. When you reached him, you gently took his hand. Mike immediately stiffened in surprise, “Your Highness-”
You pulled him into a soft embrace before he could protest. His arms hesitated for only a second before wrapping around you. Carefully. Like he was afraid of wrinkling the fabric, or maybe afraid of holding you too tightly. For a moment neither of you spoke.
Mike rested his chin lightly against the top of your head. And suddenly, a memory surfaced. A small one. Years old. You had been younger then. Still figuring out court life. Still sneaking out into the training yard just to talk to him while he practiced. You had appeared one afternoon wearing something simple. Just a new outfit the palace seamstresses had made.
Nothing like this, no silks, no ceremony. You had turned in a small circle and asked him the exact same question, ‘What do you think?’
Mike had been younger too, less careful with his heart. He had smiled immediately and said the first honest thing that came to mind, ‘You’re perfect.’
“You said that once before,” you murmured softly.
He remembered, of course he remembered, but he just nodded quietly.
You pull back just enough to see his face, studying it for a moment, because there was something in his eyes now. Something deeper. A sadness he was trying very hard to hide. Mike looked down at the fabric of your sleeve, then away.
Because he couldn’t stop imagining the moment this outfit was meant for. The aisle. The vows. The prince waiting at the altar. Not him. Never him.
“You’ll look…” he paused, voice catching slightly, “…perfect on your wedding day.”
The words hurt more than any sword ever had, but he said them anyway, because that was his duty. To stand beside you, even if it meant watching you walk away.
The next morning came too quickly. The palace corridors were quiet, sunlight spilling across polished stone floors. Mike waited outside your chambers in full armor. Perfectly composed, like always. Except he hadn’t slept, not even a little, he couldn’t.
The door opened. You stepped out, dressed formally for court. For the prince. Mike’s chest tightened painfully.
And like always, his body reacted, he knelt. The movement was automatic. Instinctive. Your knight. Your devoted, obedient knight. That was starting to be painful. Your hand cupped the side of his face, “Stand,” said gently.
And he obeyed, though this time he was hesitant to leave your touch.
He fell into step beside you down the corridor, half a step behind, just like always. For a few moments neither of you spoke, then you said quietly,
“You know where we’re going.”
The prince was waiting in the west courtyard, you had agreed to meet him there to begin discussing the formal engagement ceremony. Your footsteps slowed slightly, “Mike.”
Your voice softened, “I know this isn’t easy.”
Mike’s jaw tightened, “It is not my place to have opinions about your marriage.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Silence. He stopped walking. So did you.
You turned to face him, “I need you to escort me the rest of the way,” you said.
Mike nodded once, “I understand,” but he didn’t move.
“…Mike?” Still nothing. You frowned slightly, “That’s an order.”
Mike closed his eyes, just for a second, and when he opened them something had changed. For the first time since becoming your knight, Sir Michael Wheeler didn’t obey immediately. Instead he said quietly, “No.”
The word echoed softly in the empty corridor.
Mike stepped closer, one step, then another, “I can’t do that.”
“You’ve never refused me before.”
“You’re asking me to walk you to another man.” His voice wasn’t angry. It was something worse. Raw. “And stand there while he takes your hand.” A beat. “While you promise yourself to him.”
Mike shook his head once, “No.” His voice dropped, “It’s mine.”
Before you could respond, Mike moved. His hand caught your wrist, not roughly, but firmly. Stopping you from stepping away. The contact alone sent electricity through him, because he had imagined touching you like this a thousand times, and every time he’d stopped himself. But now, now everything was already ruined.
His other hand came up slowly, like he was giving you time to stop him, to remind him who you were. But you didn’t. His fingers gently tilted your chin upward, just like you had done to him once, “Tell me to stop,” he said softly.
You didn’t, and that was all the confirmation he needed. When he kissed you, it wasn’t carefully, not politely, not restrained. It was months of longing breaking free all at once. His hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer. Like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on. The kiss was intense. Desperate. Everything he had forced himself to hide for so long.
When he finally pulled back, his breathing was uneven. The moment the kiss ended, Mike realized what he had done. The corridor felt suddenly too small. Too quiet. Too real.
Your hand was still gripping the front of his armor, your breath uneven from the kiss he had wanted for months- years, if he was honest. Mike stared at you like someone waking from a dream, “I-” The words failed him. Because the truth was too big. Too dangerous.
His hands slowly released you. Then he stepped back, once, twice. The distance felt wrong immediately. Like something vital had been ripped away. But his training screamed louder than his heart, “You’re about to marry a prince,” he said quietly.
His voice sounded distant even to himself, “I just disobeyed a royal command.”
“I shouldn’t have done that.” But the way he said it betrayed him, because he didn’t sound regretful. He sounded terrified of how much he didn’t regret it. Mike turned before he could lose the last thread of control he had left, and walked away.
Night had fallen by the time Mike reached your chambers. He had spent hours trying to convince himself not to come. Trying to return to being the knight he had been that morning. But every time he closed his eyes he remembered the kiss. The way you had looked at him afterward. The way he had almost stayed. So eventually he gave up. And came anyway.
He was still wearing full armour, because somehow that felt safer. A reminder of who he was supposed to be. Mike knocked softly. A moment later the door opened. You stared at him, “…Mike?”
You guide him into your room, he looked exhausted. His hair slightly disheveled, armour still gleaming under the dim hallway light, “I came to apologize.”
Your expression changed immediately, frustration flickered across your face, “You’re apologizing for kissing me?”
He was, that’s what he should be apologising for, but in his heart, he was only sorry for walking away. Mike looked down, “I shouldn’t have-”
Before he could react, you grabbed the strap across his chest, Mike froze, “…what are you doing?”
You yanked the buckle loose, the sound of metal shifting filled the room. Mike went completely red, you’re angry at him but you’re… undressing him? “Your Highness-”
“Stop calling me that right now.” You shoved his shoulder armor aside, “Your entire life is just armor, isn’t it?”
“Physically and emotionally apparently.” Another buckle came loose. Metal clattered softly as a piece of armor dropped onto the floor.
“You walk around pretending you don’t want things,” Another strap came undone, “you can’t just let everyone else decide how you’re allowed to feel.”
Mike’s brain had completely stopped functioning, he was listening, but the physicality of it all had heat crawling up his neck, “You aren’t- aren’t uhm- supposed to help knights… undress,” he said weakly.
“You kissed me in a hallway.”
“That was- a tactical error.”
“You’re a tactical error.” Another piece of armor fell away.
Mike looked increasingly flustered, not just because you were standing very close now, but because your hands kept brushing his shoulders… his chest… the edge of his collar. Every touch sent his thoughts spiraling.
“You should stop,” he said quietly. But he didn’t move away, the last heavy plate slipped free.
Mike was left standing there in the softer underlayer beneath the armor, suddenly looking much less like an untouchable knight and much more like the boy who had sworn himself to you years ago.
Your hands paused, and suddenly the anger faded, because Mike looked wrecked. His eyes were bright. His breathing uneven. “You shouldn’t want this,” he said quietly.
“Because I’m your knight.”
Mike shook his head slightly, “You deserve someone who can stand beside you.”
“You’ve been standing beside me since the day we met.”
Mike swallowed hard, your hand moved to his face. He froze.
“You’re the bravest person I know,” you said softly, “And you’re still hiding behind armor.”
Something inside him broke, Mike kissed you again. But this time it was different. Slower. More desperate. The kiss quickly deepened. And suddenly, Mike’s breath hitched. Your hand brushed his cheek. And you felt it. Warm. A tear slipped down his face.
He didn’t stop kissing you. Didn’t pull away. But his shoulders trembled slightly as another tear followed. Your heart twisted painfully, you pulled back just enough to look at him, “Mike…”
His voice was barely a whisper, “I’m sorry.”
His forehead pressed against yours, “For wanting you this much.” Another tear slipped free.
Then slowly, Mike pulled back, just enough to look at you. There was something different in his expression now. Not panic. Not fear. Something more… determined. Your hands either side of his face, tenderly brushing away tears.
He hesitated, then stepped away from you. For a moment he just stood there like he was arguing with himself. Then dropped to one knee.
You sighed, “Mike, you really have to stop doing that-”
But something about this felt different. He wasn’t bowing his head the way he usually did. His heart was racing so hard you could practically see it in the tightness of his chest. His hands weren’t steady. And then, he reached into the pocket on the chest of the simple tunic he’d wore under the armour. Your confusion grew.
Mike swallowed. When he pulled his hand back out, something small rested in his palm. A ring. Simple. Not gold. Not jeweled. Just a narrow band of dark metal, carefully shaped and polished. You stared at it, there was that burn in your nose, the welling in your eyes, the ache in your heart.
Mike’s voice came out quiet and unsteady, “I know I can’t offer you what the prince can.”
“I don’t have kingdoms to give you.” His thumb brushed nervously over the metal ring, “I don’t have alliances or armies or political advantages.” His voice softened, “All I have is… this.”
He lifted the ring slightly, “It’s from my armor. I reshaped the metal years ago,” he admitted quietly.
Mike’s ears turned red, “I didn’t know if I’d ever… find the courage to use it.” He paused. “I just needed it to exist.” He finally looked up at you, his expression was open in a way you had never seen before. Completely unguarded.
“I can’t promise you power,” he said, “But I can promise you something else.” His voice steadied slightly now, “Wether you accept me or not, as long as you’ll let me, I will love you in ways that have nothing to do with crowns or titles.”
“I will fight for you.” His fingers closed slightly around the ring, “I will stand beside you when the world turns against you.” His breath shook, “And I will never stop choosing you.”
He looked down briefly, “But if you wish for me to leave you be, I’ll still guard you.” A small pause, “Even if you marry someone else.”
Your heart nearly broke hearing that. Mike looked back up at you. Still kneeling. Still offering the small ring made from the armor he had worn to protect you.
Sir Michael Wheeler, the knight who had spent months kneeling in obedience, knelt for a completely different reason now. Offering the only thing he truly had. His heart.
“I love you,” he said quietly.
With that, you kissed him, you felt him hesitate like he couldn’t believe it. And when he placed the ring on your finger with trembling hands, you told him you loved him too.
Knowing that this was the best disobedience either of you had ever committed.
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