The Bride has always been a being the Suitor was fascinated by, not for their status or their power, no... He admired them from afar, long before they've reached the position they have in the present day.
He's one of many fanboys and -girls who called them their celebrity crush, he's the one who visited them every day when they were recovering after losing their sanity, but they never noticed. He was the one who followed them around after their release, always keeping some distance, just to make sure they don't get hurt and made it home safely every night.
But they never knew, how would they? There's only so many thoughts one can think simultaneously, even with infinite knowledge. They didn't have to think about who likes them, because they already knew their love was reciprocated, namely by the Prince, so why should they bother with more thoughts on that topic? He can't possibly be the only one with a crush on them, after all.
Even so, knowing his love only has a miniscule chance of being answered, it still hurt terribly so to see them get engaged with another man. But that is hardly fault of the groom, he never interacted with the Bride or gotten closer to them except during work hours.
Maybe if he had gotten over his shyness...
The Suitor had let himself purposely be caught by the Prince, sentenced to servitude as one of the many guards, all for the sake of being around the Bride.
He stood as one of the groomsmen, the overseers should anything go wrong. He hasn't been officially knighted yet, it was mere weeks before the wedding that he's been hired. And the only one out of the five groomsmen to not have that status.
So after the ceremony, the Prince asked the Bride to do the honours. They picked up the sword, he kneeled down, a sudden heaviness pressing down on him, and it wasn't because of his helmet and shoulder capelet.
In an alternative timeline, maybe, maybe they'd be in this very same position again, but the sword doesn't touch his shoulders, instead he is the one to slip the ring onto their finger, the one to be saying vows and "I do".
The cold steel lingered beside his neck. If they wanted to, they could kil him, behead him or at least cut into him. And the Suitor would thank them for it.
Is it obsession? Desperation? He wasn't sure, he could never be sure. One thing is obvious though, adoration was the fruit of it all.
"You are to be my personal guard," said the familiar voice.
The sword moved away from his shoulder and down to his chin, the flat side tilting his head upwards so they looked each other in the eyes.
He didn't react for a moment. The Suitor stared up at them, past the veil, the mask, the headcover and wings, the gloriole barely fazed him at all.
All of those items, he took them in as a whole concept, nothing stood out on particular except who lies behind the brightness.
It was as easy as breathing, to imagine the face behind the mask.
The face of Sandro D. Logico
"Thank you."
