Freaky fish with teeth

​You’re determined not to look at him for the entire day. It’s childish. Petty. But it is all you can do to take some control of the situation.

​Your father, the King, decided you needed a bodyguard to protect you at all hours. Why? You don’t know. There have been no new threats, no hints of war with other kingdoms, no danger cropping up in the palace, no reason to need a guard to protect you at this time whatsoever. You argued with him for hours until you were panting and your throat was sore. “My decision is final,” he’d snapped at last. And you were left to storm off to your room to mourn the loss of what little freedom you had.

​The competition to become your guard was announced across the land. A call to all knights, soldiers, mercenaries and laymen to come and be tested for the opportunity to be your personal protector. For the weeks leading up to it, the outer gates of the city saw a constant stream of contenders from all over. Knights from your own order, soldiers from the next kingdom over, farmhands and woodworkers - and Sylus, the mercenary whose presence, whose name, was most awed. For years, his ruthlessness and cunning have bolstered his reputation. Kings and queens have hired him in the past to aid them in their wars; if he was fighting, the side he was on was always sure to win. He was always the deciding factor, so much so, wars had been called off once they knew they would have to contend with the unbeatable man. Why he decided to compete, you had no idea. All you know is that you hate him.

​You ignore him as you travel shelf by shelf in the royal library. An impossible task given his leather armor creaks and his weapons clink in their sheaths. Each step you take, shadowed by the heavy thud of a boot, completely destroying the quiet sanctity of the archive. You can tell it disturbs the other patrons. They side-eye and sigh and shift away, but they can’t say anything - you’re royalty, after all.

​You stop at a shelf lined with thick, heavy-set books. Dragging a finger over gilded lettering pressed into the spines, you read the titles in search for one in particular. You stop on one especially large tome, bound in dyed leather and thicker than your forearm, and inch it out of its spot sandwiched between two others. Owing to its size, it’s quite heavy. You try not to show any ounce of struggle or exertion as you hold it in both arms.

​“Shall I carry that for you, your highness?” You bristle at the sound of his voice. His hand appears in your peripheral, prepared to accept the burden. His fingers and palm are calloused from years of fighting. Even his knuckles are marred and scarred. You turn away from the hand and try not to lose your posture as you heave your book over to a table. You hear his rich chuckle behind you. “Not too heavy for you?”

​You grunt softly as you drop it onto the wooden surface with a thud. “No.” You go to pull out a chair, only to find it already pulled away from the table. One of his calloused hands rests on the back, expectant. He himself stands just behind, so tall that so long as you don’t raise your eyes, you don’t risk meeting his. You glare at his hand and torso as you pull out your own chair and take a seat.

​He doesn’t sit. That’s more off-putting, you think. You feel his presence behind you, peering over your shoulder as you flip open the front cover. A mercenary watching your every move, as a predator watches over its unassuming prey. It sets you on edge. The hair at the back of your neck stands straight. Along your arms, goosebumps rise. You sit rigid and stiff, trying to focus on the text before you rather than the figure behind you.

​Until finally, you can’t bear it anymore. With a huff, you bite out, “You can sit.”

​You hear the weight of his feet shift from one side to the other as he lowers himself down into the seat he’d originally pulled out for you. He leans back and crosses his long legs, casual and comfortable as he smirks at you. “How gracious of you.”

​… Perhaps this is worse, after all. Now he watches your face. You feel the weight of his gaze, the way it burns into you. In your peripheral, you see the swoop of his hair and the slope of his nose. Aside from the rise and fall of his chest behind crossed arms, he seems completely motionless. A statue. You could delude yourself into thinking he is one, if the way your friend Tara fawned over rumors of his strength and his muscular form is anything to go by; carved by the gods to be perfect and without flaw. Unfortunately for your friend Tara, you aren’t so taken by powerful physique alone.

​“Stop watching me,” you demand.

​“What would you like me to watch instead, your highness?” he asks.

​You hold tighter to the book, fighting back the urge to rip it apart. This tome does not deserve the consequences of your anger. “The ceiling, for all I care.”

​“The ceiling holds no candle to the vision before me.”

​“Shut up.”

​That infuriatingly rich chuckle of his again. At least he does as he is told, remaining silent. But his gaze remains on you.

-

​“That’s Sylus?” your best friend, Tara, whispers behind her hand as she stares over your shoulder at the mercenary. He stands at attention beside the door, keeping an eye over your get-together. He smirks slightly her way. She turns away with red cheeks and giggles. “He’s even more handsome in real life!”

​For one day each week, sometimes more, you have Tara over for tea and gossip. She is not considered royalty or nobility, but you’ve grown close despite that fact. Or perhaps in spite of it. Through her, you’re given knowledge and insight into the city below that you’d never know otherwise. The goings and comings of the folk too afraid of punishment to speak candidly to you, and who certainly make pleasantries and casual conversation feel stilted and unbalanced. Tara has never held back her true opinions from you, and you love her dearly for it. Right now, however…

​You glare at her. “Can you please focus?”

​She smiles coyly at you before she waves a hand at the mercenary. “Would you like some tea, Mr. Bodyguard?” she calls.

​Sylus chuckles softly. You can hear the grin in his voice when he speaks. “Only if our highness permits it.”

​“I do not.”

​“Oh, come on!” she whines, taking hold of your arm to jostle you. “How often do you get the chance to have tea with a mercenary!”

​“Every day?”

​She rolls her eyes. “Let me rephrase: how often do I get the chance to have tea with a mercenary? Just this once and I’ll never ask again!”

​You let out a long sigh. For as much as you want to refuse her again, she truly does so much for you. The least you could do in return is this small favor. The words grate on your nerves as you speak over your shoulder, “Come have tea.”

​Tara bites her lip as she watches him move from the door. You pointedly keep your gaze fixed on your own cup, tracing the floral pattern on the side over and over again. His boots thunk heavily, leather creaking, weapons clinking, as he crosses the floor and comes to sit in the chair to your right. The delicate porcelain set chimes as he retrieves his own cup and pours himself some tea. You’re almost surprised he doesn’t slurp when he raises it to his lips.

​“We have sugar and cream,” Tara offers. She’s so awestruck. So taken in by this brute. Wide eyed with stars in her pupils.

​“I prefer it black,” he says not unkindly.

​She smiles at the new information. “Tell us about yourself, Mr. Bodyguard.”

​He smiles in turn, angling himself toward her as he crosses his legs. “What would you like to know, Miss…?”

​“Tara! I suppose I’m curious why you chose to compete for this position. Everyone the world over knows you for your prowess on the battlefield, so it seems a rather unusual choice.”

You try not to let your interest show as you take another sip.

“Unusual to most, perhaps. Even my fellow mercenaries would tell you it is not within our livelihood to turn down work.”

“But surely with all the other contracts you’ve taken, you must be rich!”

He chuckles. From the corner of your eye you see him hold a playful finger over his lips. And judging from Tara’s reaction, he must have winked, too.

She leans forward, resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. “Then, if not for the money, why take the job?”

“My true reasons are… personal.”

“Awww,” she whines, sitting back. However, her spirit remains undeterred and unbothered. She eagerly launches into question after question for him, until the sun dips too low in the sky for her to stick around. While he answers all of them, you learn truly very little about himself, aside from his taste for pomegranate and interest in falconry. Tara doesn’t seem to notice, and you say nothing to steal that delight from her.

-

​The moon is high in the sky. Crickets chirp their lonely songs. An owl silently snatches a field mouse from the garden.

​Your boots land softly in the grass. Your hands and arms ache from the climb down the knotted bedsheets and curtains hung from your balcony. When you don’t have visitors, Sylus always keeps watch outside of your room, keeping an eye on the halls. It’s not at all feasible to try sneaking past him through the main door, so you seized the only other option available to you.

​There is something forbidden and addicting in this moment. Still coming down from the rush of adrenaline that powered you down the makeshift rope. Cool air on your face, dirt under your feet. There is nothing saying you cannot be out here at night - so long as you have your bodyguard.

​You can’t stop smiling as you rush into the secret exit in the wall and skip off toward the city.

​Walking down the cobbled streets, it’s like you can finally breathe again. There is nobody here to tower over your shoulder. No responsibility. No weight on your back. At last, you are free. It may only last one night, so you plan to drink it in for all it’s worth.

​Including actual drinks.

​The tavern is warm and welcoming. Orange light pours out of the windows into the blue night. Rosy-cheeked patrons stumble out laughing with arms slung over each other's shoulders. It is precisely the taste of the city you need.

You glance over your shoulder to make sure you're not being followed, and head inside.

Music hits your ears, provided by a small band up on a stage. Nobody pays them much mind. Folk are gathered around tables, chatting among friends. Individuals line the bar, making new friends with the loner sat beside them. Two workers bustle behind the counter, pouring drinks and cleaning glasses.

You walk past the tables to the bar. A stool at the far end calls your name. One of the workers notices you and crosses over with a grin.

"What can I do you for?"

You smile back at them. "Could I have an ale, please?"

The bartender nods and grabs a clean tankard. You watch their movements as they draw the amber liquid from a hefty keg lining the wall. "Haven't seen you 'round here before. You new to town?"

"Something like that," you lie with a chuckle.

They place the tankard in front of you and lean on their elbow along the bar-top. They're cute, honestly. A little dimple peeks out at the side of their mouth. Freckles dot their face, over the flattened bridge of their nose. Not your type, though; you think Tara would like them. They quirk a brow up at you. "You know how money works, don't ya?"

You startle, blinking out of your daze as you fumble for the pouch at your wait. "Oh, gods, I'm sorry! It's been a while since I've, uh," you cut yourself off, pulling out several coins. They clink together as you drop them into their awaiting palm. "Here, for your trouble."

Their eyes widen as they take in the amount. They say nothing about it as they straighten up, slotting the coins safely in their pocket as they nod. "Appreciate it. If you need anything, let me know."

As they wander away, whispering gossip to the other barkeep, you take a sip of your ale. It's bitter, but warm. You take another long drag, closing your eyes to take it in. At the castle, you're not permitted something as common as a good ale. It's all fancy wines, imported and specially paired with the chef's prepared meals. They're nice, but they're not this. Your lovely little taste of normalcy.

You look around. The band looks like they're having fun, despite the lack of attention. A clarinetist smiles around the mouthpiece as she cozies up to a tambourine player, who smiles in return. The lutist laughs as he watches, teasing them fondly through improvised lyrics.

You imagine what their lives must be like. If they play here every night, or if this is their first time. If they all knew each other before forming their band, or if they joined one by one. If the clarinetist and the tambourine player are dating, or already married and still head-over-heels for each other. If the lutist was the one to egg them into a relationship, or perhaps he's part of it, too. Do they live by the docks, or by the fields, or in the heart of the city. Do they go shopping in the market on weekends or weekdays. Do they dance as freely as they play.

You were taught the harp at a young age. You didn't want to learn to play it, but your father insisted. Emphasized the discipline it would teach you by practicing every day, and how impressed your future spouse would be when you play for them.

You drown out the though with another sip. If it were up to you, what instrument would you play? Or would you want to play one at all? The freedom of choice is tantalizing - and unknowable. You were not raised to choose. You were raised to have the choices made for you. Even your damn bodyguard. It was not your choice to hire him. It was not your choice to have him follow you at all hours, watching over you like a bird of prey. So long as he's around, you'll never be able to choose for yourself.

Well, you can choose now. He isn't here, after all.

You down the rest of your drink, leaning back in your chair with big gulps to slug it all down. The way it claps the counter after calls the barkeep over. "Would you like a refill?"

"Yes, please." You gather another bunch of coins and press them into their hand with determined intent. "And don't stop until I can't stand."

-

You giggle to yourself over nothing. Sway on your feet, twirling around to silent music, as you stumble from the tavern. Your head is light. Your belly is full from drink alone. Your cheeks are warm. And you feel great. Even as you veer from the road to the wall of the building, leaning up against bricks for support as you wait for the world to stop spinning.

"Highness?"

You blink at an approaching figure. The glow of the streetlamps makes his silvery hair turn gold at the edges, haloing him like a tapestry of an angel. Your lips downturn in a scowl.

"Ugh, you couldn't let me have one night, hm?"

Sylus smirks. Or, you think he does. His face is a bit blurry, and partially hidden with harsh shadows. "What, you haven't had enough fun yet? You can barely stand."

You nod proudly. "That - hic - that was the goal."

"Well, you've achieved it." He comes to your side, hauling you from the wall with an arm around your waist even as you try to squirm away. "C'mon. It's time for bed."

He's much stronger than you. You try pushing him away and dragging your feet, but no matter how hard you struggle to free yourself, he just keeps pulling you along with ease. "Ugh, I dun wanna go back!" you groan. When you trip on the cobble, it's unintentional. He catches you, pulling you even tighter into his side. He's so… beefy. "You're a big, huge, giant, stupid, rude asshole!"

He chuckles. It rumbles through you, vibrating in his chest. You pinch at his side. He doesn't flinch. "I sure am. Why do you think I was hired?"

You huff, annoyed. "Didn't need you t'be hired," you grumble under your breath. "We- We're at peace! We don't have any enemies righ' now. It doesn't make any sense!"

"Your father was worried for your safety-"

"My father, ugh. What does he know?"

"Have you always had a habit of sneaking out on your own?"

"You wouldn' get it," you grumble. The castle rises up at the end of the street to meet you. You glare at its ornate structures, hidden in the night. The only thing properly lit at this hour is the main gate and two lookout towers high in the sky. You poke your tongue out at all of it.

He hums with a cocky tilt of his head. "How can you be so sure, highness? You barely know me."

As you near the castle, the portcullis is raised with the familiar clinking of the great chain mechanism that lifts it. The guard that stands watch beside it looks curiously from your bodyguard to you, stumbling at his side. "Good evening, your highness," they say. "Sir."

"Good evenin'," you mutter, too drunk to be embarrassed.

"Evening," Sylus greets with familiarity. "I found them."

The guard chuffs an amused sound as the portcullis closes behind you. "I can see that. Gonna have a nasty headache tomorrow, eh?"

"Almost certainly."

A guard posted beside the main door opens it for you both, their eyes following you with quiet entertainment. You snort, a sound unbecoming of your status, as you follow the familiar walkways of your home. "Couldn't find me, eh?"

He grins. His hold loosens as you find some sure-footedness. You still drift from side to side, but at least you don't fall. "You're not as subtle as you give yourself credit for, highness."

"What d'you mean?"

"You snore."

"I do not!"

"You do - that's how I knew you weren't sleeping. When I knocked to check on you, you didn't answer, and when I went in to look, you weren't there. That's how I knew you were missing, highness. And the rope of bedsheets and blankets is hard to miss."

You grumble, pouting as you take the stairs upward step by step. "I do not snore," you mutter under your breath.

"Figuring out where you went was the easy part."

"Hm?"

"Where else would you go at a time like this?" he muses.

You want to rip into him. Defend that you're not as predictable and naive as he seems to think. Insult him for taking as long as he did to find you despite how cocky he relays his "tracking" of you.

But your head is too full of cotton. And your lids are being weighed down with exhaustion. You barely manage to reach the top step, shuffling your feet along the floor to your bedroom door. He supports you once again; you don't have the energy to stop him.

He opens the door for you and helps you inside. Everything is as you left it, from the open balcony doors to the makeshift rope tied to the banister, to the lump of pillows under your blanket made to give the impression of your sleeping form.

You flop heavily onto your mattress and gladly sink into its welcome plushness. You blink away the need to sleep. Watch blearily as he removes your shoes and your belt, and slips your body under the blanket, beside the other "you".

You grab his sleeve weakly. "Don't…" You inhale sleepily, trying to gather your wits. "Don't tell father… please… he can't… know…" By the last word, you're already asleep.

Sylus sighs quietly to himself. Your hand slips from his sleeve on its own, falling to the bed. "I won't," he whispers, even though you can't hear it.

He doesn't allow himself to linger beside you. Even though the moonlight spills perfectly across your face, and your hair is wild and free, and your skin glows with the warmth of your night out.

No, he can't linger.

Instead, he heads to the balcony to draw up your makeshift rope. He unties it from the balcony's railing, loops it into a neat coil, and leaves it beside the balcony doors which he then closes. He draws the heavy curtains in front of them, shutting out the last remnants of light. And he slips out of the room, back to his post, to stand guard over you once more.

Your grating snores sneak out of the creases of your door.

-

You watch silently as Sylus guides a large horse through a series of training exercises. The horse is easily taller than him, with a sleek black coat that shines in the afternoon sun. Its mane flows gracefully around its head and neck as it makes sharp turns and solid jumps. The feathering around its hooves makes it looks even more regal.

Sylus is completely focused on the task at hand. He controls the reins with confidence. With a slight tug, he leads the horse one way. A calculated press of his heels into its sides has it wordlessly speeding up. It's fascinating. Watching the dirt kick up, listening to the firm commands and low praises, witnessing the regimen of the greatest mercenary of your time - it's incredible. Even you have to admit that.

He pats the giant horse's neck as he guides it over to the side of the arena. He slips off without staggering, despite the distance from the saddle to the ground. Sweat beads on his forehead and slips down his neck, underneath the leather armor he always wears. He wipes it away with the back of his arm and looks up at you.

You are safely out of the sun's harsh rays, settled underneath the awning in your designated seat. There's no reason you needed to sit there of all places, especially when the rest of the arena is void of life, but at least you're protected.

Under his gaze, you stiffen up. Straighten your back tightly, still the fidgeting of your hands, tilt your chin higher as you gaze down at him. He smirks.

"You don't have to compensate for last night," he teases, striking the nail right on the head.

You scoff as though he hadn't. "I'm not compensating. I just so happen to have been raised with manners and decency, unlike some."

He leans his arms on the railing. They bulge under his clothes, formed of pure muscle. "What manners do you have that I don't?"

"I don't stare, for starters."

"You were staring at me this whole time."

"I was watching your horse, not you. Second, I close my legs when I sit. And I stay quiet in the library."

He chuckles. "Your priorities for manners are strange, highness."

You roll your eyes. But then you sigh, fidgeting with your fingers once more. "I... I wanted to thank you, for last night."

He quirks a brow with interest.

"I may not have liked it at the time, but I really wouldn't have been able to get back home while I was that... intoxicated. And you didn't tell my father, even though it is your duty to report such things to him. So, thank you."

You wait for him to gloat. To wax poetic about how wonderful he is for coming to your rescue last night, and for how brave he is to go against your father's - no doubt quite exacting - orders.

To your surprise, he simply stands from leaning against the fence and holds a hand out toward you. "Come here," he says, without demand or expecting obedience. It's just a simple beckoning, as though he's calling over a friend.

You stand with some hesitancy, meeting him at the fence. "What?"

His lip tugs at the corner. He gestures with his hand, waiting. You roll your eyes again as you take it.

It's warm and rough, callused from his weapons and the lead of his horse. It's such a contrast to your too-soft hands, scratchy, almost, as he starts to guide you up over the fence.

You tug your hand back, or try to, but he doesn't let go. "I can't climb the fence like that!"

He shoots you a look. "But you can climb 50 feet down the side of the castle?"

Your face heats up, burning with embarrassment. You huff as you step up on the first rung of the fence, then the second, and swing yourself over to the other side. Your father would be furious if he saw your shoes in the dirt, your clothes catching loose dust in their fibers.

When you look up, you're met with the pure muscle of his horse's back leg. It's even more massive up close; you feel like a tiny insect beside it. Sylus chuckles at your reaction. He butts his shoulder up against the giant creature and it steps away with a snort of air, giving you space.

"What's wrong, highness? Never seen a horse before?"

You scoff, glaring at him. "I didn't realize there was a horse big enough to match your ego. Compensating for something?"

He smirks slyly down at you. "Wouldn't you love to find out."

Your face burns as you rip your hand from his hold. He chuckles again, turning to run his hand up the horse's neck and down the curve of its jaw. It ducks down into his touch, lowering its head until it can nose at his hands. "This is Mephisto," he introduces. He pets its nose fondly. "He's seen a good many battles with me."

Mephisto's sleek black hair is marred in places by various scars. His sides, chest and rump, all crossed with slashing marks or knotted stab-wounds. You try to imagine this horse in battle, crushing foes under his hooves. The foolish humans that tried to kill him with halberds or swords.

Mephisto nudges Sylus harder, snuffing agitatedly. Sylus nudges him away and gestures you over. "He's waiting for a treat. C'mere. You can feed him."

"He'll bite my fingers off." Still, your feet carry you closer. Mephisto's dark eye watches you as you approach. His ears stands at attention, listening to everything.

"If you're careless, yeah." Sylus keeps Mephisto at bay with his shoulder as he pulls a golden cookie from a pouch at his hip. "Hold out your hand." You do so. He places the cookie in your palm and flattens out your fingers. "As long as you keep your fingers out of the way, he won't bite you."

He steps aside and the massive horse turns all his attention on you. You instinctively back away, intimidated and frightened. But Sylus steps behind you, holding your arms to keep you in place. "Relax and stand your ground," he assures you. "He won't hurt you."

The horse's great big head comes into your space, mane fluttering over his forehead as he ducks his nose into your palm. His lips grab the cookie with ease and he crunches away, nosing your hand for even more. It feels like velvet. Soft and smooth, and warm from the mid-afternoon sun. His tongue drags across your palm. You let out a surprised laugh.

"See? Harmless."

"You said he's been in battles with you."

"Is this a battlefield?" He steps back around you, offering the horse a cookie from his own palm. Mephisto greedily nabs it. Sylus pushes his head away. "What do you say, highness? Up for a ride?"

You blink at him. "Wha- on your horse?"

He shoots you a look, snarky and teasing, but he holds the remark on his tongue. "If you'd like, I can fetch one from the stables, but I don't know their temperaments. At least Mephisto won't buck you off of him."

You try to recall the last time you rode a horse.

It was so long ago, you don't even remember the color of its coat. Your first taste of what freedom could be; the steady rocking of the muscular creature beneath you, the path passing by under its feet, the world waiting beyond. Your instructor was trying to show you how to ride it for a ceremony, you think. Something structured. Practiced. Rehearsed. She'd helped you up into the saddle and held its reigns as she walked along the training grounds. When you dug your heels into its side, it was on accident; you thought you were about to fall. But the horse sped up quickly, ripping the reigns from the instructor's hands and running right for the fence. You'd screamed. It jumped over the wood. You felt so light. When its hooves touched the ground again, you were free. It ran with you on its back for what felt like seconds and hours all at once. You laughed the whole way, awing at the scenery passing by.

And then the royal guard caught up to you.

You haven't been allowed to ride since. You were forced to ride along with another noble in your father's court for the ceremony.

You swallow and take a step back. "I don't remember how to ride," you half-lie.

Sylus quirks a brow. "Want me to show you, highness?"

You don't know what possesses you to say yes. Maybe that child within you who still longs for that taste of freedom peeked out just long enough to grasp the opportunity by the throat before it was lost.

All you know is the feel of Sylus's hands at your waist as he lifts you up into the saddle. Mephisto doesn't react to the added weight, even when he climbs on behind you, using the fence as a step-up.

If having him lurking behind you in the library was bad, this was ten times worse. His arms bracing you to hold the reigns. His body pressing right up against your back. His voice beside your ear as he tells you to hold onto the reigns, too. Your heart thuds loudly against your ribs. You don't think it's just because of the height.

He nudges Mephisto's sides with his heels and the horse is spurred forward. You hold on tighter to the reigns. Due to the absolute size of his horse's body, you're jostled about more than you expected. Sylus takes it in stride.

"Hold on with your legs," he tells you. There's a patient amusement to his voice. "Lift your chest, square your shoulders." His hand lets go of the rein to press flat over your stomach. You jolt at the improper touch and he chuckles as he slips his hand away. "Suck in your stomach to activate your core. Feel balanced now?"

You follow all his advice, though you throw a glare over your shoulder at him first. Your back straightens out. You no longer feel so easily prone to falling off. Even if you did, his arms are there to catch you. "Now what?"

He hums. "You don't seem to me like the kind of person to take things slow."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you really want to go in circles around the arena?" Mephisto follows the slightest tug as Sylus pulls on one side of the reins. He turns, head and body swinging around, until he's facing the outer wall. "Or shall we take this lesson on the road?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. You feel his legs as he urges Mephisto on, ushering him into a canter, then a gallop. Powerful muscles beneath you shift. The horse races straight for the wall.

"W-W-Wait!"

"Hold on, highness."

Your body falls back into his chest as Mephisto jumps into the air.

You feel weightless.

Time seems to slow down. Fear giving way to excitement. The fence passes by underneath the behemoth's belly. His legs outstretch to land on the other side.

He touches down and you're jolted about in the saddle. Sylus wraps an arm firmly around your waist, holding you upright. He laughs beside your ear. You laugh, too.

The wind whooshes by. Your hair is blown about. If Sylus is annoyed by it, he says nothing. Doesn't react at all in favor of steering Mephisto out into the fields surrounding the kingdom.

It's amazing. Before long, you're rushing down dirt paths between seas of wheat and corn, their stalks bending in the wind in great waves. Farmers hear the loud footfalls of the massive horse barrelling toward them and rush off to one side or the other, getting out of the way so they don't get crushed underfoot. Sylus wouldn't let them either way, guiding Mephisto around them with ease.

A broad smile stretches your face. You want to see everything; every farmer's dwelling and field of crop, every signpost left at junctions, every face you pass. The best you can do is catch glimpses, but oh how glorious they are. Picture-perfect moments of life outside the castle walls. Outside of the proper and high society you were brought up in, forced to conform to. You see children playing with sticks. Birds flying high overhead. A once-secret meeting of a couple behind a tree, startled apart when Mephisto rushes past.

The world stretches on forever before you. As Sylus pulls Mephisto to a stop at the top of a hill, you see towns and farms and fields stretching on into the horizon. Far, far in the distance, mountains that break up the sky, promising wonderful adventures in their rocky peaks and valley passes. Beyond them, what else could there be? Kingdoms and oceans and forests.

You let out a breath. Your chest feels lighter now, looking out over the world. But it's bittersweet. A temporary balm to your aching heart. Your smile melts into a frown.

"Father would be upset if he knew you'd taken me out this far," you mutter, quiet and sullen.

"So long as I'm around to keep an eye on you, he won't say anything."

Right. Sylus is just your bodyguard. Your faithful watchdog. Watching over you, ensuring you don't get into trouble. Suddenly, his presence so close behind you feels oppressive. You wish to hide away from him. From his duty.

He points out into the distance. "If you went that way for three days and three nights, you'd make it to the edge of the badlands," he tells you. "And just beyond, the kingdom of Onychinus."

You see nothing but the curve of the earth. You try to picture it, piecing together stories from the books in the library. "Is that where you hail from?"

"It is."

"What's it like?"

You peer over your shoulder to see his face. He stares off into the distance, like he's seeing the kingdom up close. Like he's wandering the barren plains once more. "It's a dangerous place. You'll never find a more concentrated hub for bandits, thieves, and traitors."

"Is that why you left?"

He looks down at you now. Quirks a brow. "To become a mercenary, you mean?"

You nod. "Surely, with your reputation and your skills, you could change the kingdom for the better."

"I wouldn't."

"Why not?"

He huffs a laugh. "If I went in and dispersed all the ne'er-do-wells, where then would they go? To all the surrounding villages, where the folk are ill-prepared to deal with such violence. Or to farmland, where they could burn the crop without fear of it affecting themselves, only the farmers and townsfolk who depend on it. Or to the cities and royal kingdoms, to infest the shadows with hunters stalking unsuspecting prey... Perhaps it would do the kingdom itself some good, to be rid of all the miscreants and threats, but it would harm so much more than simply leaving it alone.

"Besides, I, myself, do business there from time to time."

You gape up at him. "What sort of business?"

He smirks, in on a joke only he knows. "Whatever pays well, highness." Then he shrugs. "Or whatever seems the most intriguing."

"Don't you have better things to be doing?" you scoff. You turn back around and shake your head in distaste.

"Don't worry, highness," he says, "I don't hurt anyone undeserving of it."

"How reassuring. And I suppose you're the one who decides that?"

He hmphs, but says nothing to that. Instead, he tugs on the reins and turns Mephisto around, back down the path you've just traversed. With a light nudge, he starts walking at a leisurely pace back to the kingdom. The castle appears only a few inches tall in the distance. Still, it feels far too close. Closer now as you begin the inevitable march back towards it.

"Perhaps you'll see it one day."

"See what?"

"Onychinus. It's dark and cruel... but it's home. It has its moments of beauty to it."

"Unlikely. That I'll ever see it, I mean. I can only take your word on its better qualities."

-

You turn quickly to the sound of familiar boots against the polished marble floor. Sure enough, nearly blending with the shadows if not for how lovingly the moonlight catches his hair, Sylus is there.

"I'm not sneaking out," you tell him quickly.

He throws you a smirk. "Of course not. You're not foolish enough to take the front door for that." He comes to your side and offers you his arm. You look at it warily. "Where to, highness?" That simple question eases your fears enough to accept, tucking your hand in the crook of his elbow.

"I'm not sure." You begin walking again, mindlessly following the paths of servants and knights and nobles that have been etched into the history of the castle. He walks beside you without contest. "I wanted to escape to the library. Only, I forgot they're closed at this hour."

"And why should that stop you?"

"It's locked up with a set of keys only kept by the librarian."

"Mhm. So?"

You shoot him a perplexed frown. He smiles back, and redirects your path toward the library. The trip is silent. Your heart spikes, wondering when he'll ask why you were wandering, and how to lie about your reasonings. But he doesn't pry. Doesn't offer small talk to fill the quiet. He just walks with you.

You clear your throat. "When do you find time to sleep? I never see you rest, and you're the only person set to watch me."

He shrugs. "I've grown accustomed to long days with little sleep. I'll catch a few minutes when I'm certain you are safe and there's no threat to your being. Usually at night - usually when you're sleeping. But the usual patrol always wakes me up."

"You could have them guard my door while you go to bed. Did my father not prepare a room for you?"

"He did." You look at him expectantly, waiting for more. He shakes his head with a scoff. "Your beds are too soft."

You huff. "Sleep in the stables, if that pleases you."

"I don't think they appreciate my company," he teases back.

You round the corner. The massive doors of the library are set into the wall, imposing and carved with intricate patterns. Once you're close enough, you reach out to follow the curves of a dragon's tail, each scale carefully carved out with painstaking focus. "Do you know this story?"

He looks up at the entire carving. A dragon rears its head back, claws and teeth bared and sharp, tail whipping around it. Around its neck is a thick collar attached to heavy chains. He follows the chain links all the way down to a little human figure, sword in its other hand. Small rays of light beam off of the human, revealing its divine power. The chain is broken when the door come apart. Locked shut as it is, the dragon is forced into an eternal imprisonment. He shakes his head slightly. "I don't."

"It's old. The story goes that there was once a King and Queen who ruled the land in a time of peace. It took many wars to achieve this, and they spent a good many years rebuilding the castle from the rubble. The Queen wanted to build a library. The King let her.

"It was grand and magnificent. So large it could hold the entire world's knowledge on its shelves. She purchased books from every shop in town, from every city in other kingdoms, from anyone who owned any piece of literature. She amassed all of the knowledge that went into the library, and the shelves slowly filled up more and more, with poems and atlases and fantasies.

"But she was consumed by it. Day and night, she was in the library, reading every book. It was said she read so quickly, she nearly read every single book in the collection in a week. She wouldn't eat, nor sleep. All she did all day was read.

"One day, distraught with his wife's isolation, the King went to the library to drag her from it. Only, when he opened the doors, he did not find his wife... He found a dragon. With all this knowledge in one place, the need to hoard it all for herself, the Queen had transformed. She was mindless. She no longer recognized her husband.

"But the King was determined. He called upon the power of his ancestors and the gods, and forged a chain strong enough to contain her. He climbed onto her back, fighting away her claws, and clasped the collar around her neck. And with all his strength, he heaved her out of the library doors, away from the knowledge that had driven her mad.

"'Shut the doors!' he commanded his men. As soon as she was completely through, the doors were slammed closed and locked tight. Before their eyes, the dragon shrank down once more into the body of the Queen... That's why the library is kept shut at night, to keep anyone from spending too long surrounded by the power so much knowledge can hold."

Sylus hums softly. "What happened to the Queen after?"

You sigh, picking at one of her scales, chipping away at the lichen starting to make a home on the wood. "When my father would tell it, she was perfectly normal, but she swore off books for the rest of her life." Your shoulders slump. You rest your forehead to the door. "But when my mother told it... she was ruined. She had finally discovered the freedom books can bring after years toiling in the gritty politics of war chambers and battlefields, and she was never allowed to experience it again."

Silence blankets the hall. It feels heavy. It always does when your mother crosses your mind. You always thought she was the Queen from the story. A dragon forced into a human shell, chained into her life. You remember when she told the story, she would look to see if your father was around, as though she was keeping it a secret from him.

"You must take a lot after her," Sylus says.

You bite your cheek.

Stepping away from the door, you clear your throat and shake your head. "Like I said, it's locked at night. There was no reason to bring me back here."

"And as I said, why should that stop you?" He steps forward, tugging free something from his pocket. He kneels down, eye level with the lock, and sticks two strange devices into the hole. With a few jiggles and turns, the lock clicks open and he stands triumphant. He tucks the tools back into his pocket as he opens the door, grinning cunningly at you. "After you, highness."

You gape at him. "You-!" You look down the hall each way. Not another soul around. "You could get arrested for that! Breaking in is an offense in of itself, but breaking into the royal library?!"

He smirks, leaning against the door with all the confidence of, well, a mercenary. "Are you going to turn me in?"

"I should." You look down the hall again, and slip inside. "Just this once."

"As you say, highness."

The door shuts quietly behind you. His boots follow quietly after, more at ease now that there's no one here to act as a threat to you.

The library's ceiling rises high, coalescing into a grand dome of glass. The pale light of the moon casts a bluish glow on the world, and throws deep shadows along the floor and walls. At this hour, this place you find sanctuary in seems foreign and unnatural.

Tables and chair usually full of papers, books and people sit empty and waiting, neatly arranged and patient. The desk the librarian mans in the day is abandoned in the night. Shelves pass by like strangers, their faces too enveloped in darkness to make out the names on the book's spines.

Yet your feet carry you through with ease. You could track your way to specific books while blindfolded.

Sylus chuckles lowly behind you. His voice carries further in the emptiness. "You must be very familiar with this library, highness. You seem to know it like the back of your hand."

You throw him a smile over your shoulder. "I've been coming here ever since I was little. It would be more surprising if I were completely lost in its walls." A sneaky idea catches in your brain. You turn around sharply. "Close your eyes."

He slows to a stop with you, raising a brow and eyeing your sudden playfulness. "Why should I?"

"Because I command you," you say in jest. "Just do it!"

He sighs. His eyelids close, hiding away ruby irises. You experimentally wave a hand in front of his face, but he doesn't track the motion or otherwise react.

Excitement wells up in your chest. You bite your lip to contain the smile hurting your cheeks. "Count to ten, then try to find me."

A grin blooms across his face as he shakes his head with amusement. "One... Two..."

You dash off into the darkness. You try to quiet your footsteps as best you can to not give away your position, but they sound as loud as your heart in your ears as you dash down side passages and between shelves. Through the novels on war strategy. Past fairy tales. In the deepest shadow, you pause, holding your breath.

"Nine... Ten."

Your heart is racing so fast. It thuds like a celebratory drum, making it difficult to hear if he's coming close. You can't recall the last time you played such a childish game.

You hear a boot too close by, and you dart out of hiding down more passages. He's close - you can feel him right on your tail. You zip through one shelf and wrap around it. For just a glimpse, you see his red eyes spotting you through the line of books. You laugh as you rush out.

But against a mercenary, you were always hopeless to win.

Sylus appears from the side and grabs you. You squeal in delight and shock, as he corners you against one of the shelves. You're panting from your workout, but he seems hardly fazed at all. Both of you, laughing in the haze of adrenaline and play.

You look up at him, giggles bubbling from your lips, and find your breaths stuttering from more than just the run.

He's so close. His hand holds onto a lip of the shelf beside your head, and the other at your shoulder. You're perfectly caged in by him. He's so close you can feel the heat radiating off of him, and the brush of the rise and fall of his chest.

Your laughter dies in your throat. His deep chuckles fade out with them. His eyes seem to glow in the darkness, catching the cold moonlight and burning it hot as embers in his irises. They stare into yours.

"Caught you," he says, quietly.

You try to keep your head on straight. You can't understand why he should be affecting you like this. Is it simply his stature? Larger than you, looming over you like a predator. Or the inappropriateness of being alone with him in such a private space? Perhaps the scent that reaches your nose. Worn leather and wildflower fields wafting from him as you try to steady your breath and rampant heart.

You swallow. "I..." His eyes flicker to your mouth, watching you form your words. It steals your breath. You swallow again. "I should be getting back to bed."

His eyes trail back up to yours. Then slowly, he pushes himself away, stepping back until you feel you can breathe freely again. He smiles, then nods, respectful. "I'll escort you."

-

"A letter for you, highness!" The courier beams proudly, bowing low as he holds out an envelope to you. It's paper is untarnished, even from its long journey, only boxed at the corners. "From the Prince of the Kingdom of Athil!"

Once you've accepted the letter, he bows once more and departs. You turn it over in your hands. Marked clearly in the blue wax seal is an image of an abstract flower whose center seems to go on forever, spiraling within itself into nothingness. Your stomach falls. You already know what it will say.

You pace back over and drop it to the table. Tara stares wide-eyed at the letter as you plop back into your seat. Even Sylus leans over to look at the seal.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Tara asks.

"No," you answer sharply. "I'd like to preserve some deniability while I still can."

Sylus leans back in his seat. The mercenary still looks out of place sipping from the fine porcelain cup. "You'll have to accept, regardless."

You take a sip of your own tea, in the hopes it might soothe your nerves and frustration. But it settles too harshly back in its saucer to pretend it worked at all. "He's going to try to propose."

Tara gasps. "How can you be so sure?"

"A prince would only ever send a specific invitation to a possible suitor if he intended to marry them. Elsewise, I'd only have been told of the event by Father."

She picks up the envelope and holds it up to the light coming in from the window. She can't make out anything other than the silhouette of the folded parchment inside. She turns it over. Then lowers it to get a better look at the seal. "What will you say?"

"To the invitation?" you ask hopefully.

"To the proposal."

You lift your cup to take another sip, but your mouth tastes sour. The thought of it all steals the sweetness of the tea, the herbal essence it once had, and eats at it like a rot. You stare into the liquid instead.

"You won't say yes, will you?" she probes further. Sylus watches you closely.

You force yourself to drink the last of your tea. It's bitter. "I'll have to," you finally answer, the sound of your voice meek even to your own ears. "Father would be furious to see me go much longer unwed. I've already surpassed the time I should have married within. I can't postpone it any longer."

The room falls quiet. The sort of quiet that overhangs the news of a tragedy, of a terrible death. Tara sets the envelope back down in front of you. She glances at Sylus.

He sets his cup down gently. "You can still refuse."

"I can't," you repeat. You look at him, imploring him to understand the situation you are in. "I know the shame I have already brought my father. To refuse would be to sully his name even more."

"If you're already bringing him shame, why go through the effort to please him now?"

"Mr. Sylus!" Tara exclaims.

He doesn't falter. "Regardless of your decision, the Prince of Athil isn't respectable; agreeing to marry him would bring the same amount of shame as refusing."

You scoff at him. "Marrying at all would be a greater weight off his back than a weight added."

"So you'll marry the next man to jump for your hand?"

"I don't have a choice who to marry now, not anymore."

"You always have a choice, highness. Don't waste it on something so banal."

You glare sharp daggers at him. Tara glances anxiously between you both. He doesn't look away as he takes another sip.

"I'm sorry you got hired to act as a bystander to such trivial politics, but these are the decisions I am forced to make, for better or worse. It is not one of your battlefields - it is mine. If that upsets you, that you cannot simply resolve all matters with your reputation, damn what everyone else thinks, then I suggest you find another more interesting war to be part of."

Your chair skids with an ugly sound over your floor as you stand. You don't spare him a second glance, bypassing him to shove open the doors to your balcony and stand at the banister.

This is not a decision you wish to make. If you could, you would refuse the Prince. But there are too many expectations of you, especially after all your failures, all your upsets. The wild energy that was never stamped out of you. The freedom your soul aches for that could never be caged tight enough.

At the end of the day, you are a slave to your position in court. To the title you bear. To your and your Father's reputations.

You grip the railing tightly. A burning grows behind your eyes. You bite your cheek to fight it back, listening through the upset pounding of your heart to the soft scrape of two chairs and the light clatter of china. Tara's flat-soled shoes pad reluctantly to the door. For a moment, you don't hear Sylus's boots. But then they follow, heavy and even, to guide Tara out of the palace. The door to your room opens and shuts. And you're all alone.

Your vision starts to blur, obscuring your view of the garden and the city and the world beyond. Your chest tightens as your lungs seem to shake. Your throat becomes raw trying to hold it all back.

When the first sob breaks, it's only a whimper. Your face crumples around it, creasing and pulling into an ugly grimace. You cover your mouth to hide the way your lips part around the shuddering cries crawling up your throat. From who, you're unsure.

The next sob is wet and harsh, dragging sounds from your chest you press your hand over tighter to contain. You can't see the world beyond your balcony anymore. You slowly lower into a heap against the banister, leaning against sturdy wooden balusters, and imagining them as the bars to the cage you were born into.

-

The countryside passes by in stretches of green and yellow. Farmland with tall, golden wheat breaks up the monotony of the grass, rolling into the distance like a placid sea. You think of your ride through it all. The faces you passed, the lives you glimpsed into. The wind on your face and the sun on your head.

The wheel of the carriage bumps over another stone and jostles you in your seat, adding another point of irritation to your already fraying nerves.

"Restless, your highness?"

You shoot Sylus an unamused look where he sits across from you, but you can't argue against it. For more reasons than one, you would rather not be riding in this damn carriage. Unfortunately, you're only an hour into your ride, and there are many more to go.

You haven't spoken to him much after what he said a few days ago. He hadn't tried starting a conversation, either. So you both silently petered around each other, just like when he was first hired to you. Only the most necessary words, short and without room for pleasantries.

You can't say he's been unaffected by it. Despite what you've presumed of him before, Sylus really is a man who does things from the good of his heart a lot of the time. He spoke his mind plainly, and it upset you. He's taken on that weight in the way he holds his tongue and the looks he sends your way. Even the day before last, when the courier returned with a second note to ask again for your answer to his invitation, he'd intercepted and chased the courier away with a sharp glare and a low warning not to disturb you. And when you'd refused to take it, he offered to throw it in the fire. Joking as it may have been, it was still a nice offer. One you pondered on for far too long.

But there is no escaping this path destiny made for you.

It could have been traveled differently, though.

"I'm sure Mephisto would have enjoyed the opportunity to stretch his legs," you say.

His brow quirks up, amused that the name of his horse should come up. "You think so?"

You blink at him, put off balance by the question. "You don't?"

"I think he's quite enjoying being pampered in the stables."

You huff and roll your eyes. You turn to look out the window again, and do your best to ignore that being able to banter with him again eased some of your fears. Your hands in your lap find the edge of your clothes, playing with the seam along the hem, picking at loose threats the tailor missed in its creation. Sylus gently nudges your shoe with his.

"If you need an escape at any time," he speaks lowly, as though sharing a secret, "tell me."

"I suppose it would be too much to ask for an escape from the event entirely."

He chuckles. "Yes, it would."

You sigh. "Then I'll just have to keep it in mind." You offer him a smile, weak yet playful. He offers one in return, though it fades into something earnest and serious.

"I still stand by what I said," he begins. You look away, smile evaporating. You don't want to remember it; the tears you cried and the bars of the balcony railing. But he leans forward, ensuring you can't escape it. "You do have a choice, highness. You don't have to marry the Prince."

Just the reminder of what's at stake sends a pang of anxiety through your heart. It steals your next breath. Tightens your chest until tiny pin-pricks poke into your lungs. "What other choice could I possibly make?"

"Refuse his proposal. Marry someone else."

"I already told you, no one else would ever want to marry me."

"I find that hard to believe."

"And my father-"

"Doesn't have to control your life forever," he cuts you off. He reaches out and carefully takes your hands, stopping your fidgeting. They're warm and callused. You look down at them, tracing the prominent veins that travel from his fingers up his wrists. When he speaks again, it's soft, almost a whisper. "You don't have to live in a cage, your highness."

It's more dangerous now than it used to be to consider the notion of freedom. You've always longed for it. Always chased after it. It's the entire reason Sylus was hired in the first place, you're sure. But now, when it's closer than ever, you're terrified.

What would your father do if you refused? What would happen to him, his reputation and respect? What would the kingdom think? Would they be glad you aren't marrying this infamous prince? Or would they also think lesser of you for going even longer without a spouse? What would Mother have thought? What would she have said? Would she offer encouragement or gentle scolding?

Countering all of your fears are your fantasies; the things you would do if you were truly free from this life. Travel across the land, meeting people and trying foods and exploring all the places you've only ever read about. Wander how you please, hopping from tavern to tavern without fear of retribution. Indulge hobbies you couldn't before, like riding a horse without a fence to stop you. You could do everything. You could do anything.

But you'd lose everything else you've ever known.

He squeezes your hands kindly, offering reassurance as he watches the war behind your expressions. Then he lets go, slipping your hands once more into your lap as he sits back on the bench. "It's your decision."

Your hands feel empty without his holding them. You scrunch the fabric of your clothes, failing to imitate the comfort. "What will you do once I make my choice?" you ask quietly. You raise your head to meet his eyes.

You almost wish you hadn't. You can see his own conflict crossing his face. A harsh truth he's all too aware of. "I won't be able to stay," he answers softly. And it seems so obvious. Of course, he's a mercenary; his world is past the horizon and across the globe. He goes where the wind takes him to find excitement and adventure, usually for a price. He can't be caged down with you forever.

"Why did you take this job?"

His eyes study your face. For a moment. Two. And then he looks away. He doesn't answer.

You trace the angle of light that cuts across his cheek from the sun pouring in through the window. Then you, too, look away. Out of the carriage, across the land at distant towns and fields of crop.

The rest of the trip is blanketed with a pressing silence.

-

Your name is called out to the crowd, announcing your presence as you descend the stairs into the party. Faces turn up to look at you, to drink in your specially tailored costume for the evening. They awe and ogle over you, but especially over the man just a step behind.

Sylus traded in his usual leathers and belts for a suit of his own. A slimming red vest underneath a black coat, with long tails that trail behind him. A feather of red jewels is fitted into the stitching at his breast. As the light catches their facets, so to do they bring out the facets of his own crimson eyes. Despite the change in attire, everyone gasps with recognition.

"You seem to be more popular than me," you murmur to him.

He grins in the corner of your eye. "Only in terms of shock-value. It's not every day you see a mercenary without a weapon."

You glance at him as you reach the bottom step. "Does that make you nervous?"

"That I don't have any of my swords or daggers?" He steps down onto the white and gold marble beside you, and smirks with a mischievous gleam. "No."

You suppose it wouldn't, with his physique being the way it is. If he were scrawny, perhaps, then you'd be worried in his stead. But Sylus, both in reputation and stature, is a man who can handle himself in any situation thrown his way.

The crowd parts with polite bows and empty small talk as you work your way through. Most of the faces are ones you don't recognize, Dukes and Countesses of this kingdom and others even farther away than your own. A staggering array of colors from white to gold, blue to red, purple to black, and everything in between, litter the ballroom. Tucked on a little stage are the musicians for the night, all donned in muted clothes to keep attention away from them. They're all stiff-backed and stoic; nothing like the performers you saw at that tavern.

Sylus follows behind as you worm your way to the sidelines. He plucks a drink for you off of a servant's tray as they pass, handing it off to you. He smirks at the look you give him. "I know how much you like to drink, highness," he teases. You roll your eyes and turn away, but you can't deny the pleasant flavor that spreads over your tongue when you take a sip.

Through the crowd, you can see the dancers swirling in the center. Ladies and lords moving in sync, following the timing of the music. Struck by curiosity, you peek up at Sylus and ask, "Have you ever danced?"

He tilts his head from side to side. "I have... but they were nothing like this. Picture a bonfire surrounded by naked men and women, drunk out of their minds, and without a care in the world." You gape at him with wide eyes, cheeks burning at the images your brain conjures. He smirks knowingly. "That's the sort of dancing I'm used to."

You clear your throat awkwardly. "And did you... join them?"

"Of course."

You turn away and take a gulp of your mind. That image is certainly not something you should be thinking up in a place like this.

The song ends with a flourish and the dancers come to a stop. They bow to each other. Some step from the center back into the crowd. A couple trade partners and ready for another dance. Before the next song can begin, however, trumpets bleat out their fanfare and all attention returns to the staircase you descended minutes ago.

"Announcing the Prince, Sir Barret!"

Your stomach sinks through the floor. The man at the top of the stairs is decked in enough finery to strangle your Father and half your kingdom. A long cape drags along the steps behind him as he descends with a cocky strut and his head raised high. He hasn't yet spoken a word, and you can already tell how insufferable he is.

A woman nearby chuckles quietly to the woman next to her. "I've heard tell the last time he threw a party like this, he was caught with a girl in the hedge garden."

The second woman titters behind her fan. "I heard it was a man he was caught with."

The first snickers. "It was both!"

It takes all your effort not to scowl. You glance over your shoulder at Sylus. "I think I'm ready for that escape now."

"You haven't even danced yet," he notes with a hum. "How improper, your highness."

You scoff. "Then dance with me."

That gathers his attention. He looks down at you with a raised brow. "I don't know the steps."

You shrug. "It will be more interesting that way."

Clearly, he doesn't want to. Glaring at the dancers over your shoulder and shifting his feet. And yet, he offers you his hand and sets your glass on a passing servant's tray. "You'll be disappointing your prince," he teases.

You do scowl at that. "Thank goodness he's not mine, then."

Hand in hand, you pass through the crowd and to the open space in the center of the floor as the band readies their instruments. You avoid looking at the stairs. You place your right hand at his hip and he shoots you a look. "In this position, you would be the one leading."

"I thought you didn't know how to dance like this?" you tease, grinning up at him.

He chuckles with a shake of his head, but he raises his right hand to meet your left, and positions his left hand on your shoulder.

"Just try to follow my steps. If it helps, you can think of it like a fight."

"With you as my opponent, highness, I should forfeit now."

The first notes of the song begin, sharp and energetic. You can feel him tense beneath your fingers. You take a step forward and he responds, stepping back. A step to the side and he answers. Step after step, he does his best to follow your lead. For the first while, he's off-beat and out of sync. You step on his toes more than once after he misses a cue. But... it's not frustrating. Rather, he flubs a step and you're smiling and biting back giggles. He slowly gets a better handle on the repeated steps of this waltz, but he is still not quite on time.

"You must be good at bonfire dances," you tease him.

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Why is that, highness?"

"There's no rhythm."

There's chatter in the crowd of nobles. You hear them when your circle pattern draws you away from the musician's stage and closer to the crowd. People are disturbed by you taking the lead instead of the tall man you're with. Not only that, they clearly have issue with your less than stellar performance. You're doing well not to bump into other couples.

Sylus glances over you, his eyes clearly locked in on a target for the brief moment. "He's looking for you," he whispers.

It's your turn to tense under his hand. Your steps stutter and you both mess up, recovering clumsily.

"He hasn't noticed you're dancing, yet."

"That's not very assuring. With the attention we're drawing, he's going to know very soon."

He hums. As you both go round and round, his eyes peek over to catch sight of the Prince's movements. Like a hunter tracking its prey, Sylus is very aware of where he's located at all times. And as the music comes closer and closer to its finale, you become more and more anxious. You squeeze his hand tighter.

Just as the song begins to slow, Sylus puts a plan into motion.

By the stage, there's no crowd at all, and that's where he tugs you along. He quickly mutters something at one of the players and tosses them a coin. The musician nods and pockets it. Sylus wraps an arm around your waist and leads you along the wall in the shadows of an overhang. The song comes to an end behind you, and suddenly two voices pipe up.

"You idiot! You messed up the song!"

"Wha- I messed up the song?! You were rushing!"

You try to glance back to get a look, but Sylus urges you along. "Don't look back. Through here." A cool breeze rushes past you as he pushes open a door to the outside. He closes it right after.

"What did you do?"

"I told them to start a fight." He shrugs.

You stare at him. Then a laugh bubbles out of you. And another, and another. Laughter rolls out of you, more and more as it sinks in that you've been saved from having to dance with the Prince. You can just imagine those musicians putting on such an act, shoving each other and causing a scene big enough for the Prince to have to intervene. Another thing to mess up his golden night.

Sylus's laugh joins yours. Deep and melodious, fueled on by watching you grab at the stitch in your side and stumble off to the railing at the edge of the patio you find yourself on. Slowly, you find your breath again, calming down until the last few giggles go away.

"This must be the hedge garden those ladies were talking about." You look out over the impressive garden. Bushes of flowers grow neat and tidy in their boxes. Hedges, large and small, are trimmed down into interesting shapes and figures. A man-made stream trickles through, with a small bridge crossing over it in an arch. Paths of slabbed stones are lit up lanterns that flicker with a yellow flame. You look over at Sylus. "Would you care to escort me through it?"

Nodding, he steps up to your side and offers you his arm. Your hand easily curls around his elbow. Down a few short steps, and you're in the garden proper. "Lets try not to stumble across any secret rendezvous out here."

You snicker, and then let a comfortable silence fill the space between you. It's not really silence, though; crickets chirp loudly in the taller grasses, your shoes clack gently on the stone path, wind jostles the leaves - sound is all around you. The music from the party starts up again, but it's distant. The constant murmuring and buzz of conversation of the guests too muffled to hear. Truly, all that remains of the party here, as you walk together through hedges and over the little bridge, is the rustling of your costumes.

You loathe the Prince of Athil. You wouldn't shed a tear if news of him dropping dead came about tomorrow. But you have to admit, this garden is really nice. You know, eventually, you'll have to go back inside. You'll have to face Sir Barret and his proposal. You'll have to make a choice. So, while you have the time now, you'll take every second you can get.

As you come up on a bend in the path, you go to follow it, but Sylus tugs you in the opposite direction. You frown at him. He's already set one foot off the stone, into the grass. Behind him is only darkness. "Where are you going?"

He tilts his head at you and tugs at your arm. "Afraid of a little exploration?"

You huff. "How will we see where we're going?"

With a smug grin, he grabs one of the lanterns along the side of the path and lifts it up, chasing away the darkness. "Better?"

"Better."

Your shoes sink into the dirt a little as you take your first step off the path and into the unknown. Sylus lifts the lantern high. It casts a golden flickering of light across the grass. You can just make out the odd silhouette here and there, where shrubs and closed flowers sit hidden.

It's a harder path than the paved stone; the ground isn't even, and the soft dirt doesn't provide much support, but you find your heart racing. It's only a garden, you know that. But your shoes and clothes are getting dirty, and Sylus is the one to lead you into it. It's not the first time he's been the root of your clothes getting messed up.

"You're going to have to start paying for damages," you tease, leaning against him more when your shoe gets stuck.

He chuckles. "I can afford to have an entire wardrobe tailored for you, if you'd like."

"How many jobs have you taken to be able to afford that much?"

"Enough that money is secondary to most things I do." He tilts his head to the side, half in thought. The light of the lantern catches the sharp planes of his face, highlighting his well-defined nose and the curve of his lips. "I have enough to last a hundred lifetimes, and certainly not enough to spend it on, despite my best efforts. So many Kings and Queens have demanded my services, I could buy their kingdoms and all the land surrounding them without issue."

You blink up at him. "Wow."

He shoots you a smile. "That's not intended to be a brag, I assure you. Rather, if you desire a new wardrobe, or a new castle, it would be my pleasure to spend it on you."

Overhead, the wide canopy of a tree extends out, welcoming you both under its branches. A bench, with stone beginning to crack, sits forgotten beside its trunk. As you take a seat and kick off your shoes, Sylus hangs the lantern from a low branch. It's light blankets the both of you as he sits down. "Why not use that wealth to build your own kingdom?"

He leans back against the rough bark. His arms bulge the tight sleeves of his costume as he crosses them over his chest, legs parting wider for comfort. "I enjoy my freedom too much."

Ah. Yes, he would, wouldn't he? He's perhaps the freest man of the globe, able to travel wherever, do whatever, be with whomever...

It's surprising, then, that he should choose to chain himself to you.

"When does this job end?" you ask, almost reluctant to know. "Your contract with my father to protect me."

His eyes flicker over your face, tracing the shape of the light on your own skin. You've grown comfortable under his watchful gaze. It's no longer unsettling, your every movement tracked by him. You feel like he sees you, underneath all the masks you've used to try hiding. "You can dismiss my services at any time, highness. Just say the word and I'll be on my way."

"I would have, weeks ago."

"And now?"

"Now... I fear I would be selfish to ask you to stay."

The cricket song grates too loudly in the quiet. He sits back up. His arms lower, hands coming to rest on the bench beside his thighs. His pinky almost, but not quite, touches your own leg. "You're allowed to be selfish with me, highness."

The air feels heavy. There are too many words hiding in the shadows, leering in over your heads. It's terrifying, trying to expose them to the light.

"Why offer this to me now?"

His lip quirks up in a smirk. "Because you would have accepted it weeks ago."

"So you wanted to stay?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"For a man that claims to value his freedom, yes. Why did you want to stay?"

His eyes flicker over you again, buying himself precious seconds as he decides what to say. Yet, for once, he can find none of the words he wants.

You tilt your head and frown up at him. "Tara and I have asked you multiple times, yet you never answered... Why did you accept this job?"

He lets out a soft breath, but he meets your eyes again. "The truth?"

You nod.

Nodding slightly in turn, like he's mentally preparing himself to reveal his reasonings, he begins:

"My last contract was to help guide an old fortune teller across the desert. Bandits would attack her caravan on the road, to steal her gems and magics. With my help, she made it safely across. As payment, she offered to tell my fortune." He takes a quiet breath. "She told me my destiny awaited in your kingdom.

"I don't believe in fate; our lives are for us to command and control, with the means we have. I don't like to think of a higher being playing with me like a puppet... But, well, I was heading that way, to chase another job. I might as well stop in town to stock up my resources.

"It wasn't long at all before the King, your father, heard of my presence. He sent guards to collect me. Told me about the competition he was running, for the position to be your bodyguard." He chuckles, "Said I didn't have to try out, that he'd hire me as soon as I said the word. My reputation precedes me, but I insisted I go through the trials he prepared, anyway...

"When I saw you," he whispers, like he's in awe, "I knew the fortune teller was right."

He turns his body to face you. Subconsciously, you do the same, mirroring him until your knees are brushing against each other. He leans down, face to face with you, close enough to chase away the chill of the night air.

"You are my destiny."

Your heart races so fast, caught in your throat as his words swirl around in your head. All this time - putting up with your rudeness and dismissal, helping you without telling your father, entertaining your curiosities and playfulness - all because he fell for you. And you, fool that you are, never saw it. Never stumbled into the possibility. Never realized the ways your heart began to dance around him in turn.

Eyes flickering from yours to your lips and back, he whispers into the still air. "Marry me, your highness. Allow me to free you from your chains."

"Free me?" you mumble, awed.

He nods slightly. "Anywhere in the world you wish to go, I swear to be by your side, not as your anchor, but as the wind at your back." His hand slips across the bench to find yours, holding it delicately, as if being too rough now could shatter you into a million pieces. "What do you say?"

Freedom. Truly, honestly freedom.

You hold onto his hand tighter, nodding as tears sting at your eyes. "I accept," you breathe, in the same moment you lean forward and meet his lips.

-

Two horses gallop across the countryside. A great hulking beast of a horse falls behind the other, slender and quick as it pulls ahead and up the slope of the hill. Laughter follows the clamping hooves, thudding against the dirt. It's carried off in the wind like petals in a breeze.

You pull on the reigns triumphantly, stopping your horse at the very top of the hill. You turn in the saddle to meet the eye of Sylus atop Mephisto, grinning despite his loss as he comes up beside you. How could he possibly be upset when you've got the widest smile splitting your face?

"Well done, sweetie," he congratulates. "You've gotten much better."

You giggle. "I had a good teacher. I'll have to introduce you sometime."

He chuckles, shaking his head fondly as he swings his leg over the saddle and drops down to the ground. Your horse is a far more reasonable size. He's about as tall as it is as he helps you down from your saddle. Hand in hand, you leave the horses to roam, trusting they'll be safe as they munch on luscious grass. Sylus had promised a wonderful surprise. And as he guides you along to the other side of the hill, you see what he meant:

Stretching out for miles and miles is a field of flowers. Red datura, waving in the breeze like a sea of blood. Your mouth falls open in awe. Eyes wide, taking it all in. You've never seen these flowers outside of a book before. Now you have a whole ocean of them to admire.

"What do you think?" he asks, though you can hear the smile in his voice as he watches your reactions.

"It's beautiful, Sylus," you gasp. The first of the flowers begins a few feet down the hill. You glance at him, awe turning to mischievous glee, and release his hand to run down to meet them.

His amused laughter chases behind you, mingling with your own. Soon, grass gives away to stems and blooms. The few unfortunate ones crushed under your feet pale in comparison to the thousands that must be growing here, and to those you land on as Sylus grabs you and you both fall to the ground.

Ever the gentleman, he turns his body so he lands hardest, falling to his back with you on top of him. Petals scatter up into the air. They flutter down like confetti, catching on hair and clothes. You meet Sylus's eyes. They're crinkled at the corner, crows feet revealing his truest happiness.

You sit up in his lap, admiring him. His hands rest warmly on your hips. Thumbs massage patterns through your clothes. "Thank you for bringing me here."

"Of course." He plucks a flower from beside you both, uncrushed and delicate between his fingers, and lifts it to tuck it behind your ear. He cradles your cheek after, trying to draw you back down to him. "This place suits you."

You smile and lean into the warmth of his palm. You reach out beside his head to pluck a flower of your own. He watches, soft with affection, as you mimic him, tucking the flower in his hair. "It suits you, too." You lean down the rest of the way, wrapping your arms around his neck as you kiss him, soft and sweet. "Our own little kingdom..."

He grins against your lips. "Your majesty..." he teases.

"My King."

He shakes his head, pulling away slightly to meet your eyes. His nose brushes against yours. Lids heavy with contentment as his lips brush yours. "I'm your loyal knight."

You rub your nose against his with a smile. "My knight... Do you swear to stay by my side through danger and peace, to the very ends of the earth?"

"I swear it. Where would your majesty like to go next?"

"Anywhere." You kiss him slowly, savoring the feel of his lips moving against yours. "As long as I am with you."

His other hand rises to cradle the back of your neck, keeping you on top of him as he tilts his head to kiss you deeper. In the golden light of the sunset, amidst the sea of datura, you two linger, together, awaiting your next adventure.

---

Tag List:

⠀ ⠀He's been awake longer than he should have; the morning sun had already risen hours ago, but the temptation of being able to watch her had been too great for him to pass up.

⠀ ⠀Absently (gently) he pushes some hair out of her face, and she mumbles something in her sleep, burrowing even closer.

⠀ ⠀Cute.

⠀ ⠀Her lipstick still remains on his face, he knows— marks from earlier (last night?) after she had a few too many glasses of wine and had all but covered him in it in a flurry of affection. Sylus knows she'll probably lecture him about how bad it is for his skin later, but he couldn't bear to scrub it off. Not when she had tipsily giggled words of adoration and love between kisses, each sentiment enough to make him feel like the air had been knocked right out of him. If he were standing, he might have just fallen to his knees.

⠀ ⠀Lovesick, Luke and Kieran had teased him once, and he couldn't even deny it. Not when they all knew it was true.

⠀ ⠀Sylus sighs, tugging her close (she smells like him, but also like her, and it's a combination that makes him think irresponsible things) and holding her tight and snug against his chest.

⠀ ⠀He'll sleep soon— really, he will. But for now, he figures it wouldn't hurt to spend just one more minute watching her rest contentedly in his arms.

Scheduled post bc I'm a chicken LOL Happy 2nd anniversary to Sy being released into the game <3 Things may suck rn, but I will always be so happy that he was created 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 Thank you as always to @nykur0h for the gorgeous commission ! Even to this day, this is probably one of the top faves I have ever worked on with her <3