Spherite Prince!Tamsy Kainess x gn knight!reader
(cws: angst, blood, mentions of death, knifes)
Can be read as its own or as a continuation to this fic
The banquet is beautiful.
That is the first thing you register.
Gold-lit chandeliers. Silk banners draped from towering pillars. Nobles glittering in jewels worth more than entire districts. Music soft and calculated.
And you stand one step behind Tamsy.
You do not speak. You do not move unless he does. You do not look at anyone the way you look at him.
The last command lingers.
You are not sure what it means.
"My Lord," a visiting dignitary purrs, bowing low. "Your knight is quite formidable. I heard they quelled unrest alone."
Tamsy's smile never wavers.
"They are efficient," he replies. "A blade does not need personality to function."
But the dignitary laughs and steps closer - too close - circling you with open curiosity.
"Such loyalty," the man hums. "Does it ever waver?"
The crash is loud enough to cut through conversation.
But it is not porcelain that glints in the candlelight.
The assassin's strike is meant for the prince's back.
Steel drives through your side, deeper than any wound you've taken before. The force knocks the breath from your lungs. You do not cry out.
You simply hold your ground.
Guards shout. Nobles scatter.
You grab the assassin's wrist and twist - bone cracking - before driving your own weapon forward. The threat drops.
It is only when the danger passes that your knees finally give.
Warmth spreads down your uniform.
You hit the marble floor.
There is ringing in your ears.
Distantly, you hear someone shouting orders.
His hands are pressed against your wound, trying to stem the bleeding. Blood stains his pristine gloves.
"Tamsy," you breathe before you can stop yourself.
You have never used his name without title.
Something raw flashes across his face.
"Do not speak," he says sharply - but his voice trembles.
You feel strangely light.
"I failed to remain undamaged property," you murmur weakly.
The words are meant as reassurance.
"You are not property," he snaps, too loud, too desperate. "You are not a blade. You are not -"
The room is silent now. Watching.
He leans closer, forehead nearly touching yours.
"You are mine," he whispers - and this time it does not sound possessive.
The command is not cruel.
And for the first time since you have known him -
There is no genuine smile, nor one meant for distance.
You wake to the scent of antiseptic and polished marble.
Wrapped tight in layers of clean linen and something warmer - softer - unfamiliar.
The ceiling above you is not the barracks.
It is high. Ornate. Crown-molded in gold.
The prince's private chambers.
Pain flares white-hot through your side.
A hand immediately presses against your shoulder.
Tamsy sits beside the bed.
His hair is slightly disheveled. His gloves are gone. His sleeves are rolled back. There are faint rust-colored stains near his cuffs that no one has dared comment on.
"My Lord," you rasp automatically.
"You were unconscious for two days," he says quietly.
You attempt to calculate the security risk of that. The missed patrols. The breach implications.
He watches the thoughts move behind your eyes.
"You are not returning to duty immediately," he adds.
You look at him fully now.
The softness is still there - but it is different.
No carefully measured cruelty.
Only something raw and unguarded.
"I did my duty," you say.
His hand curls into the sheets.
"You are not an object," he repeats, more firmly than before. "You are not a replaceable asset. Do you understand me?"
He's only ever said the opposite.
You do not know how to answer that.
You have never been asked to.
His composure begins to fracture again.
"You stepped in front of a blade without hesitation," he continues, voice low. "You did not even look afraid."
And slowly - carefully - you ask the question you have never dared to form.
"Why does it trouble you?"
"You truly do not see it."
He stands abruptly, pacing once across the room before returning to your bedside like he cannot stray too far.
"I have spent months ensuring distance," he says. "I have chosen my words deliberately. I have been unkind deliberately. I have reminded you of hierarchy deliberately."
"And still you would die for me without question."
"No," he says, almost fiercely. "That is devotion."
The word hangs between you.
You feel your pulse quicken beneath the bandages.
He kneels beside the bed again - not because he must, not because anyone is watching -
But because he wants to be at eye level.
"I cannot rule effectively if I am compromised," he says quietly. "Affection is leverage. Attachment is weakness. Every council member knows it."
It is why you accepted the cruelty. The distance. The blade disguised as silk.
"So I tried to make you resent me," he admits.
"I thought if you kept your place, if you felt nothing beyond duty, then I would be safe."
He answers before you ask.
More dangerous than any battlefield.
Your voice is steady when you speak.
He looks at you like the question physically hurts.
"Now half the court witnessed me kneel," he says. "They saw me bleed composure. They saw me call you mine as though it meant something beyond ownership."
"It does not?" you ask quietly.
He reaches for your hand.
Giving you time to pull away.
His fingers thread carefully between yours, mindful of the tremor in your strength.
"It means," he says, voice barely above a whisper, "that if anyone tries to use you against me, I will burn this palace to its foundation."
"You would endanger your reign," you say.
Silence settles over you both.
For the first time since you met him -
No distance measured in polite cruelty.
"My knight," he says softly.
The title sounds different now.
"I cannot promise to be gentle with the world," he continues. "But I am done being cruel to you."
Your chest tightens painfully.
You have built yourself around endurance.
No one prepared you for being held like something fragile.
"You are My Lord," you say quietly. "If loving me threatens you, I will step back."
"You will not decide that for me."
The wind rattles faintly against the tall windows.
Somewhere in the palace, whispers are already spreading.
The fracture in the image of untouchable control.
He lifts your joined hands slightly, pressing his forehead gently against your knuckles.
It is not for an audience.
It is not a smile meant for distance.
"Rest," he murmurs. "We will face the consequences together."
You do not feel like a blade.
You feel like something worth protecting.
The summons arrives at dawn.
The council requests the prince’s presence in the Grand Assembly Hall.
You are not cleared for active duty.
Your side still aches beneath the bindings, but you stand straight at his right as the massive doors open.
The hall is vast - towering columns of white stone, banners cascading from the ceiling, the Spherite crest emblazoned across the polished floor. Council members line the crescent platform ahead. Nobles crowd the lower galleries.
Whispers ripple the moment they see you beside him.
Tamsy walks forward with measured grace.
He stops at the center of the crest.
You take your place one step behind him.
"Your Highness," the councilman begins, voice cold and precise. "Your conduct at the banquet has raised concerns."
"I assumed it might," Tamsy replies lightly.
The elder continues, "Kneeling publicly. Displaying emotional compromise. Prioritizing a single knight over diplomatic stability. It reflects weakness."
You are prepared for him to retreat into strategy.
"You stood between me and a blade," he says clearly.
The sound carries through the chamber.
"You did not hesitate. You did not calculate risk. You did not consider survival."
Gasps ripple through the nobles.
"You acted without fear," he continues. "And I realized something in that moment."
The contact is unmistakable.
Possessive - but not in the way they expect.
"In a court where loyalty is purchased," he says, voice gaining strength, "where alliances are temporary and smiles are currency - this knight chose me without condition."
His fingers tighten around yours.
"You call that weakness."
His gaze sweeps the council.
"If caring for the one person who has proven unwavering in their devotion makes me vulnerable," he continues, "then I will adjust my rule accordingly."
He steps forward - pulling you gently to stand beside him instead of behind.
You are no longer shadow.
"My reign will not be defined by emotional sterility," he declares. "Nor will I discard those who protect this crown simply to appear untouchable."
An elder stands abruptly. "You would jeopardize alliances for a knight?"
But it is no longer meant to wound you.
It is meant to warn them.
"I would jeopardize alliances for loyalty," he corrects calmly. "And if any faction believes they may leverage this bond against me -"
The temperature in the room seems to drop.
"They are welcome to try."
His thumb brushes once against your knuckles.
"You are mine," he says again - but this time he clarifies, voice steady and resonant. "Not as possession. Not as asset. But as the person I trust at my side."
The hall is utterly silent.
"You will be addressed as Royal Guard Commander effective immediately," he continues. "Your authority stands second only to mine within palace grounds."
A few calculating expressions.
"You elevate them above noble houses?" someone demands.
"I elevate merit," he replies smoothly. "If that unsettles you, perhaps reflect on why."
The council cannot argue competence.
They cannot deny what happened at the banquet.
They cannot accuse him of irrationality when he has framed it as strategic reinforcement of loyalty.
He has turned affection into policy.
He squeezes your hand once before releasing it.
But he does not send you back a step.
The session adjourns under tense silence.
As the hall slowly empties, whispers trailing like smoke, you lean slightly closer.
"My Lord," you murmur, careful, "this will make you enemies."
"For once," he says quietly, "I chose something without calculating the cost."
"If they consider you my weakness," he adds softly, "they will learn very quickly that you are the sharpest edge I possess."
Not because you are a blade.
But because he no longer treats you like one.
And as you walk from the assembly hall side by side -
There is a smile on his face.
But it is not meant to create distance.
HAPPY LOVE DAY GUYSS!!!! 😖❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹
