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As the Night Warden Wars loom, you find Kinich in the armory in the late hours of the night.
He’s been avoiding you, you know; when you happen to meet in the castle halls, he bows his head as you walk past, unwilling to meet your gaze. The other guards get assigned to you more often now in his stead, pity in their wandering eyes—they’re fully aware of the tension between you and your personal guard. You try your best to ignore it, even when the maids pull you into hugs without explanation and your mother grows more overbearing, always asking if you’re feeling alright.
And, truth be told, you’re not.
Kinich’s insistence to participate in the war worries you to no end. He’s been more reckless lately, taking duties overnight, eyebags growing heavy with exhaustion. He’s trying to distract himself, but from what, you don’t know.
It’s not that you don’t trust his strength, or even that you want him home to protect you. It’s because you want him to come home to you—period.
He looks you over, gaze pausing over the bandages wrapping your arm. It seems to pain him, even now—his jaw tightens at the sight.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
You lean against the wall, arms crossed. “Neither should you.”
The air feels thick in your lungs. It’s a far cry from your typical interaction, when you’re giggling and he’s rolling his eyes, lighthearted. Now, a frost crawls through your chest when he turns away.
He sets about sharpening his sword with careful strokes.
“Kinich,” you approach, gentle. The muscle of his back grows taut at the sound of his name from your lips. “Please, please reconsider. Or else, I’m coming with you.”
You’re not sure at what point he started to feel so out of reach. Since the last attack, Abyssal forces have grown ever closer. Still, even when he’s only a few feet in front of you, it feels like there’s several walls between you.
He scoffs. “This isn’t just about what you want, Princess, as much as you might think so.”
It comes out bitter, venomous, and so unlike him—the Kinich you know is far gentler, far kinder. As annoying as you can be sometimes, he’s never expressed any irritation whatsoever. Still, he seems genuinely angry with you at the moment.
“What happened to ‘no one fights alone’? That’s what you always say, isn’t it?!”
It’s the motto emblazoned across the Natlan flags, the ones that line the town squares and peek from the top of the castle, proud. You’ve heard Kinich say it many times, as Guard Captain. He sighs.
“That doesn’t include you.”
A fire sparks in your chest, angry; anything that involves your nation certainly involves you. The thought has you advancing toward him, eyes blazing.
“I don’t think that’s up to you, Kinich.” You return your own poison, flinging words off your tongue like blades. “This isn’t just about what you want, as much as you might think so.”
Kinich puts down his greatsword and turns to you, barely concealed rage evident in the way his hands tremble.
“You’re not coming, Princess.” The stress is palpable in his expression, the knit of his brows and the twitch of his lip. “I’ll do whatever I have to. But you’re not taking a damn step toward that battlefield.”
The sheen in his amber eyes reflects something unfamiliar—something ugly and writhing.
Fear.
You don’t think you’ve ever seen Kinich look that way before.
“What are you so afraid of?” you ask, desperate. “What are you running from?”
“What am I so afraid of?” His disposition turns fierce—his canines flash in the light, and you flinch. The action has him deflating immediately, unfamiliar with your panic.
Sighing, he leans back against the wall, sliding down until he comes to a stop on the ground. His head falls into his hands.
It’s quiet. Outside, people are whispering, preparing for the impending battle. In the next few days, people are going to die—your people. The thought is difficult to contend with. The tension weighs heavy on your shoulders as you watch your knight.
He’s still hunched over, looking overwhelmingly…small. Child-like. You wonder if you’ve ever seen him look this vulnerable before. It feels like you’re seeing the Kinich from a completely different time, one where he wasn’t the Guard Captain, one where he was all alone.
“Feeling you go limp in my arms?” he finally whispers, barely audible. “Feeling your heart slow to a stop?”
You freeze. His voice is thin, like glass—it feels like he’ll break any second. You take another step toward him, careful.
“Kinich.”
“I can’t—”
He takes a deep, shuddering breath, then gathers himself to face you again.
“I won’t lose you like that. Not now. Not ever.”
The prior attack seemed to have affected him more than you thought. You’d noticed it, maybe briefly, in his daily routines. More often, he seemed hesitant to leave your side. He was stricter with the guard patrols, and with your safety in general. Sometimes, you found him looking at the Capital square with a hardened gaze, perhaps remembering that day.
Then, one day, he began to avoid you completely.
His words bare the truth for you to hear: Kinich is afraid that you will die.
And it is eating him alive.
He pushes himself to his feet, taking another step to meet you in the middle.
“I exist to protect you, Princess,” he says, almost begging, a hand pressed to his chest. “That is why I am here. If I must die doing it, then that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
A horror creeps through your veins at his detached attitude.
“That’s what you think this is?” you ask, in disbelief. “That you’re just some sort of object for me to use? That it doesn’t matter what happens to you?”
For as long as you’ve known him, Kinich has been selfless, always placing your needs before his own. Yet, you hadn’t realized that he was never considering his own needs at all.
He looks away. “That is my duty—”
“It’s not!”
You cup at his face, pulling him to face you. A thin, crystalline fissure cracks through your heart at his expression—he looks hopelessly, overwhelmingly lost. When a tear slips out of the corner of his eye, you nearly sob.
“You matter to me, Kinich,” you whisper, thumbing it away. “And your life is not a risk I’m willing to take.”
His mouth opens, then closes, struggling for uncertain words. You wonder if he’s ever been told this in his life—how much he’s wanted, how much he’s needed. Despite how much you complain, you know that you’ve needed him since you met him, and that won’t change anytime soon. The thought of his injury—or even worse, his death—leaves you reeling.
He clears the lump in his throat, finding himself.
“I still have to go,” he manages, quiet. His fingers curl around your wrist, rooting you there—rooting you to him.
You press your forehead to his, his bangs and headband warm against your skin. A life still pulses there, in his ribcage, and that’s all you need to know.
“I know. But don’t be reckless.”
It’s a plea. That despite the danger and the terror, he’ll think of you on the battlefield, and the promises you’ve made. That he’ll think about returning home, always.
You look up at him through your lashes, and he looks back.
“Come back to me, Kinich,” you say, tears welling in your eyes. “That’s an order.”
The sight seems to sober him—Kinich swallows before nodding firmly.
“As you wish, Princess.”
The next day, you meet Kinich in the castle chapel, along with the rest of the elite guards. Your mother and father sit behind you, quiet and regal on their thrones. The mood feels overwhelmingly somber.
You’ve never had to perform this rite, this blessing, for as long as you’ve lived. But then again, you’ve never experienced war to this extent.
Kinich advances down the center of the aisle, flanked by his fellow knights—the skylight casts a gentle shine over him. You vaguely think he looks like a prince.
He’s in his ceremonial armor, glowing paint lining his cheeks and arms. A hunter green cape flutters behind him as he approaches, greatsword flashing proud over his back. You nod in acknowledgement as he falls to one knee before you.
“Malipo Kinich,” you say, voice echoing throughout the chapel. Kinich’s gaze is meaningful as he looks up at you—it reminds you of when he was first knighted so many years ago. “Go forth and bring pride and protection to our nation.”
You outstretch a hand, and he takes it—his thumb runs comfortingly across your palm, a promise.
This won’t be the last time.
He presses a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, eyes fluttering shut.
“May the Abyss take my soul if I ever abandon you,” he murmurs, hushed. His breath is warm, pooling over your skin and running hot up your arm. It’s a message for you and you alone. “May my skin tear from bone if you ever suffer.”
When he rises to his feet, turning to leave, you grasp at his shoulder. The action has him flinching, glancing at you over his shoulder. Everyone in the chapel holds their breath, watchful.
You pull the ribbon from your hair, golden silk wrapping smoothly around your hand. His eyes widen.
“Come back to me, Kinich.”
Gently, you tie it around the grip of his greatsword, just under the ridge of the one you’d given to him before. He hisses in a breath when you brush over his cheek as you withdraw your hand, before thumbing over your new gift, thoughtful.
When he looks at you again, a certain fondness sits in his stare.
“As you wish, your Highness.”