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    Summary

    “Captain Kenobi,” Prince Anakin breathed, his eyes still wide and blown black in the candlelight.

    A memory came to him of the first time he’d caught the prince in the act. Anakin had only been sixteen years old at the time, but the stable boy whose hand was moving in the front of his trousers was equally as youthful, and it was that tiny detail that kept Obi-Wan from promptly putting his sword through his gut. He’d said the same thing back then, and his title upon the prince’s lips had sounded like an apology; as time passed, it morphed the syllables into an expression of insolence.

    Now, it sounded like a plea.

    Obi-Wan is a little too good at being the head of the crown prince's guard.

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