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Chapter Text

Duke Baroque paced back and forth in his grand study, the weight of his worry palpable in every heavy step. The ancient stone walls of Castle Gorge seemed to close in on him, their towering presence adding to the pressure he felt. His mind raced with thoughts of his daughter, the only heir to the Baroque lineage, roaming the vast, unpredictable halls of the castle. Though it was his home, the sheer size of the fortress made it impossible to know every nook and cranny. Worse yet, he knew there were dangers lurking hundreds, perhaps thousands of ruthless souls who had sought refuge within its stone confines, hiding from the law, living in the shadows.

He clenched his fists, his brow furrowing deeply. "How could I have been so careless?" he muttered to himself. His daughter had grown up in these halls, but Castle Gorge was no ordinary home. It was a fortress, a labyrinth of passageways, secret chambers, and forgotten tunnels—perfect hiding spots for criminals and traitors alike. While he had guards and security measures in place, The emperor knew that even they could not patrol every corner. His daughter, naive to the threats that roamed these halls, was at constant risk. 

“Send for more guards,” he commanded the head of his security. “Double the patrols near her chambers. No one is to approach her without my explicit approval.”

“Yes, my lord,” the guard bowed and quickly exited, leaving the Duke to brood.

But the King Baroque knew that guards alone wouldn’t be enough. His daughter, brave and willful, often wandered the castle grounds, unaware of the growing threat. It was not just the external enemies that worried him, but the unseen dangers within. Every shadow seemed to hold a pair of eyes, and every whisper in the halls felt like a secret plot.

"I cannot lose my Gwen," he whispered, his voice breaking ever so slightly.

He stood still for a moment, the silence of the study enveloping him. His heart weighed heavily in his chest, and the fleeting vulnerability of his last whispered words left him uneasy. He was a man of strength, a leader of an ancient line, yet the thought of losing Guinevere was unbearable. 

“No,” he muttered, straightening his posture, forcing resolve back into his bones. "I will not rely on the knights alone."

He crossed the room with purpose and sat at his large mahogany desk. The candlelight flickered in the dim study as he retrieved a fine sheet of parchment and dipped his quill into the inkpot. His hand hesitated for just a moment before beginning the letter.

To Lord Vance,

I write to you with a heavy heart and an urgent request. As you know, Castle Gorge has long been a stronghold, a sanctuary to many. Yet now, it has become a maze of shadows, filled with those I cannot trust, those who would see my house fall. The walls, once a shield, now feel like they harbour enemies.

Guinevere is at risk, and I fear I cannot protect her with my own forces alone. Your house has always been one I trust above all others. I implore you, send me your most loyal and capable allies to aid in her protection. I will owe you a debt of gratitude that I will not soon forget.

Your faithful ally,  

Duke Baroque

He carefully folded the letter and sealed it with the wax stamp of his house, the emblem of a raven in flight pressed into the dark red wax. With a brisk movement, he summoned one of his most trusted messengers.

“Take this to The house of Vance,” he instructed, holding the letter out to the rider. “Ride swiftly and without delay.”

The rider took the letter with a bow, understanding the urgency in his master’s eyes. As he left, Duke Baroque stood and turned towards the large window overlooking the sprawling grounds of Castle Gorge. His jaw clenched tightly.

"I will protect you, Guinevere," he vowed silently. "Even if I must call upon every ally I have." 

He knew that Lady Vance would understand the gravity of his request. House Vance had been allied with the Baroque family for generations, and their loyalty had never wavered. If anyone could help him in this time of need, it would be them. 

Now, all that was left was to wait for the arrival of reinforcements and, more importantly, hope that they would arrive before it was too late.

Lord Vance sat in the high-backed chair at the head of his council room, the heavy oak table before him polished to a gleaming shine. The flickering light from the grand chandelier overhead danced across the ancient family crest carved into the table’s surface—a shield adorned with a hawk clutching a blade. His sharp eyes scanned the letter in his hands once more, his brow furrowing deeply as he finished reading.

The air in the room was tense, his children seated around the table watching him intently. Freddrin, the eldest son, leaned forward with his arms crossed, his broad frame a testament to his years of rigorous training as a knight. Beside him, Harley, the younger brother, sat back in his chair, twirling a card between his fingers with an air of restless energy. At the opposite end of the table, Lesley Vance sat composed and poised, her piercing gaze fixed on her father. Her raven-black hair was tied back in a simple braid, and she wore the leather armor of a seasoned warrior.

Finally, Lord Vance set the letter down, his fingers steepling as he addressed his children. "This letter comes directly from Duke Baroque. It is not a mere request—it is a plea for aid. His daughter, Lady Guinevere, is in grave danger within the walls of Castle Gorge."

Freddrin frowned. "Castle Gorge? That fortress is nearly impenetrable. What kind of threat could reach her there?"

"The kind that hides in shadows," Lord Vance replied gravely. "Duke Baroque speaks of enemies within—traitors, criminals, and worse, all using the labyrinthine halls of the castle to their advantage. He fears for Lady Guinevere's safety, and I do not take his concerns lightly."

Harley scoffed, flipping the dagger into the air and catching it deftly. "So he wants us to babysit his daughter? Surely he has guards of his own."

Lesley shot him a sharp look. "This isn't about babysitting, Harley. If Duke Baroque is calling for aid, it means the threat is beyond what his forces can handle. This is about loyalty—and strategy."

Lord Vance nodded, his expression approving. "Exactly. The Baroque family has been our staunchest ally for generations. Turning our backs on them now would be unthinkable. But more than that, this is an opportunity to reinforce the bond between our houses."

Freddrin straightened in his seat, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "I’ll go. If there’s a fight to be had, I’ll see it done."

Harley leaned back, grinning. "Count me in too. Sounds like more fun than sitting around here."

Lord Vance’s gaze shifted to Lesley. "And you, Lesley? What say you?"

Lesley met her father’s eyes steadily. "I’ll go alone."

Freddrin and Harley exchanged surprised glances. "Alone?" Freddrin asked. "Lesley, this isn’t some simple escort mission. You’ll need backup."

"Exactly," Harley added. "Two swords are better than one."

Lesley shook her head. "Guinevere needs a bodyguard, not an army. Sending too many people will draw attention and make her a target. Besides, if the threat is within the castle, the fewer people involved, the better. I can handle this."

Lord Vance studied his daughter for a long moment before nodding. "Very well. Lesley, you will go to Castle Gorge as Lady Guinevere’s personal bodyguard. You’ll answer directly to Duke Baroque and no one else. Your priority is her safety."

Lesley inclined her head. "Understood."

Freddrin frowned but didn’t argue further, while Harley smirked. "Looks like you’re the lucky one this time, Les."

Lord Vance rose from his chair, signaling the end of the discussion. "Prepare yourself, Lesley. You leave at dawn."

As the others filed out of the room, Lesley lingered for a moment, her hand brushing over the family crest etched into the table. She had always been prepared to serve her house, but this felt different—a responsibility greater than any she had taken on before.

"I won’t fail," she murmured to herself before turning and leaving to prepare for the journey ahead.

As dawn broke over the sprawling estate of House Vance, Lesley stood in the courtyard, her leather armor freshly polished and her trusty sniper strapped securely to her back. She was given a sword that was strapped securely to her hip and a few daggers that were now hidden in her clothes. The cool morning air carried the scent of dew and freshly turned earth, but she paid little attention to her surroundings. Her focus was on the task ahead.

Lord Vance stood before her, his hands clasped behind his back. His imposing figure cast a long shadow in the golden light of the rising sun. "Lesley," he began, his voice steady, "you carry the weight of our house with you. Protect Lady Guinevere as if she were one of our own. Do not let your guard down, not for a moment."

"I understand, Father," Lesley replied, her tone firm. She adjusted the strap of her travel pack, ensuring it was secure.

Freddrin and Harley stood off to the side, watching their sister prepare to leave. Freddrin stepped forward, placing a hand on Lesley’s shoulder. "Take care, little sister. And remember, if things get out of hand, send word. I’ll bring the cavalry myself if I have to."

Lesley allowed herself a small smile. "I’ll keep that in mind."

Harley leaned against the stable door, his usual grin plastered across his face. "Try not to have too much fun without us, Les. And don’t scare the poor girl with that death stare of yours."

Lesley rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the chuckle that escaped her lips. "I’ll do my best, Harley. Try not to cause too much trouble while I’m gone."

With a final nod to her father and brothers, Lesley mounted her horse, a sleek black mare named Shadow. The animal snorted and pawed at the ground, eager to be off. Lesley tightened her grip on the reins and urged Shadow forward, the sound of hooves echoing against the cobblestones as she departed.

Lesley rode her tall black horse, the rhythmic pounding of hooves echoed across the rugged path. Her scarlet braid swayed with each stride, contrasting against the dark leather of her armor. The wind whipped at her face, but her sharp gaze remained fixed ahead, her destination clear in her mind, Castle Gorge. 

The road to the western capital was long and perilous, winding through forests, valleys, and treacherous ravines. Bandits often lurked in these regions, drawn by the wealth passing between the capital cities. However, the sight of Lesley - standing tall and fierce, with her imposing figure - deterred any foolish enough to cross her path. Her reputation as a fierce warrior of House Vance preceded her, and few dared to test their luck.

As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the land, the massive silhouette of Castle Gorge began to rise in the distance. Its towering spires and golden domes glittered faintly, a testament to the wealth that had flowed through its gates for centuries. House Baroque’s stronghold, an ancient and formidable structure, loomed on the horizon, reminding Lesley of the purpose of her journey.

She approached the city gates, greeted by a detachment of guards clad in House Baroque’s colors ; rich gold and deep violet. The lead guard eyed her warily, recognizing her noble bearing.

"Halt, stranger! What business do you have in Castle Gorge?" he called out, his tone respectful but firm.

Lesley pulled back on the reins, her horse snorting as it came to a halt. Her voice was as steady as her gaze. "I come on behalf of House Vance, with urgent matters to discuss with Lord Baroque."

The guard, now realizing who stood before him, quickly straightened. "O-of course, Lady Vance. You are expected. The Duke will be informed of your arrival at once."

With a curt nod, Lesley urged her horse forward, riding through the grand gates of Castle Gorge. As she passed under the massive stone archway, the streets of the city opened before her bustling with merchants, nobles, and soldiers, all moving in a current of wealth and power.

The knights at the castle were wary but stepped aside upon seeing the seal of House Vance. One of them escorted Lesley through the winding corridors of the castle, his torch casting flickering shadows on the ancient stone walls. Lesley’s sharp eyes took in every detail—the narrow hallways, the worn tapestries, the faint echo of footsteps in the distance. This place was as much a labyrinth as it was a fortress.

Finally, they arrived at the Duke’s private chambers. The guard knocked twice before opening the door, ushering Lesley inside. Duke Baroque stood by the window, his silhouette framed against the dim light of the evening sky. He turned as she entered, his expression a mix of relief and exhaustion.

"Lady Vance," he greeted, stepping forward to meet her. "You have my gratitude for coming on such short notice."

Lesley inclined her head. "Your Grace, it is an honor to serve. I am here to ensure Lady Guinevere’s safety."

The Duke nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment as if assessing her resolve. "Good. You’ll begin your duties immediately. Guinevere is in her chambers for the night, but I will introduce you to her in the morning. For now, I’ll have a servant show you to your quarters."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Lesley said, her tone respectful. As she turned to follow the servant, the Duke’s voice stopped her.

"Lady Vance," he said, his voice heavy with concern. "I trust you understand the gravity of this situation. My daughter is everything to me. Do not fail her."

Lesley met his gaze, her expression unwavering. "I will not, Your Grace."

"You know, Guinevere," he went on, his voice softening as he spoke her name. "She is talented, powerful..perhaps too powerful for her own good. And she is headstrong, determined to prove herself at every turn."

Lesley nodded slightly, having heard of Guinevere’s exploits and her magical prowess. She was not unfamiliar with the young noblewoman's reputation.

The Duke paused, struggling with his words, before he finally said, "I fear for her safety"

Lesley’s brows furrowed. "What happened, your Grace?"

"There are whispers," he said, his voice low, "of factions plotting against House Baroque seeking to strike at us by targeting my daughter. They see her as a symbol of our strength, and they believe that if they can harm her, they can weaken us."

"You are one of the strongest assassin and marksman in the Moniyan Empire, and more than that, you are a woman. Guinevere will listen to you, trust you in ways she would not with any other guard I could assign. She needs a protector who can be by her side at all times, and as our ally, House Vance has always stood with us. There is no one I trust more for this task." He continued, his voice stoic yet tender.

Lesley inclined her head respectfully. “I understand your grace”

"You’ll meet Guinevere in the morning," he said gravely. "Though I should warn you…my daughter can be a handful. She’s not fond of boundaries, and her stubbornness is legendary. She knows of you from our past dealings with your house, but I doubt she remembers specifics. I trust you’ll manage her as well as her safety."

Lesley nodded in response. "I’ll do my duty, Your Grace. No matter how challenging the charge may be."

As she turned around to leave, Duke Baroque added, "One more thing Guinevere may not like this arrangement, but she must never know just how serious the threats against her are. Keep her safe, but do it in a way that allows her to maintain her confidence. I don’t want her living in fear."

Lesley inclined her head. "Understood, Your Grace.”

As she left the council chamber, her mind was already shifting to the task ahead. Protecting Guinevere would not be easy with Guinevere's petty behaviour but Lesley was no stranger to difficult missions. And if it meant securing the future of the Baroque-Vance alliance and keeping the empire’s peace she would face whatever dangers lay ahead.

A few moments later, Duke Baroque summoned Princess Guinevere Baroque. She entered the room, her demeanor still firm.

"Father, what's the matter?" she asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

The Duke gestured for her to sit. "Gwen, I've been discussing your new bodyguard with Lesley. I understand you have reservations, but I want you to hear me out."

Guinevere listened as her father explained his concerns and reassured her that the decision was made out of care and concern for her safety.

"Father, I appreciate your concern, but I can handle myself. I've been trained in self-defense since I was a child. I don't need a bodyguard anymore," Guinevere said firmly.

Duke Baroque leaned forward, his expression earnest. "I know you're skilled, my dear, but recent events have made me anxious. This decision isn't about doubting your abilities but about ensuring you have an extra layer of protection. I need you to understand that this is for your own safety and peace of mind."

Guinevere's gaze softened as she saw the worry in her father's eyes. She took a deep breath. "Alright, Father. I'll meet Lesley and give it a chance. But only because I want to ease your concerns."

The Duke smiled with relief. "Thank you, my darling. I appreciate your understanding. I'm sure you'll come to see the value in having someone by your side."

After their conversation, Guinevere excused herself and went to her chamber to sleep and prepare for her meeting with this Lesley guy in the morning. She needed a moment to collect her thoughts and adjust to the new arrangement before facing her father’s chosen bodyguard.

Duke Baroque, her father, had assigned yet another personal bodyguard to Guinevere. Her old protectors had always either been a creep or a robber. She wasn't entirely up for the idea to have a new bodyguard. Still, if her father thought its necessary, she would trust his judgment. The idea of a new bodyguard didn't faze her until the moment arrived.

Chapter Text

A knock came at her chamber door. "Enter," she called, smoothing her dress as she stood. 

When the door opened, Guinevere's eyes widened. Instead of the towering, armor-clad old man she had been expecting, a tall, graceful woman stepped inside. Her presence was sharp, yet composed, exuding confidence with every step. 

"Your Highness," The slender woman said with a bow, her tone respectful yet familiar. "I'm Lesley Vance, your new personal bodyguard, sent by the Duke himself."

Guinevere blinked in surprise, unable to mask her reaction. "You're... Lesley?" Her voice carried the disbelief she felt. "I was told I was getting a new bodyguard, but I never imagined it would be a woman."

Lesley smiled faintly, her expression kind and understanding. "I’m sorry I wasn’t met with your expectations princess," she replied, her tone respectful but with a gentle ease. "But rest assured, M'lady, I was sent for a reason. Your father wanted the best to watch over you, and I intend to live up to that."

Guinevere remained quiet for a moment, staring at Lesley in a mixture of surprise and curiosity. The princess had always assumed her bodyguards would be hulking men in armor, not an elegant, self-assured woman like Lesley. She could feel a subtle flutter of something unfamiliar, perhaps intrigue, or maybe even admiration.

Guinevere stared at her, still trying to process this. She had seen Lesley before at various events, always hovering around the edges, doing her duties. But they had never spoken.

"I know you," Guinevere said, tilting her head in mock thought. "You’re one of the Vances, aren’t you? Your father dragged you to a few of our functions. Quiet, stoic, and always lurking in the corner. I suppose they’ve sent you to play the loyal watchdog now?"

Lesley bowed slightly, her face impassive. "Miss Violet, I’m here to ensure your safety. I’ll be at your side for as long as necessary."

Guinevere arched a brow, her lips curving into a sly smile. "My own shadow. How thrilling. Tell me, Lady Vance, do you bark or bite?"

Lesley remained unfazed, her voice calm and even. "Neither, my lady. I act."

Guinevere blinked, taken aback for a moment before her grin widened. "Interesting. Perhaps this won’t be as tedious as I thought. Well, come along then, Lady Watchdog. Let’s see how well you keep up."

From the moment their arrangement began, Guinevere made it her mission to test Lesley’s patience. She flitted from one corner of the castle to another, ignoring her father’s warnings to stay in safer areas. She skipped courtly appointments and orchestrated petty rivalries with other noblewomen, delighting in stirring trouble. If she wasn’t demanding attention, she was finding ways to frustrate Lesley—slipping away from her during crowded gatherings, refusing to adhere to schedules, or mocking her serious demeanor.

The sun rose in the grand dining hall, Guinevere lounged on a chaise, tossing grapes into the air and catching them in her mouth as she eyed Lesley. "Do you ever smile, Lady Vance? Or does your face freeze if you try?"

Lesley, standing nearby with her arms crossed, gave a measured reply. "Smiling isn’t part of my job description, my lady."

Guinevere smirked. "Oh, come now. Surely you have some spark of life in you. Or did you leave it behind with your sense of humor?"

"I find humor in staying alive," Lesley said flatly, her gaze unwavering.

Guinevere rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively. "How utterly dull. No wonder no one talks to you at parties."

The sun streamed through the tall, stained-glass windows as Guinevere sauntered down the long corridor after she had just finished her meal.

Her footsteps echoing against the stone walls and Lesley followed at a respectful distance, her leather boots silent against the polished floors. Guinevere glanced over her shoulder, her lips curling into a smug smile when she noticed Lesley’s perfectly composed expression.

“You’re quieter than I remember,” Guinevere remarked casually, tossing her auburn hair over her shoulder. “At the winter banquet last year, weren’t you standing near the terrace like a statue? Didn’t say a word all night.”

“I wasn’t there to speak, my lady,” Lesley replied evenly. “I was accompanying my father.”

“Hmm.” Guinevere slowed her pace, letting Lesley draw closer. “You could’ve fooled me. You looked like you wanted to melt into the walls. Tell me, Lady Vance, do you ever enjoy yourself, or are you always this… stoic?”

Lesley’s lips twitched ever so slightly, though her tone remained steady. “I enjoy fulfilling my duties.”

Guinevere stopped abruptly, spinning to face Lesley with a dramatic flair. “That’s not an answer, you know. Do you ever let loose? Or are you as boring as you look?”

Lesley arched an eyebrow, unimpressed by the challenge. “My job isn’t to entertain you, Lady Guinevere. It is to keep you safe.”

Guinevere rolled her eyes and resumed walking, her gown swishing as she muttered, “You might as well be a walking suit of armor.”

Lesley said nothing, though her sharp gaze scanned the corridors, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword. Guinevere’s words didn’t bother her—she’d endured far worse. Still, as the princess turned a corner and began ascending the grand staircase, Lesley found herself quietly observing her charge’s movements: the way Guinevere’s confidence radiated from every step, her fiery determination cloaked beneath layers of noble arrogance.

After walking around for a while, Guinevere insisted on visiting the castle’s west gardens, a sprawling expanse of vibrant flowers and neatly trimmed hedges. Lesley trailed after her, watching as the princess plucked a rose from one of the bushes and inspected it with a critical eye.

“You know,” Guinevere said, twirling the rose between her fingers, “it’s rather inconvenient having someone follow me everywhere. Don’t you think I’m capable of walking through my own castle without tripping over my own feet?”

Lesley stood at a polite distance, her arms crossed. “The castle is not as safe as you might think, my lady. Danger often hides in plain sight.”

Guinevere turned to face her, one eyebrow arching in disbelief. “Danger? In Castle Gorge? Lesley, I’ve lived here my entire life. The most dangerous thing I’ve encountered is a thorn bush.”

Lesley’s eyes narrowed slightly, her tone firm. “It only takes one moment of carelessness for something to go wrong.”

Guinevere’s smirk faltered for a moment before she quickly masked it with a scoff. “You’re quite dramatic, aren’t you? Tell me, do you rehearse these lines, or do they just come naturally?”

“They come naturally,” Lesley replied without missing a beat. “As does my vigilance.”

Guinevere stared at her for a moment before breaking into a reluctant laugh. “I’ll give you credit for that one. But you’re still unbearably serious.”

“That’s part of the job, my lady.”

Guinevere’s laughter faded, and she sighed, spinning the rose between her fingers again. “I suppose my father did warn me you’d be insufferably professional.”

Lesley allowed herself a faint smile. “Your father values your safety above all else. I’m simply ensuring his wishes are carried out.”

“Hmph.” Guinevere tossed the rose into a nearby fountain and turned away. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to get used to your shadow lurking around. But don’t think I’ll make it easy for you.”

The hours passed in a rhythm of banter and exasperation. Guinevere, true to her word, made no effort to make Lesley’s job simple. She disappeared into hidden corridors, lingered in crowded halls, and wandered into parts of the castle her father had expressly forbidden. Each time, Lesley found her without fail, her calm demeanor never wavering.

Despite Guinevere’s relentless taunts, Lesley never wavered in her duties. She kept a constant vigil, her eyes sharp and her instincts honed. But as the minutes turned into hours, Guinevere began to notice something about her bodyguard—something that unsettled her. No matter how much she needled or pushed, Lesley never lost her composure. She never raised her voice or reacted with anything more than calm, steady resolve. And while Guinevere had surrounded herself with flatterers and sycophants all her life, she realized Lesley didn’t care to indulge her whims.

It was infuriating—and oddly fascinating.

As the evening crept up, they walked through the moonlit gardens, Guinevere paused by a stone bench and sat down, her arms crossed. “You’re annoyingly good at finding me, you know.”

“It’s my job,” Lesley replied, standing nearby with her hands behind her back. “And you’re predictable.”

Guinevere bristled, her eyes narrowing. “Predictable? I’ll have you know I’m anything but.”

Lesley tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “You visited this bench numerous times throughout the day or whenever you were frustrated. It’s your favorite spot in the garden.”

Guinevere blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. “How… how did you know that?”

“I pay attention,” Lesley said simply. “It’s part of my job.”

For once, Guinevere didn’t have a retort. She looked away, her fingers tracing the edge of the bench. “You’re not as boring as I thought, you know,” she muttered after a moment.

“Thank you, my lady,” Lesley said, her tone neutral. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Guinevere rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t get used to it.”

She studied Lesley, who stood nearby, ever-watchful. “Do you ever get tired of being so… disciplined?”

Lesley looked at her, tilting her head slightly. “Not particularly. Why do you ask?”

Guinevere shrugged, pretending to focus on a plant. “I just don’t understand how someone can be so composed all the time. Don’t you ever get… angry? Or bored? Or frustrated?”

Lesley’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I’m human, my lady. Of course, I feel those things. But I’ve learned to control them.”

Guinevere frowned, resting her chin in her hand. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It’s necessary,” Lesley replied gently. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy moments of peace. Like this one.”

Guinevere glanced up at her, surprised. “You find this peaceful?”

Lesley nodded. “You’re safe. And that’s all that matters.”

Guinevere stared at her for a long moment before looking away, her cheeks warming. “Well… I suppose you’re not entirely unbearable.”

Lesley’s quiet chuckle echoed softly in the garden, and for the first time, Guinevere felt a strange warmth settle in her chest. Perhaps Lesley wasn’t so insufferable after all.

"You know…You’re awfully quiet for someone who’s supposed to be watching my every move. Surely you have something to say?"

Lesley raised an eyebrow. "My job is to protect you, not entertain you, my lady."

Guinevere laughed, the sound light and musical. "I suppose that’s fair. But surely you have opinions, interests? Something to talk about?"

Lesley hesitated for a moment before replying, "I enjoy swordsmanship and strategy. Beyond that, I don’t have much time for other pursuits."

Guinevere tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "Strategy, you say? Perhaps you could teach me sometime. I’ve always wanted to learn more about the art of war."

Lesley’s lips quirked into a faint smile. "If that’s what you wish, my lady."

Guinevere’s eyes sparkled with excitement. "I do. And please, call me Guinevere. ‘My lady’ feels so formal."

Lesley hesitated but eventually nodded. "As you wish… Guinevere."

The days stretched on, Guinevere found herself begrudgingly intrigued by Lesley’s quiet strength. While she continued to test her bodyguard’s patience, she also began to notice the subtle ways Lesley showed care—ensuring she had a cloak when the evening air grew chilly, silently intercepting a servant who was being too nosy, or offering a hand when the castle stairs were slippery with rain.

Maybe, just maybe this bodyguard was different.

Chapter Text

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across Castle Gorge as the staff bustled through the halls, preparing for the grand evening ahead. Servants polished the silverware until it gleamed, arranged lavish floral centerpieces, and ensured every last detail of the event was perfect. The castle was alive with a sense of urgency, a hum of activity that carried from the kitchens to the banquet hall.

Guinevere lounged in her private sitting room, perched on a velvet chaise near the wide windows. She lazily swirled the last of her tea in its porcelain cup, her gaze flitting over the courtyard below where the Vance and Paxley entourages had begun to arrive.

"Such a tedious affair," she muttered, more to herself than to anyone in particular.

Lesley, standing near the door as always, arched a brow. "You don’t seem too thrilled for someone's daughter hosting half the most powerful houses in the region."

Guinevere glanced over her shoulder, her lips curling into a smirk. "Why would I be? They’ll talk about alliances and strategies while the Paxley boys preen like peacocks. Honestly, if Gusion Paxley mentions his swordsmanship one more time, I might scream."

Lesley allowed herself the faintest trace of amusement. "You seem quite familiar with them, my lady."

Guinevere scoffed, placing her cup on a nearby table. "Of course, I am. We’ve been forced into the same rooms since childhood. Gusion is insufferable—always bragging about his skills. And Aamon? He’s no better. Always brooding in corners like he’s some tragic hero."

Lesley tilted her head. "And yet, they’ll be under this roof tonight. Along with their queen and the emperor. Surely there’s some merit to their presence."

Guinevere stood and stretched, her green gown catching the afternoon light. "Oh, they’re useful enough, I suppose. But that doesn’t make them any less irritating."

There was a knock at the door, and a ladymaid entered, curtsying. "My lady, the seamstress has arrived to make the final adjustments to your gown for tonight."

Guinevere sighed dramatically. "Of course, she has. Heaven forbid I wear something that doesn’t meet Father’s impossibly high standards."

As the maid began unpacking the gown, a masterpiece of emerald silk and golden embroidery, Guinevere shot Lesley a glance. "What about you? Will you be hiding in the shadows all night, or do you plan to at least attempt to blend in?"

Lesley straightened slightly, her expression unreadable. "My role doesn’t change regardless of the occasion, my lady. I’ll be close enough to ensure your safety."

Guinevere’s eyes narrowed, a teasing lilt in her voice. "Close enough to ruin my evening with your constant hovering, you mean."

Before Lesley could respond, Freddrin appeared in the doorway, ducking. His sly grin lighting up the room. "Interrupting something, am I?"

Guinevere turned to him, feigning exasperation. "Freddrin, don’t you have something better to do than loiter in my wing of the castle?"

Freddrin chuckled. "Not really. Harley’s down in the training yard, probably getting into trouble, and Father’s discussing strategy with the Duke. So I thought I’d check on our dear Lesley." His gaze shifted to his sister, his grin widening. "Still managing to keep Lady Guinevere out of trouble?"

Lesley’s reply was calm. "It’s a full-time job."

Guinevere huffed. "I am not trouble. If anything, you’re the one causing disruptions by barging in here uninvited."

Freddrin held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I’ll leave you to your preparations. But Lesley, if you get tired of babysitting, come join us in the yard. Harley and I are putting the Paxley boys to the test."

Guinevere raised a brow. "Oh, this I’d like to see. Are you planning to embarrass yourselves, or do you think you can actually outmatch Gusion and Aamon?"

Freddrin winked. "You’ll just have to wait and see." With that, he disappeared down the hallway, his laughter echoing behind him.

Guinevere shook her head, turning back to the seamstress. "Men are so predictable."

Lesley didn’t respond, though her sharp gaze lingered on Guinevere for a moment longer than usual. There was something oddly endearing about the princess’s endless complaints, her wit barely masking the keen intelligence beneath

Down in the training yard, Harley twirled a wooden practice staff in one hand, his mischievous grin firmly in place. Gusion, tall and lean with sharp features and piercing blue eyes, watched him with an air of faint amusement.

"You’re quick, I’ll give you that," Gusion remarked, casually spinning his own staff. "But speed only gets you so far."

Harley smirked. "Care to test that theory?"

Aamon Paxley, standing off to the side in dark, formal attire that contrasted sharply with the dusty training yard, folded his arms. "Don’t go easy on him, Gusion. He needs to learn that overconfidence is a weakness."

Freddrin leaned against the fence, watching the exchange with a grin. "And here I thought you Paxleys didn’t know how to have fun."

Aamon shot him a cold look. "Fun and discipline aren’t mutually exclusive."

Freddrin chuckled, glancing at his younger brother. "Harley, try not to embarrass us too much, alright?"

Harley rolled his eyes. "Relax, Freddrin. I’ve got this."

As the match began, the sound of clashing staffs echoed through the yard. Gusion moved with fluid precision, his strikes controlled and deliberate. Harley darted around him, relying on agility and quick reflexes to keep up.

Lesley, who had come to check on the scene at Freddrin’s earlier invitation, stood quietly at the edge of the yard, observing the match. Her sharp eyes missed nothing—the tension in Gusion’s shoulders, the determined set of Harley’s jaw, and the subtle smirk on Aamon’s lips as he watched his brother dominate the fight.

"Enjoying the show?" Freddrin asked, sidling up to her.

Lesley glanced up at him, her expression neutral. "It’s an interesting display."

Freddrin grinned. "That’s the closest thing to a compliment I’ve heard from you in weeks."

Lesley didn’t respond, her attention returning to the fight. Harley was holding his own, but it was clear Gusion had the upper hand.

The sun dipped lower, casting a warm orange glow over the castle, Guinevere joined them in the yard, her gown exchanged for a simpler outfit that allowed for movement. She leaned against the fence beside Lesley, her expression amused.

"Still showing off, Gusion?" she called, drawing the attention of the group.

Gusion turned to her with a cocky grin. "Just demonstrating a bit of Paxley skill, my lady. Care to test it yourself?"

Guinevere rolled her eyes. "Please. I’d hate to bruise your ego."

Lesley, standing beside her, fought back a smirk. For all her complaints, Guinevere knew how to command a room—even one as chaotic as this. And as the preparations for the evening event continued, Lesley couldn’t help but think that the princess might surprise everyone 

Gusion twirled his staff in one hand, his grin as infuriatingly confident as ever. "Come now, Lady Guinevere. You were always quick to critique me. Surely you’d like the chance to prove you’re not all talk."

Guinevere stiffened, her pride prickling at his words. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips curved into a smirk. "You think I can’t? Fine, Gusion. Let’s see if you can handle a Baroque in combat." She stepped toward the sparring ring, brushing her skirts aside to reveal the boots beneath.

But before she could take another step, a firm voice cut through the courtyard.

"Guinevere," Lesley called, her tone loud yet surprisingly tender.

Guinevere froze, her eyes widening as she turned to look at Lesley. It was the second time her bodyguard had used her name since their encounter in the gardens. The sound of it, spoken with such a mix of authority and familiarity, sent an odd flutter through her chest. For a moment, she simply stared at Lesley, unsure how to respond.

Lesley’s gaze remained steady, her words deliberate. "I suggest you do not take up the offer because you'll be all sore in the morning. And I doubt you’d enjoy limping through your father’s event tonight."

Guinevere blinked, her earlier bravado faltering. She opened her mouth to argue but found herself unable to form a retort. Instead, she huffed and crossed her arms, turning her attention away. "Fine. I suppose you have a point."

Gusion snorted, clearly amused. "I didn’t know you doubled as a nursemaid, Lesley."

Lesley’s sharp eyes flicked to him. "I’m simply doing my job—ensuring Lady Guinevere’s well-being."

Guinevere opened her mouth to argue but hesitated. As much as she hated to admit it, Lesley was right. There would be no walking gracefully through the banquet hall if she ended up bruised—or worse—thanks to Gusion’s showmanship.

Seeing her hesitation, Gusion tilted his head toward Lesley. "Alright then, how about you step in her place? First one to draw blood wins."

Lesley raised a brow, her expression calm and measured. "If that’s what you want."

The air in the yard shifted. Even Freddrin and Harley stopped joking, sensing the tension between the two. Lesley stepped into the ring, her movements unhurried, while Gusion’s grin grew wider.

A maid hurried to Guinevere’s side, whispering anxiously, "My lady, should we intervene? This could turn ugly."

But Guinevere shook her head, her emerald eyes fixed on Lesley. "No. She can handle it."

The match began with a flash of movement, Gusion lunging forward with the precision of a trained warrior. Lesley countered effortlessly, deflecting his blows with calculated precision. Where Gusion was flashy and aggressive, Lesley was quiet and deliberate, her movements almost eerily smooth.

Their weapons clashed in a blur, the sound sharp and echoing through the yard. The onlookers, including Freddrin and Aamon, watched in stunned silence as Lesley held her own.

"You’re good," Gusion said between strikes, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. "Better than I expected."

Lesley’s lips barely moved as she replied, "And you’re slower than I thought."

The comment made Gusion snarl slightly, his strikes becoming more forceful. But Lesley didn’t falter. If anything, she became more precise, her blade grazing Gusion’s shoulder, drawing a thin line of red.

The crowd murmured, impressed. Gusion’s grin faltered, and his attacks became more desperate. He was losing ground, and he knew it.

From the sidelines, Guinevere’s heart raced. She didn’t know why, but she felt a strange mix of pride and nerves watching Lesley fight. She wanted to cheer for her but wasn’t sure how.

"Go, Lesley!" she called suddenly, her voice ringing out louder than she intended.

The moment was small, but it was enough. Lesley’s attention flicked toward the sound of her name—just for a fraction of a second. But it was all Gusion needed.

He lunged forward with a quick strike, his blade grazing Lesley’s cheek before she could recover. A thin line of crimson appeared against her skin.

The yard fell silent. Gusion stepped back, his grin returning, though it was tinged with exhaustion. "First blood," he said, lowering his weapon.

Lesley touched her cheek, her fingers coming away stained with red. She exhaled slowly, her gaze shifting to Guinevere.

Guinevere’s stomach dropped. "Lesley..." she began, her voice trembling slightly. She hurried into the ring, ignoring the murmurs of the crowd.

"I’m fine," Lesley said calmly, but Guinevere was already pulling her toward a nearby tent where servants had set up a makeshift area for refreshments.

Once inside, Guinevere gestured sharply to the maids. "Get something for her wound. Now."

The maids scrambled to gather supplies, and Guinevere guided Lesley to a seat. For a moment, she simply stood there, wringing her hands.

"I didn’t mean to distract you," she said finally, her voice soft. "I just... I wanted to cheer for you, but I messed it up."

Lesley looked up at her, her expression unreadable. "It’s not your fault, my lady."

Guinevere frowned, her fingers curling into fists. "Stop calling me that. It’s Gwen. Just Gwen."

The unexpected shift in tone made Lesley blink, but she nodded. "Alright, Gwen."

One of the maids returned with a clean cloth and a small bottle of salve. Guinevere snatched them up and, without waiting for permission, gently dabbed at the wound on Lesley’s cheek.

Lesley’s sharp inhale made Guinevere pause. "Does it hurt?"

"It’s fine," Lesley said, though her voice had softened.

Guinevere bit her lip, focusing on her task. "You were amazing out there. You could’ve won."

Lesley’s lips quirked into a faint smile. "Could’ve, but didn’t."

Guinevere met her gaze, her expression earnest. "I’m sorry I distracted you. I didn’t mean to."

Lesley studied her for a moment, then shook her head. "You don’t need to apologize. But thank you."

The two sat in silence for a moment as Guinevere finished tending to the wound. When she was done, she stepped back, her hands falling to her sides.

"There," she said softly. "All better."

Lesley stood, her towering presence somehow less intimidating now. "Thank you, Gwen."

Guinevere smiled faintly. "Don’t make me regret letting you call me that."

Lesley chuckled under her breath, and for the first time since they’d met, Guinevere felt a warmth in her chest that she couldn’t quite explain.

The two returned to the castle together after the brief respite in the tent, a quiet but noticeable shift in their dynamic. Guinevere walked beside Lesley, her steps slower and more thoughtful than usual. She stole occasional glances at her bodyguard, noticing how composed Lesley remained despite the events of the sparring match. Even with the faint scar now etched on her cheek, Lesley exuded an air of quiet strength that left Guinevere both intrigued and unsettled.

“I still think you could’ve wiped the floor with him,” Guinevere said after a stretch of silence, her tone half-teasing but tinged with sincerity.

Lesley glanced at her, her lips quirking in the faintest of smiles. “And I still think you were right to stop yourself from stepping into the ring. Gusion is flashy but reckless. It’s a dangerous combination.”

Guinevere tilted her head, smirking. “Is that your subtle way of calling me reckless too?”

Lesley’s gaze softened, and she shook her head. “You’re not reckless, Gwen. You’re... spirited.”

The use of her name—just her name—made Guinevere’s heart skip unexpectedly. She turned her head to hide the faint warmth creeping up her cheeks. “Spirited, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

As they approached the grand staircase leading up to her chambers, Guinevere hesitated. “Lesley, about earlier...” She trailed off, her confidence faltering for the first time. “When I distracted you—did it really... I mean, did it hurt you?”

Lesley stopped at the base of the stairs, turning to face her. “It’s just a scratch. Nothing to worry about.” Her voice was calm, but there was an unexpected gentleness in her tone, one that made Guinevere feel oddly comforted.

“Still,” Guinevere said, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, “I feel like I owe you one.”

Lesley raised a brow, a hint of amusement playing in her expression. “You don’t owe me anything, Gwen. Protecting you is my job.”

Guinevere frowned, her lips pursing. “That’s not what I mean. I want to make it up to you, not as your... assignment, but as...” She hesitated, the words feeling foreign on her tongue. “As a friend.”

For the first time, Lesley’s stoic demeanor wavered. Her gray eyes softened, and she gave a small nod. “Alright, Gwen. I’ll hold you to that.”

The moment lingered between them before Guinevere cleared her throat, brushing past her awkwardness. “Well, I suppose we both need to get ready for tonight. You’re coming, right?”

Lesley nodded. “Of course. I’ll be stationed nearby to ensure your safety.”

Guinevere rolled her eyes but smiled. “Typical Lesley answer. Try to enjoy yourself, alright? You don’t always have to look like you’re about to thwart an assassination plot.”

Lesley chuckled softly. “I’ll try.”

Back in her chambers, Guinevere let out a long sigh, leaning against the door once it closed behind her. Her maids bustled around the room, laying out dresses and preparing her bath, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

“Lady Guinevere,” one of the maids interrupted, holding up two dresses for her to choose from—a deep emerald gown and a royal blue one adorned with silver accents. “Which would you prefer for tonight?”

Guinevere blinked, pulled from her thoughts. “The emerald one,” she said absently before adding, “Wait. No, the blue one.”

The maid raised a brow but nodded. “Very well, my lady.”

As Guinevere settled into the bath, her mind kept drifting back to Lesley. She couldn’t shake the image of her standing in the sparring ring, confident and composed, even when facing Gusion’s flashy attacks. And then there was the way she had said her name—not with the detached politeness of a servant, but with a quiet familiarity that sent an inexplicable warmth through her chest.

Meanwhile, in a smaller room designated for the castle’s guests, Lesley was preparing in her own way. Unlike Guinevere, she didn’t have maids flitting about or dresses laid out in front of her. Instead, she adjusted the formal attire she’d brought for the evening—a simple but elegant black-and-gray outfit that reflected her practical nature.

As she secured her belt, Freddrin and Harley entered the room, both grinning mischievously.

“Lesley, our victorious warrior!” Freddrin said, clapping her on the shoulder. “I heard you almost put Gusion in his place.”

“Almost,” Harley added, smirking. “But then Gwen distracted you, didn’t she?”

Lesley gave them a look that silenced their teasing. “What do you two want?”

Freddrin held up his hands in mock surrender. “Nothing! Just wanted to check in before the event. You know, make sure you’re not secretly plotting to best Gusion in a rematch.”

“I’m not,” Lesley replied flatly. “But if he challenges me again, I won’t hold back.”

Harley chuckled. “Good. He could use the humbling.”

As the brothers left, Lesley let out a small sigh, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. The scar on her cheek was barely visible now, but it still served as a reminder of the day’s events—and of the unexpected moment she shared with Guinevere.

For the first time in years, Lesley found herself looking forward to an event not out of duty, but out of curiosity.

Chapter Text

The grand hall of Castle Gorge was ablaze with light and energy as the sun dipped below the horizon. Chandeliers dripped with crystal, casting flickering gold across the marble floors. Guests in their finest attire filled the space, representing noble houses and kingdoms from far and wide. The occasion? The anniversary of Duke Baroque and the late Queen Evelyne, an event steeped in both celebration and solemn remembrance.

Guinevere stood at the top of the staircase, surveying the bustling scene below. She wore the royal blue gown she had chosen earlier, the silver accents catching the candlelight and making her look as radiant as ever. Her hair was styled in loose curls, cascading over her shoulders in a way that was both elegant and carefree.

Yet, despite her striking appearance, her expression was a mix of pride and hesitation. The memories of her mother lingered heavily tonight, even as she masked her emotions with her usual bravado.

From her vantage point, she spotted familiar faces among the crowd. Aamon Paxley, tall and composed, spoke with a group of diplomats, while Gusion leaned casually against a column, smirking at some noblewomen who were clearly vying for his attention. Across the room, Freddrin and Harley mingled with representatives from smaller houses, their laughter echoing above the din.

And then there was Lesley, stationed near one of the towering pillars. She wore her formal black and gray attire, which while simple, still managed to draw eyes. Her posture was relaxed, but her watchful gaze missed nothing, scanning the crowd with precision.

Guinevere’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her brother’s voice.

“Guinevere!” Lancelot called, his tone warm and teasing.

She turned to see him ascending the stairs with Odette on his arm. Lancelot looked as princely as ever in his ornate white-and-gold attire, his blond hair perfectly combed. Beside him, Odette glided with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, her flowing gown of soft lavender accentuated with pearl detailing.

“Lancelot, Odette,” Guinevere greeted, stepping forward to embrace them both. “I didn’t think you’d make it.”

Lancelot chuckled, pulling back to study her. “And miss the chance to see my little sister shine? Never.”

Odette smiled warmly. “You look beautiful, Guinevere. Your mother would be proud.”

At the mention of their mother, Guinevere’s confident facade wavered for a split second. She recovered quickly, offering a small smile. “Thank you, Odette.”

Before they could continue, the herald announced the Duke’s entrance. The crowd quieted as Duke Baroque stepped into the hall, his presence commanding as ever. He wore a deep burgundy doublet adorned with the emblem of House Baroque—a raven in flight. Despite his aging features, there was a strength in his posture that reminded everyone why he was so respected.

“Welcome, my friends and allies,” the Duke began, his voice carrying effortlessly through the hall. “Tonight, we celebrate not only the legacy of House Baroque but the bonds we share with each of you. My late wife, Queen Evelyne, would have been honored to see so many gathered here in unity.”

A respectful silence fell over the room as the guests raised their glasses in a toast to the late queen.

As the Duke’s speech concluded, the room returned to its lively atmosphere. Music began to play, and couples moved to the center of the hall to dance. Guinevere found herself swept into conversation with various nobles, though her eyes occasionally drifted to Lesley, who remained a steady presence in the background.

The music swelled in the grand hall, a harmonious blend of strings and winds that filled the air with a sense of unity and celebration. As the guests began to mingle and dance, Guinevere found herself in a conversation with her alliances.

Representatives from House Paxley, known for their mastery of magic and intellect, were deep in conversation with emissaries from House Vance, a house renowned for its military precision and formidable warriors. Aamon, ever the diplomat, was speaking with Lesley, whose calm demeanor provided a sharp contrast to the lively debates around them.

Fanny, the famed swordswoman from House Wertz, stood near the refreshment table, laughing heartily with Tigreal and Silvanna of the Moniyan Empire. Tigreal, ever the stalwart knight in his gleaming golden armor, looked slightly out of place in such an elegant setting, but his laughter with Silvanna—who radiated regal strength in her crimson gown—put him at ease.

Guinevere smiled as she turned to look the other direction.

“Fanny, are you ever not boasting about your latest aerial stunts?” Tigreal teased, raising an eyebrow.

Fanny grinned. “And are you ever not polishing that shield of yours, Tigreal? It’s blinding the guests!”

Silvanna chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You two never change.”

Nearby, Gusion of House Paxley had joined Harley, the mischievous mage, and Freddrin. The trio seemed locked in a spirited game of cards, their banter drawing curious onlookers. Harley, always the trickster, was clearly up to something, judging by the way Freddrin kept narrowing his eyes at him.

On the dance floor, couples swirled elegantly. Lancelot and Odette led the way, their movements seamless and enchanting, drawing applause from the crowd. They were soon joined by other pairs, including Clint and Layla, who had traveled from the far reaches of the Land of Dawn to attend.

Guinevere watched it all with a sense of pride. The gathering was a testament to her father’s efforts to foster unity among the kingdoms, even in these uncertain times. She turned her attention back to the Duke, who was now in conversation with Alucard and Eudora. The two had arrived unexpectedly, their presence a reminder that alliances were still being forged, even in the most unlikely places.

Lesley, ever the vigilant protector, approached Guinevere quietly. “Enjoying the view, Princess?”

Guinevere turned to her, surprised, a playful glint in her eye. “It’s rare to see so many houses getting along. Don’t you think?”

Lesley smirked. “They know better than to start trouble under Duke Baroque’s roof.”

Guinevere tilted her head, her tone teasing. “And under your watchful eye, of course.”

Lesley gave a small shrug, though the faintest hint of a smile played at her lips. “Someone has to make sure no one tries anything foolish. And besides..” She glanced at Guinevere, her voice softening. “I wouldn’t want anything to ruin your night.”

The music began anew, the hall seemed to glow even brighter. Representatives from each house stepped forward, joining hands and forming a circle of unity on the dance floor. House Wertz danced with House Paxley, Moniyan knights spun with nobles from smaller houses, and for one night, the divisions of the past seemed to fade away.

Odette and Lancelot stepped into the center, drawing the attention of the crowd. Together, they moved gracefully, their steps in perfect harmony with the music. For the first time that evening, Guinevere felt a sense of peace—not just for herself but for the future of their kingdoms.

The night continued with laughter, camaraderie, and shared stories, a celebration of unity and hope that would be remembered for years to come.

At one point during the evening, Guinevere managed to slip away from the crowd, finding a quiet corner near the refreshment table. She poured herself a glass of wine, her shoulders relaxing slightly now that she was out of the spotlight.

“You’re not hiding, are you?” Lesley’s voice came from behind her, low and teasing.

Guinevere turned, surprised to see her bodyguard standing closer than she expected. “Of course not,” she replied, lifting her chin. “I simply needed a break from all the flattery. It gets exhausting being adored.”

Lesley raised a brow. “I’m sure it does.”

Guinevere’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Don’t mock me, Lesley. It’s unbecoming of a bodyguard.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Lesley said, her tone dry but her eyes betraying a hint of amusement.

Guinevere tilted her head, studying her. “You clean up well, you know. I almost didn’t recognize you without your weapons.”

Lesley gave a small shrug. “I still have a knife or two hidden, just in case.”

Guinevere laughed, genuinely this time. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

The sound of Lancelot’s voice calling her name drew her attention back to the crowd. She sighed, setting her glass down. “Duty calls. Don’t let Gusion cause too much trouble, will you?”

“I’ll do my best,” Lesley replied, watching as Guinevere disappeared into the throng of nobles.

The night wore on, the event a mix of grandeur and nostalgia. Guinevere danced with a few noblemen, exchanged pleasantries with diplomats, and even managed to outwit Gusion in a battle of wits. But throughout it all, her thoughts kept circling back to her earlier conversation with Lesley.

It wasn’t until later, as the guests began to retreat to smaller groups for more intimate conversations, that Guinevere found herself wandering near the balcony. She stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against her skin. The stars above were bright, untainted by the light of the castle.

She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Lesley approaching, her expression unreadable.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Lesley said, her voice soft but firm.

Guinevere smiled faintly, leaning against the railing. “I’m not alone, am I?”

Lesley stopped a few steps away, her gaze lingering on Guinevere. “No, I suppose not.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the sound of the distant music mingling with the rustle of the wind.

“Thank you,” Guinevere said suddenly, her voice quieter than usual.

Lesley frowned slightly. “For what?”

“For earlier,” Guinevere clarified, turning to meet her gaze. “For looking out for me. For reminding me that I’m more than just... a Baroque.”

Lesley’s expression softened, and she gave a small nod. “Always, Gwen.”

Guinevere’s chest tightened at the sound of her name on Lesley’s lips again.

As Guinevere and Lesley re-entered the grand hall, the air was alive with mirth and revelry. The jesters commanded the room's attention, juggling flaming torches and knives with reckless precision, somersaulting across the stage, and delivering quips that left the audience doubled over with laughter. The nobles, captivated by the show, remained blissfully unaware of the jesters’ other talents—those of a more nefarious nature.

But Lesley noticed.

Her sharp eyes tracked every sleight of hand and every too-casual brush against a noble’s wrist. The jesters’ movements were seamless to the untrained eye, but Lesley caught the glint of pilfered jewelry slipping into hidden pockets. Her jaw tightened as she watched the scene unfold.

Beside her, Guinevere clapped enthusiastically, her laughter bright and unguarded. “Aren’t they remarkable?” she asked, glancing up at Lesley with a grin.

Lesley leaned down, her voice low and edged with steel. “Remarkable, indeed. They’re robbing half the room.”

Guinevere’s smile faltered. “What?”

“The jesters,” Lesley clarified, her tone clipped. “They’re thieves, my lady. I’ve been watching them fleece your guests between their tricks.”

Guinevere’s brow furrowed as her gaze darted toward the performers. “And you're certain?”

Lesley gave her a pointed look. “Certain enough to stop them.”

For a moment, Guinevere looked as if she might call for the guards, but then a glimmer of mischief lit her eyes. She turned to Lesley with a sly smile. “Let me handle this.”

Lesley hesitated. “What are you planning?”

Guinevere’s smirk deepened. “Trust me.”

As the jesters concluded their act with a grand flourish, the hall erupted into applause. They bowed theatrically, their smug smiles showing they believed their performance—and their thievery—had gone unnoticed.

Guinevere stepped forward, the picture of poise and charm, her voice carrying over the crowd. “Bravo! What an extraordinary display of talent. Truly, you have captivated us all tonight.”

The jesters straightened, preening under her praise as the crowd cheered.

“But,” Guinevere continued, her voice suddenly cool and cutting, “it seems your talents go far beyond juggling and jokes.”

A hush fell over the hall. The jesters exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence beginning to waver.

Guinevere’s smile sharpened. “In fact, I dare say you’ve dazzled us all with your sleight of hand. Tell me, gentlemen—what’s the secret to being such accomplished thieves?”

The jesters stiffened. One of them forced a laugh. “A jest, my lady? Surely, you don’t mean—”

“Oh, I mean every word.” Guinevere’s tone turned icy as she addressed the room. “Perhaps we should all check our valuables. I imagine some of us will find them... missing.”

A ripple of alarm spread through the crowd. Nobles began patting their necks and wrists, their expressions quickly turning from confusion to outrage as they discovered empty chains and bare fingers. A cacophony of gasps and murmurs filled the hall.

The Duke rose from his seat, his face stormy. “What is the meaning of this?”

Before the jesters could slip away, Lesley moved with the precision of a shadow, stepping into their path. Her hand rested on the hilt of her blade, her expression a cold warning. “I wouldn’t try it,” she said softly.

The lead jester stammered, “This is a misunderstanding—”

“Is it?” Guinevere interjected, her arms crossed. “Because I’m quite certain I saw you relieve Lady Pharsa of her necklace not five minutes ago. Shall I prove it by searching you myself?”

Her tone, sharp and unyielding, left no room for argument. The jesters, their bravado now shattered, reluctantly began emptying their hidden pockets. One by one, stolen rings, necklaces, and brooches clattered onto a servant’s silver tray. The nobles watched in stunned silence as their belongings were returned.

Guinevere turned to the Duke with a triumphant smile. “I trust your guards can escort these ‘performers’ to a less comfortable venue?”

The Duke nodded sharply, signaling his men to seize the jesters. As they were led away in disgrace, Guinevere dusted off her hands and turned to Lesley, her expression smug. “Well, that was satisfying.”

Lesley allowed herself a small smile. “You’ve got a knack for theatrics, Gwen.”

Guinevere laughed, her cheeks pinking slightly. “You inspire me.”

Lesley tilted her head, her gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “Just be glad I’m on your side.”

“Oh, I am,” Guinevere replied, her voice soft. Then, as if catching herself, she straightened. “Now, come. We’ve a night to salvage.”

The music resumed and the nobles whispered about the drama, Guinevere stole a glance at Lesley. There was safety in her presence, but also something else—something Guinevere wasn’t ready to name just yet. For now, it was enough to know Lesley would always be by her side.

The evening was beginning to end, The once-bustling crowd had thinned. Guests were saying their goodbyes, carriages lining the courtyard as nobles returned to their respective kingdoms. The golden glow of the chandeliers dimmed slightly, casting softer shadows across the room.

Guinevere stood near the large window overlooking the courtyard, the faint hum of departing guests reaching her ears. She sighed, the weight of the evening slowly giving way to a sense of relief. Beside her, Lesley leaned casually against the wall, her ever-watchful gaze now more relaxed.

“I suppose that wasn’t such a terrible night,” Guinevere mused, swirling the last of her wine in her glass.

“Not terrible at all,” Lesley replied, her tone teasing. “You only humiliated a group of jesters, put Gusion Paxley in his place, and managed to look stunning while doing it.”

Guinevere shot her a playful glare. “You make it sound like I was showing off.”

“Weren’t you?” Lesley smirked, her eyes glinting with amusement.

Guinevere rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “I don’t know why I even bother talking to you sometimes.”

“Because I’m the only one who doesn’t grovel or flatter you,” Lesley said simply, her smirk softening into something more genuine.

Guinevere paused, caught off guard by the sincerity in her tone. For a moment, she simply stared at Lesley, her chest tightening with an unfamiliar warmth. She quickly looked away, focusing on the courtyard again.

Before she could respond, the sound of Lancelot’s voice broke the moment.

“There you two are!” Lancelot strode toward them, his arm around Odette, who smiled warmly at the pair. “We were wondering where you disappeared to, Gwen.”

“Just enjoying the quiet,” Guinevere replied, turning to face them.

Odette stepped forward, her delicate features glowing even in the dim light. “You handled tonight beautifully, Guinevere. Your mother would be proud.”

Guinevere’s expression softened at the mention of her mother, and she gave a small nod. “Thank you, Odette. That means a lot.”

Lancelot clapped a hand on her shoulder, his usual playful demeanor tempered by sincerity. “You’ve grown, Gwen. Truly. Tonight, you reminded me so much of her.”

Guinevere swallowed hard, her confidence flickering under the weight of their words. “I just... did what needed to be done.”

“And you did it brilliantly,” Odette said, her voice gentle.

Lesley watched the exchange silently, her sharp eyes catching the subtle vulnerability in Guinevere’s expression. For all her bravado, Guinevere carried a deep burden, one Lesley was beginning to understand.

“Are you staying the night?” Guinevere asked, changing the subject.

Lancelot nodded. “Father insisted. He said he hasn’t had enough of pestering me yet.”

Odette chuckled, leaning into her husband. “And I wouldn’t mind spending more time here. It’s been a lovely evening.”

“Lovely might be a stretch,” Lesley muttered under her breath, earning a quiet laugh from Guinevere.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” Lancelot said, glancing at Odette. “I think it’s time we retired for the night. Try not to cause too much trouble, Gwen.”

Guinevere smirked. “No promises.”

As Lancelot and Odette departed, the hall grew even quieter. Guinevere turned to Lesley, her expression softening.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lesley tilted her head. “For what?”

“For everything,” Guinevere replied. “For watching out for me tonight. For calling me out when I needed it. For being here.”

Lesley straightened, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Always, Gwen.”

The warmth in Guinevere’s chest returned, and for once, she didn’t shy away from it. Their friendship had grown in ways she hadn’t expected, and as she stood there with Lesley, she realized she didn’t mind it one bit.

“Come on,” Guinevere said, setting her glass down. “Let’s get out of here before Father ropes us into another speech.”

Lesley chuckled, falling into step beside her. “Lead the way, Princess.”

Guinevere stifled a yawn as she descended the final steps of the staircase, her gown trailing behind her. Her once-perfect curls were now slightly tousled, evidence of hours of mingling, dancing, and politicking. She rubbed her eyes delicately, her regal composure giving way to a rare moment of vulnerability.

Lesley was waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase, her posture relaxed but her eyes as sharp as ever. Though the event had ended, she still wore her formal attire, a pistol resting securely at her side. Her hair, tied neatly back at the beginning of the evening, now had a few stray strands framing her face.

"Tired princess?" Lesley asked, her tone even but carrying a hint of teasing.

Guinevere offered her a weary smile. "That’s an understatement. If I have to endure one more debate about trade routes or hear one more story about someone's pedigree, I might faint."

Lesley chuckled softly and extended her hand. "Come on. I’ll escort you to your chambers. You look like you’re about to pass out in the middle of the hallway."

Guinevere hesitated for a moment before placing her hand in Lesley’s. The contrast was striking—her own hand soft and delicate against Lesley’s calloused palm, a testament to the soldier’s life she led.

They walked side by side through the dimly lit corridors of the castle, the sound of their footsteps the only noise. The silence between them was comfortable, a quiet reprieve after the chaos of the evening.

As they reached Guinevere’s chambers, Lesley opened the door, stepping aside to allow the princess to enter first. The room was as luxurious as expected—a grand four-poster bed draped in silks, a vanity adorned with jewels and perfumes, and a balcony overlooking the moonlit gardens.

Guinevere stepped inside, turning back to face Lesley. “You know,” she began, her voice softer now, “you didn’t have to stay so close all night. I doubt anyone was planning to assassinate me at a ball.”

Lesley leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed. “Better safe than sorry. Besides,” she added, her smirk returning, “it’s my job to watch over you, even if you think you don’t need it.”

Guinevere’s lips curved into a sly smile. “And what if I said I did need it? That I… appreciated your presence tonight?”

For a brief moment, Lesley’s confident facade faltered, her eyes searching Guinevere’s face. But she quickly recovered, giving a small shrug. “Then I’d say it’s nice to be appreciated.”

Guinevere stepped closer, the candlelight casting a soft glow on her features. “You know, Lesley, you could come in and sit for a while. You’ve been standing guard all night. You must be tired.”

Lesley raised an eyebrow, clearly debating the offer. “Are you suggesting I shirk my duties, Princess?”

“I’m suggesting,” Guinevere said, her voice tinged with mischief, “that you relax for once. Consider it… an order.”

Lesley exhaled a small laugh and shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” Guinevere countered, taking another step closer.

Lesley finally relented, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. “Alright, Princess. Just for a moment.”

Guinevere gestured to the small seating area by the balcony, and they both settled into the plush chairs. The cool night breeze drifted in, carrying the scent of jasmine from the gardens below.

For a while, they sat in companionable silence, the moonlight casting silver shadows across the room. Guinevere eventually broke the quiet. “Lesley?”

“Hmm?” Lesley replied, her gaze shifting from the moonlit gardens to the princess.

“Thank you,” Guinevere said, her tone earnest. “For tonight. For always looking out for me.”

Lesley’s expression softened, the guarded edges of her demeanor easing. “It’s what I’m here for, Guinevere.”

The use of her name, free of titles or formalities, hung in the air like a promise. Guinevere leaned back in her chair, a content smile playing on her lips.

“Maybe you’re here for more than just duty,” she murmured, her eyes half-closed as sleep began to claim her.

Lesley watched as the princess drifted off, her expression unreadable. Rising quietly, she retrieved a nearby blanket and draped it over Guinevere, her touch surprisingly gentle for someone so accustomed to wielding weapons.

“Maybe,” Lesley whispered, her voice too soft to wake her. She lingered for a moment longer before returning to her post by the door, the night outside as calm as the princess now sleeping peacefully within.

The faint rustle of the blanket against Guinevere’s skin was enough to stir her slightly. She blinked up at Lesley with drowsy eyes, her head tilted lazily against the back of the chair. "Mmm, what are you doing?" she mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep.

"Making sure you’re comfortable," Lesley replied, standing back to survey her handiwork. "But this chair isn’t exactly the best place to sleep, Princess."

Guinevere hummed, a teasing lilt creeping into her voice despite her drowsiness. "Why? I think it’s perfectly fine. And I have the moon and stars to keep me company."

Lesley crossed her arms, her expression unimpressed. "The moon and stars won’t stop you from waking up with a crick in your neck. Come on, Guinevere. To bed."

The princess groaned softly, sinking further into the chair as though to make a point. "But I’m already comfortable here. Can’t you just… let me be?"

Lesley crouched down beside her, leveling a calm but firm gaze at her charge. "You’ll regret it in the morning if I do. Your bed is right there, and I’m not leaving until you use it."

Guinevere opened one eye, regarding Lesley with a sly smile. "Are you always this bossy, or is it just with me?"

Lesley smirked. "Only with you. Now up."

With a soft sigh of resignation, Guinevere let Lesley take her hand and pull her to her feet. The princess swayed slightly, still half-asleep, and Lesley instinctively steadied her with a hand on her back.

"See? You’re already wobbling," Lesley remarked, her tone bordering on smug.

"Maybe I’m just testing to see if you’ll catch me," Guinevere quipped, leaning into Lesley’s support more than necessary.

Lesley chuckled softly, shaking her head. "You’re impossible."

"And yet," Guinevere murmured, echoing her words from earlier, "here you are."

Lesley guided her across the room, keeping her steps steady until they reached the edge of the grand, canopied bed. With a practiced motion, she pulled back the covers.

"Alright, Princess," Lesley said, her voice gentler now. "In you go."

Guinevere hesitated, looking up at Lesley with a playful pout. "You’re no fun, you know that?"

"Get some sleep," Lesley replied, ignoring the comment as she helped Guinevere settle into the bed. She tucked the blankets around her, the gesture far softer than she’d ever admit.

As Guinevere nestled into the pillows, she looked up at Lesley with a sleepy smile. "You’re not as tough as you pretend to be."

Lesley raised an eyebrow. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Sure you don’t," Guinevere murmured, her eyes drifting shut. "But… thank you, Lesley. For everything."

Lesley lingered for a moment, watching as Guinevere’s breathing evened out and her expression softened in sleep. She reached out, brushing a stray curl away from the princess’s face with a tenderness that surprised even herself.

"Goodnight, Guinevere," she said softly before stepping back toward the door. She took up her usual post, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed. Though the night had grown quiet, Lesley remained alert, her gaze occasionally drifting back toward the sleeping princess.

As the hours passed, the moonlight continued to stream into the room, casting a gentle glow over them both. For the first time in a long while, Lesley found herself at ease—not because her job was done, but because, for once, it felt like more than just duty. The bond between them felt stronger than ever, the quiet understanding of two people who, against all odds, had found solace in each other.

Chapter Text

The morning sun filtered through the towering windows of Castle Gorge, casting golden beams onto the stone floors. In Guinevere’s chambers, however, the sunlight was less than welcome. She groaned, pulling a pillow over her head in a futile attempt to block out the light and the dull pounding in her skull.

There was a knock at her door. Before she could muster the energy to respond, the door creaked open, and the sound of boots against the floor made her cringe.

“Good morning, Gwen,” Lesley’s voice called out, bright and far too cheerful.

“Go away,” Guinevere muttered from under the pillow.

Lesley ignored her, strolling over to the bed. “What’s the matter, Princess? Feeling the aftermath of all that ‘celebrating’ last night?”

Guinevere peeked out from under the pillow, her glare weak but determined. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Not nearly as much as you enjoyed the wine,” Lesley quipped, folding her arms as she leaned against the bedpost.

Guinevere groaned, flopping back dramatically. “I swear, someone kept refilling my glass. It’s a conspiracy.”

Lesley chuckled, her tone teasing. “Yes, clearly the jesters returned for revenge by plying you with endless drinks.”

Guinevere sighed, closing her eyes. “I’m never drinking again.”

“Hmm, I believe you said the same thing last month at the autumn festival,” Lesley said with a smirk. “Shall I start keeping a tally of these declarations?”

“Lesley,” Guinevere whined, her voice muffled by the pillow.

Lesley sat on the edge of the bed, her teasing grin softening into something more fond. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop. Here.”

Guinevere felt a cool glass press into her hand. She peeked out again to see Lesley holding a small cup filled with water and a familiar herbal remedy.

“What’s this?” Guinevere asked, sitting up slowly.

“Something to help with the headache,” Lesley said. “Your maids brought it, but I figured you’d trust me to make sure it wasn’t something vile.”

Guinevere gave her a small smile, taking the cup. “Thank you.” She sipped the concoction, wincing at the bitter taste.

Lesley watched her with an amused look. “You know, for someone who’s so fiery and confident, you’re surprisingly pitiful when you’re hungover.”

Guinevere shot her a glare, but it lacked any real heat. “Don’t push your luck, Lesley.”

Lesley raised her hands in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the silence stretched between them, Guinevere found herself studying Lesley. There was a warmth in her protector’s presence, an unspoken comfort that made the pounding in her head feel just a little less terrible.

“You really do take care of me,” Guinevere said softly, her tone almost hesitant.

Lesley blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice. She offered a small smile, her usual teasing demeanor replaced with something gentler. “It’s my job, Gwen.”

Guinevere shook her head, setting the cup down on the bedside table. “No, it’s more than that. You… you care. I see it.”

Lesley’s expression softened further, and she nodded. “I do care. But don’t let it go to your head. You’re already insufferably spoiled.”

Guinevere laughed lightly, though it quickly turned into a wince as her headache reminded her of its presence.

Lesley reached out, placing a hand on Guinevere’s shoulder. “Get some rest. You’ll feel better once you eat something.”

Guinevere looked at her, a small, genuine smile tugging at her lips. “You’re not so bad yourself, Lesley.”

Lesley chuckled, standing. “I’ll be sure to add that to my list of accomplishments.”

As Lesley headed toward the door, Guinevere called out, “Wait.”

Lesley turned, raising a brow.

“Thank you,” Guinevere said again, her voice quieter but no less heartfelt.

Lesley gave her a small nod, her smile faint but warm. “Anytime, Gwen.”

And as the door closed behind her, Guinevere lay back down, her headache still present but her heart feeling a little lighter.

The soft knock on Guinevere's chamber door was followed by the familiar sound of boots against the floor. Guinevere, still lounging in her bed with a book she’d half-heartedly been pretending to read, looked up as Lesley entered.

“Didn’t I already see you today?” Guinevere teased, setting the book aside.

Lesley smirked, arms crossed as she leaned against the doorframe. “Unfortunately for you, my duties don’t end with bringing you hangover remedies. It’s time to eat.”

Guinevere groaned, flopping back against her pillows dramatically. “Do I have to? I’d much rather stay here and wallow in my misery.”

Lesley raised a brow, her smirk growing. “You can’t charm your way out of this one. Even spoiled princesses need to eat, and you’ve skipped enough meals as it is.”

Guinevere’s eyes narrowed, but there was no real bite behind her glare. “Spoiled princesses?”

Lesley shrugged, stepping further into the room. “You said it, not me.”

“Lesley!” Guinevere huffed, though the corners of her lips betrayed her attempt at annoyance.

“Come on, Gwen,” Lesley said, her voice softer now. “You need to eat something. I promise I won’t let anyone bother you at the table if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Guinevere tilted her head, studying Lesley with a curious expression. “You’re awfully insistent today. What’s gotten into you?”

Lesley hesitated for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed. Her teasing demeanor softened, and she met Guinevere’s gaze. “Because I know you. You’ll pretend you’re fine, skip meals, and push through the day until you’re completely exhausted. And I’d rather not let you rot in bed because you’re too stubborn to take care of yourself.”

Guinevere blinked, surprised by the sudden tenderness in Lesley’s words. Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure how to respond.

“You’re… really something, you know that?” Guinevere said finally, her voice quiet.

Lesley raised a brow. “Something good, I hope.”

Guinevere laughed softly, shaking her head. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, while you’re deciding, you’re getting out of bed,” Lesley said, standing and holding out a hand.

Guinevere pursed her lips, turning around to go back to sleep.

“Gwen,” Lesley called out, her voice more tender than usual. “It’s time for you to eat something.”

Guinevere groaned and turned her head, giving Lesley a half-hearted glare.

“You never listen,” Lesley exposed with a smile, “Come on, I’m not letting you sit here and sulk all day. You need something in your stomach.”

Guinevere gave her a mock pout, crossing her arms defensively. “I’m fine. I don’t need your mothering.”

Lesley chuckled, clearly amused by the princess’s attitude. She took a deep breath, kneeling down beside the bed to meet Guinevere’s gaze. “I’m not mothering you. I’m making sure you don’t pass out halfway through the day.”

Guinevere rolled her eyes but softened when she saw the genuine concern in Lesley’s expression. “You’re really not going to give up, are you?”

Lesley gave her a playful shrug. “Nope.”

With a soft laugh, Guinevere finally relented. “Fine. You win. But I’m not walking there.”

Lesley’s eyes brightened. Without a word, she bent down, lifting Guinevere effortlessly into her arms.

“Lesley!” Guinevere exclaimed, her cheeks flushing pink at the unexpected action.

“Hold on tight,” Lesley said softly, giving her a reassuring smile as she carefully cradled the princess in her arms. Guinevere’s heart skipped a beat as she found herself instinctively leaning into Lesley’s warmth, her strong arms securing her as they began to walk toward the dining hall.

As they moved through the corridors, Guinevere couldn’t help but feel a strange flutter in her chest. The way Lesley was being so gentle, so considerate—it was a side of her she hadn’t seen much before. After the sparring match with Gusion, something seemed to have shifted in Lesley. She wasn’t just her protector anymore—she was someone who genuinely cared, someone who made Guinevere feel safe in a way she hadn’t experienced before.

“Lesley,” Guinevere murmured, her voice softer than usual. “You really didn’t have to carry me.”

Lesley gave a quiet chuckle. “I know. But you’ve been a pain in the ass all morning, so I thought I’d make it easier on you.”

Guinevere snorted, half-laughing at the playful jab, but there was a sweetness to it that made her feel unexpectedly cared for. She leaned her head against Lesley’s shoulder, closing her eyes for a moment as they continued on their way.

When they entered the dining hall, the buzz of conversation quieted, and all eyes turned toward them. Lancelot, Guinevere’s older brother, raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking from Guinevere to Lesley with a look of amusement.

“Well, well,” he said with a grin, “I see someone’s already getting pampered.”

Lesley smirked, never breaking her stride as she walked further into the room, her arms still securely holding Guinevere. “She’s insufferable when she’s hungover. Someone had to step in.”

Odette, Lancelot’s wife, gave them both a warm smile as she stood from her seat. “It’s good to see you two getting along so well. I was worried you might kill each other before the end of the day.”

Guinevere’s eyes narrowed, though there was no real bite behind her words. “Odette, you have no faith in me.”

Odette chuckled, her smile never fading. “It’s not that, dear. It’s just that Lesley’s patience is usually reserved for those who don’t act like spoiled little princesses.”

“Hey!” Guinevere shot back, but there was a teasing edge to her voice that matched Odette’s.

Lancelot leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a sly grin. “I’ll admit, it’s nice to see Lesley letting her guard down a little. It’s about time.”

Lesley raised an eyebrow, shifting Guinevere in her arms slightly. “I can be gentle when I need to be.”

Guinevere glanced up at Lesley, surprised by the subtle tenderness in her tone. She wasn’t used to hearing that side of Lesley, and it made her heart flutter just a little. She cleared her throat, trying to brush off the feelings. “Alright Lesley, You’ve made your point. Put me down.”

With a soft laugh, Lesley resented. She bent slightly, lowering Guinevere with a gentleness that caught the princess off guard. Her strong arms loosened, guiding Guinevere until her feet touched the ground.

“Alright,” Lancelot began, breaking the silence, “let’s have some food before the princess decides to start making demands again.”

Lesley smirked as she took her seat beside Guinevere, pouring a glass of water for the princess without a word. Guinevere glanced at her, a quiet gratitude in her eyes that she didn’t voice.

The meal carried on, the lively chatter of the hall providing a backdrop to the quiet bond growing between them. The two of them shared quiet moments, the warmth of their newfound bond growing ever stronger. It wasn’t perfect, and Guinevere knew she still had a long way to go in learning how to open up to others—but for the first time in a long while, she felt something real between them. Something that wasn’t based on power or titles, but on something deeper.

Guinevere stole a glance at Lesley, she couldn’t help but wonder how someone so infuriatingly stubborn could also be so undeniably kind.

Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as spoiled as she thought. Maybe Lesley was the one who could make her see beyond the walls she’d built for herself.

After bingeing, Guinevere strolled toward the training grounds, her delicate gown brushing against the grass as the afternoon sun bathed her in a golden glow. She had grown bored of her usual routine and was curious about the knights her father had sent Lancelot to recruit. Her brother stood in the center of the grounds, barking orders and sparring with a group of eager young men.

As Guinevere approached, a familiar voice caught her attention.

"Lady Guinevere, I was wondering when I’d see you again," Eren Paxley said, his confident smirk lighting up his face.

Guinevere blinked in surprise. "Eren? What are you doing here?"

Eren gave a mock bow, his auburn hair catching the sunlight. "I've come to offer my services, of course. House Baroque deserves the finest knights, and who better than me?"

Before Guinevere could respond, she spotted two other familiar figures. Aamon and Gusion stood a little ways off, observing the sparring session. They noticed her gaze and gave her polite nods, though Gusion’s smirk suggested he had caught onto Eren’s intentions.

Eren stepped closer, lowering his voice. "It’s been far too long since we last spoke. Perhaps we can catch up later? A walk in the gardens, maybe?"

Guinevere offered a polite smile, though she shifted slightly, glancing around. Her heart didn’t quicken at his words the way it did when she was near.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Lesley emerged from the shadows near the training grounds, her rifle slung casually over her shoulder. Her sharp eyes immediately sought Guinevere, her expression unreadable but undeniably protective.

Eren noticed the shift in Guinevere’s demeanor and turned to follow her gaze. His confident grin faltered slightly when he saw Lesley, who was now walking toward them with an air of quiet authority.

"Ah, the bodyguard," Eren said with a hint of disdain. "I suppose you’re here to ensure Lady Guinevere doesn’t trip over a blade of grass?"

Lesley stopped beside Guinevere, her posture relaxed but her presence commanding. "I’m here to ensure her safety," she replied coolly. Then, with a faint smirk, she added, "Though it seems I might also need to protect her from unwanted advances."

Guinevere bit back a laugh, her cheeks flushing slightly. Eren’s face reddened, but he quickly recovered, offering Lesley a tight smile.

"I think Lady Guinevere can decide for herself what’s wanted and what’s not," he said pointedly.

Lesley’s gray eyes glinted as she looked at Guinevere. "That she can," she agreed, her voice softening slightly as her gaze lingered on the princess. "But I’d wager she prefers honesty and sincerity over empty flattery."

Guinevere’s lips curled into a smile as she turned to Eren. "I appreciate your offer, Eren, but I think I’ll pass on the walk. There’s much to oversee here, and I wouldn’t want to neglect my duties."

Eren opened his mouth to protest, but Lesley took a step closer to Guinevere, her presence alone enough to end the conversation.

With a curt nod, Eren retreated, though not without throwing a pointed glare in Lesley’s direction.

"That was entertaining," Guinevere said softly once Eren was out of earshot.

Lesley smirked, her voice low and teasing. "Entertaining? Or mildly annoying?"

Guinevere tilted her head, her eyes sparkling. "A bit of both. Though I must admit, it’s rather nice to have someone around who knows how to chase away the pests."

Lesley chuckled. "All part of the job, M'lady."

But the way she looked at Guinevere—soft and unguarded—suggested that keeping her safe was more than just a duty.

Guinevere strode back inside, her heels echoing through the corridors. She had remembered she read earlier and went and settled in the grand library

The grand library was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of pages as Guinevere flipped through the ancient tome on her lap. The scent of aged parchment and leather-bound volumes filled the air, a comforting presence she always sought in moments of solitude. Her usual spot by the arched window offered a view of the gardens, now painted in the warm hues of the setting sun.

She sighed contentedly, tracing her finger over the delicate script in the book, but her peace was soon interrupted by the sound of light footsteps approaching.

Her ladymaid, Marianne, appeared in the doorway, curtsying politely before stepping closer. "My lady," she began, her tone gentle yet formal, "I’ve been sent to inform you that you are to attend supper and tea with the Paxleys, along with your brother and Lady Odette."

Guinevere groaned softly, closing her book with a soft thud. "The Paxleys?" she asked, already knowing the answer but hoping, for once, that Marianne might offer her an escape.

"Yes, my lady," Marianne replied, her expression apologetic. "The Duke insisted, and Sir Lancelot requested your presence as well. It seems... Master Eren is most eager to see you."

Guinevere rolled her eyes, rising from her seat. "Of course, he is," she muttered under her breath.

Marianne hesitated before adding, "Lady Odette has also requested your company. She thought it might lighten the atmosphere."

That softened Guinevere’s irritation slightly. She adored Odette, her brother’s fiancée, who had a knack for making even the most tedious gatherings bearable.

Reluctantly, Guinevere allowed Marianne to guide her back to her chambers, where she changed into a dinner gown of deep emerald, one that complimented her fiery locks. Lesley wasn’t far, as always, leaning casually against the doorway of Guinevere’s room, her sharp gaze watching the preparation in silence.

"You seem thrilled about this," Lesley remarked dryly, noting Guinevere’s barely concealed scowl as Marianne adjusted the final touches to her gown.

Guinevere huffed. "Oh, yes, nothing excites me more than spending an evening being fawned over by Eren."

Lesley smirked. "I’m sure he’ll try his best to impress you."

Guinevere glanced at her in the mirror, her lips curving into a sly smile. "I don’t see why he’d bother. My heart already belongs to someone else."

Lesley stiffened slightly but kept her expression neutral. "Is that so?"

Guinevere turned to face her fully, stepping closer. "It is." Her voice dropped to a playful whisper. "I wonder if they know."

For a fleeting moment, Lesley’s guarded facade cracked, and Guinevere swore she saw the faintest hint of color in her cheeks. But before she could press further, Marianne cleared her throat, breaking the moment.

"My lady, they’re expecting you," Marianne reminded gently.

Guinevere sighed, casting one last glance at Lesley. "Don’t stray too far," she said softly, her words carrying more weight than she let on.

Lesley inclined her head. "Never."

With that, Guinevere allowed Marianne to lead her to the dining hall, where the Paxleys and the rest of her family waited. As she entered the room, Eren rose from his seat, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her.

"Lady Guinevere," he said warmly, stepping forward to greet her. "You look stunning, as always."

Guinevere offered him a polite smile, her gaze briefly flickering toward Lancelot and Odette, who sat at the far end of the table. Odette gave her an encouraging smile, while Lancelot seemed more interested in his conversation with Gusion.

"Thank you, Eren," Guinevere replied, taking her seat. "It’s... lovely to see you again."

As the evening unfolded, Guinevere found herself doing her best to keep the conversation light and cordial, though her mind frequently wandered back to the library—and to a certain someone she’d left behind.

As the dining hall buzzed with light conversation, Eren found every opportunity to steer the discussion back to Guinevere. His charming smile never wavered as he leaned slightly toward her, clearly intent on monopolizing her attention.

"Lady Guinevere," he began, his tone warm and inviting, "I noticed you spent quite some time in the library before supper. Do you often lose yourself in books, or is there a particular subject that has caught your fancy?"

Guinevere set her teacup down delicately, meeting his gaze with polite indifference. "I find solace in books, Master Paxley. They allow me to explore worlds and ideas far removed from... the mundane realities of life." Her words carried an undertone she hoped he wouldn’t miss.

Eren, undeterred, chuckled softly. "A sentiment I share, though my reading tends to focus on matters of strategy and history. Perhaps one day, you’ll recommend a title to broaden my horizons?"

Guinevere raised a brow, feigning interest. "Perhaps," she replied curtly, glancing at her brother for a reprieve. But Lancelot seemed absorbed in his conversation with Gusion and Aamon, offering her no escape.

Sensing her reluctance, Eren leaned back slightly, his expression turning thoughtful. "You know," he said, voice softening, "I’ve always admired how deeply you engage with the world around you. It’s a rare quality, one that speaks to your wisdom and grace."

Guinevere pressed her lips into a tight smile. "You’re too kind, Master Paxley."

"Not at all," Eren insisted, his tone growing more earnest. "It’s simply the truth. I’ve seen how you carry yourself—with dignity, intelligence, and strength. It’s... inspiring, really."

Guinevere’s grip on her fork tightened, though she maintained her composure. "I appreciate your kind words, but I assure you, I’m quite ordinary."

Eren leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Ordinary? Lady Guinevere, you could never be ordinary. You shine brighter than anyone in this room." His gaze lingered on her, his meaning unmistakable.

Guinevere felt her patience wearing thin but forced herself to remain civil. "You flatter me, Master Paxley. I’m sure there are many others far more deserving of such praise."

Eren chuckled, his confidence unshaken. "Perhaps, but none who have captivated me the way you have."

Guinevere’s eyes flickered toward Odette, who offered her an encouraging smile, though there was a hint of concern in her expression. Lancelot, however, seemed oblivious to the exchange, his attention fixed on the Paxley brothers.

Finally, Eren set his teacup down with deliberate care and straightened in his seat. "Lady Guinevere," he began, his voice steady and sincere, "I wish to speak plainly.” 

Guinevere’s smile tightened, her grip on her fork firming. “Go on then.”

Eren’s expression was a practiced mixture of sincerity and confidence. “I have admired you for quite some time. Your grace, your beauty, your intellect—it would be an honor to court you with the intent of marriage.”

Guinevere’s heart sank, though she kept her face composed. She could feel the expectant gazes of her family and the Paxleys, waiting for her response.

Lancelot, seated at the head of the table, cleared his throat. “This is quite a declaration, Eren. A bold one, at that.”

Eren turned to Lancelot with a respectful nod. “I mean no disrespect, Sir Lancelot. I only wish to honor your family by proposing a union that would strengthen both our houses.”

Guinevere’s stomach churned at the phrase “strengthen both our houses.” That was all this was to them—a political move, a transaction. She glanced at her brother, silently pleading for his intervention, but his face remained unreadable.

Odette, sensing Guinevere’s discomfort, placed a gentle hand on her fiancé’s arm. “Surely, this is not a decision to be made in haste,” she said, her voice calm and measured. “Such matters deserve careful thought.”

Eren smiled politely. “Of course, Lady Odette. I simply wish to express my intentions clearly.” His gaze shifted back to Guinevere. “I hope you’ll consider my offer, Lady Guinevere.”

Guinevere forced a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll give it some thought, Master Paxley.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, with Guinevere feeling more like a pawn than ever. As soon as the supper concluded, she excused herself, claiming fatigue.

Once she was back in her chambers, she found Lesley waiting for her, leaning against the wall with her usual air of calm detachment.

“Rough night?” Lesley asked, her sharp gray eyes studying Guinevere.

Guinevere sank onto the chaise lounge in her chambers, her hands gripping the folds of her gown tightly as if grounding herself. Her chest rose and fell with controlled but shaky breaths, her normally confident demeanor crumbling under the weight of what had just transpired.

“He wants to court me, Lesley,” she muttered, her voice tinged with disbelief. She looked up at her bodyguard, her emerald eyes wide and filled with a mixture of shock and frustration. “Eren Paxley—he had the audacity to propose such a thing in front of everyone.”

Lesley, who had been leaning casually against the wall, straightened at Guinevere’s tone. She approached slowly, her expression softening as she took in the visible distress on Guinevere’s face. “I take it you’re not thrilled?” she asked lightly, though her voice carried an undertone of concern.

Guinevere let out a bitter laugh. “Thrilled? I’m insulted, Lesley. This isn’t about me—it never is. It’s about alliances, power, and appearances. Eren doesn’t care about me, not really. He cares about what I represent—a way to elevate himself, to secure his family’s influence. And my family… they’re so blinded by politics, they’d gladly hand me over if it meant strengthening their position.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she quickly turned her face away, embarrassed by the sudden flood of emotion threatening to overwhelm her.

Lesley crouched in front of her, her steady gray eyes searching Guinevere’s face. “You’re not a bargaining chip,” she said firmly. “You’re Guinevere Baroque—one of the strongest, most capable people I know. Don’t let them make you forget that.”

Guinevere shook her head, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “It doesn’t matter what I think, Lesley. They’ve already decided for me. Eren is perfect for their plans, and I’m just… convenient. I’m their chess piece, moved wherever they see fit.”

Lesley’s jaw tightened, her protective instincts flaring. “You’re no one’s pawn,” she said, her voice low and resolute. “And if they think otherwise, they’re sorely mistaken.”

Guinevere’s gaze flickered to Lesley, the sincerity in her words momentarily silencing her spiraling thoughts. “How can you be so sure?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Because I know you,” Lesley replied, her tone softening. She reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a reassuring hand on Guinevere’s. “You’re not the type to roll over and let others decide your fate. And you’re not alone in this.”

Guinevere’s fingers twitched under Lesley’s touch, her heart aching at the gentleness in her bodyguard’s voice. “You don’t understand,” she said, her voice breaking. “If I refuse, if I push back… they’ll see it as rebellion. They’ll tighten their grip even more. I don’t want to be trapped, Lesley.”

Lesley’s eyes softened further, her thumb brushing against the back of Guinevere’s hand in a rare display of comfort. “Then we’ll make sure you’re not,” she said quietly. “You’re stronger than you think, Guinevere. And if they try to tighten their grip, I’ll be there to pull you free. You don’t have to fight this alone.”

Guinevere stared at her, her vision blurring slightly. “Do you really mean that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course I do,” Lesley replied without hesitation. “You’re not just my charge, Guinevere. You’re… important to me. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re free to choose your own path.”

Guinevere felt her breath hitch, the raw honesty in Lesley’s words making her chest ache. She leaned forward slightly, her voice steadier now but still tinged with vulnerability. “Thank you, Lesley. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Lesley gave her a small, reassuring smile. “You’ll never have to find out.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint crackle of the fireplace. Guinevere closed her eyes, letting Lesley’s words sink in. Though the road ahead was uncertain and undoubtedly fraught with challenges, she felt a flicker of hope she hadn’t dared to feel before.

When she finally opened her eyes, she straightened her back slightly, determination beginning to replace her despair. “Tomorrow, I’ll speak to Lancelot,” she said, her voice firmer now. “He’ll listen to me. And if he doesn’t, then we’ll figure out another way.”

Lesley nodded, her steady presence like a lifeline. “Whatever you need, I’m with you.”

Guinevere managed a faint smile, her heart a little lighter despite the storm brewing around her. For now, that was enough.

Lesley stood and stretched her arms behind her back, her expression softening as she watched Guinevere’s shoulders relax ever so slightly. The princess was still seated on the chaise, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along the hem of her gown.

“Alright,” Lesley said, her voice gentle but firm, “that’s enough worrying for one night. Time for bed, Guinevere.”

Guinevere blinked and looked up, her brows furrowing. “Bed? Lesley, I slept all morning. I’m not tired.”

Lesley tilted her head, giving her an amused look. “That’s debatable. You’ve spent the entire evening twisting yourself into knots over Eren Paxley and the whole political mess. If you’re not tired, your nerves certainly are.”

Guinevere sighed, leaning back into the chaise with a dramatic groan. “I’m not ready to sleep. My mind is still racing.”

Lesley crossed her arms, smirking faintly. “Then consider this an order from your bodyguard. Rest is as important as any strategy, and you’ll need a clear head to deal with your brother tomorrow.”

Guinevere raised an eyebrow, feigning defiance. “And what if I refuse?”

Lesley took a step closer, her eyes glinting with playful determination. “Then I’ll carry you to bed myself.”

Guinevere’s cheeks flushed at the teasing threat, and she quickly sat up straighter. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” Lesley replied, the corner of her lips twitching in amusement.

Guinevere stared at her for a moment before letting out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Fine, fine. You win, Lesley. But only because I don’t want to be manhandled into bed.”

Lesley smirked and gestured toward the bed. “Good choice, Miss Violet.”

Reluctantly, Guinevere stood and allowed Lesley to guide her toward her bedchamber. The princess climbed into the plush bedding, the softness already tempting her to give in to the comfort despite her earlier protests.

Lesley lingered by the door, her arms loosely crossed. “You don’t have to solve everything tonight, Guinevere. Let tomorrow take care of itself. For now, just breathe.”

Guinevere nestled into the pillows, her gaze meeting Lesley’s as a small, grateful smile graced her lips. “You’re always looking out for me,” she murmured, her voice soft with appreciation. “Thank you, Lesley.”

Lesley’s expression softened, her voice low but sincere. “Always.”

She turned to leave, but Guinevere’s voice stopped her. “Lesley?”

Lesley turned back, one brow raised. “Yes, your highness?”

Guinevere hesitated, her green eyes searching Lesley’s face. “Stay... just for a little while?”

Lesley’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Of course.”

She pulled a chair closer to the bedside, settling into it with her usual calm composure. “Go to sleep, Guinevere,” she said softly.

For the first time that evening, Guinevere let her mind quiet as Lesley’s steady presence grounded her. Before long, her eyelids grew heavy, and she drifted off into a peaceful slumber, the last thing she saw being the reassuring figure of her bodyguard by her side.

Chapter Text

The morning sun spilled through the tall windows of Guinevere’s chamber, painting the room in soft gold hues. Still wrapped in the warmth of her blankets, Guinevere was vaguely aware of the light, but she had no intention of leaving her cozy sanctuary just yet. That was until a voice broke through her peaceful slumber.

“Lady Guinevere! A lovely morning to you!”

Guinevere’s eyes snapped open, narrowing instantly as they locked onto the overly enthusiastic figure standing at the foot of her bed. Eren Paxley, grinning as if he belonged there, held a tray of pastries and tea like some gallant suitor from a storybook.

“What… are you doing here?” she demanded, sitting up and glaring at him. Her fiery hair was disheveled, and her expression was anything but welcoming.

“I thought I’d start the day by bringing you breakfast,” Eren said, completely unbothered by her obvious irritation. “I even had the chef prepare your favorite pastries.”

Guinevere pinched the bridge of her nose, her patience wearing thin. “Eren, it’s far too early for this, and I don’t recall inviting you into my chambers.”

Eren chuckled nervously, as if her clear displeasure was merely a misunderstanding. “I thought it’d be a pleasant surprise! Besides, I wanted to personally show my dedication to you.”

Guinevere exhaled sharply, her emerald eyes narrowing further. “Next time, surprise me by not invading my personal space unannounced.” She tossed the covers aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare for the day.”

Eren hesitated, clearly trying to salvage the moment. “If there’s anything else I can do—”

“Leave,” Guinevere said firmly, cutting him off.

Eren blinked, momentarily stunned by her sharp tone, but he quickly recovered. “Of course. I’ll see you later, Lady Guinevere,” he said, retreating with a bow.

Once the door closed behind him, Guinevere groaned and ran a hand through her hair. “Of all the ways to wake up…”

Her ladymaid, Marianne, entered a moment later, holding a fresh gown for the day. “Good morning, my lady. I take it Master Paxley’s visit was not appreciated?”

Guinevere shot her a look. “That’s an understatement. Where is Lesley? She’s the only person who knows how to handle mornings like this.”

Marianne hesitated, her expression faltering. “My lady… the Duke requested her presence early this morning. I believe she’s still with him.”

Guinevere frowned, her irritation shifting to concern. “The Duke? What does Father want with her so early?”

“I’m not sure, my lady,” Marianne replied, carefully setting the gown aside. “But I imagine it’s something important.”

Guinevere’s mind raced as she considered the possibilities. It wasn’t like her father to call on Lesley directly unless it involved security matters—or something more.

“Very well,” Guinevere said, standing. “Prepare my dress. I’ll deal with this morning nonsense and find out what’s going on with Lesley.”

Marianne curtsied and got to work, while Guinevere’s thoughts lingered on her absent bodyguard. Whatever her father wanted, she hoped Lesley wasn’t being dragged into some scheme involving the Paxleys. The mere thought of it made her blood boil.

By the time she was dressed and ready, Guinevere’s irritation had hardened into resolve. She had a feeling her morning was only just beginning.

Guinevere swept out of her chambers with purpose, her emerald eyes scanning the hallways for any sign of her ever-reliable bodyguard. She half-expected Lesley to be waiting for her at her usual post, leaning casually against the wall with that steady, reassuring presence. But instead, as fate would have it, she found herself face-to-face with none other than Eren Paxley.

“Lady Guinevere!” Eren greeted her with a dazzling smile, as if their earlier encounter had gone splendidly in his mind. “I was just on my way to escort you to breakfast. It’s such a pleasant morning, isn’t it?”

Guinevere’s jaw tightened, her patience already wearing thin. “Eren, I don’t require an escort,” she said curtly. “I can manage perfectly well on my own.”

“But I insist,” Eren replied, falling into step beside her despite her clear disinterest. “It’s the least I can do after… well, after this morning. I understand you might have been caught off guard, but I only had the best intentions.”

Guinevere stopped abruptly, turning to fix him with a withering glare. “Eren, if you truly had the best intentions, you would give me the space I clearly need. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to.”

Eren faltered, his confident facade cracking slightly under the weight of her sharp words. “Of course,” he said finally, stepping aside with a forced smile. “If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to call upon me.”

Guinevere didn’t bother responding as she swept past him, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. She moved quickly down the corridor, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she turned corner after corner in search of Lesley.

It wasn’t long before she caught sight of a familiar figure near the grand staircase. Lesley stood in quiet conversation with one of the ladymaids, her posture relaxed but focused. Guinevere’s shoulders relaxed slightly at the sight of her, though her frustration with Eren still lingered.

As she approached, Lesley glanced over and immediately straightened. “Your Grace,” she greeted, her tone calm but attentive.

The ladymaid curtsied and excused herself, leaving the two of them alone.

“Lesley,” Guinevere said, her voice carrying an edge of relief she hadn’t intended to show. “Where have you been? I was told Father requested your presence this morning.”

Lesley nodded, her expression unreadable. “The Duke needed an update on the estate’s security arrangements. It was nothing urgent.”

Guinevere tilted her head, studying Lesley closely. “Nothing urgent, yet it took up most of your morning?”

Lesley hesitated for a fraction of a second before replying. “He had… additional questions about my role, Your Grace. You know how thorough he can be.”

Guinevere frowned, her instincts telling her there was more to the story. “Lesley, if Father is trying to involve you in his schemes—especially where Eren Paxley is concerned—you need to tell me.”

Lesley’s lips pressed into a thin line, but her eyes softened as she regarded Guinevere. “I wouldn’t let myself get dragged into anything that would compromise you, Your Grace. You know that.”

Guinevere exhaled, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Good. Because I don’t think I can take any more surprises this morning.”

Lesley allowed a faint smirk to tug at her lips. “Rough start?”

Guinevere crossed her arms, her tone dripping with exasperation. “Eren decided to wake me up personally with tea and pastries.”

Lesley’s smirk deepened, a glint of amusement in her blue eyes. “That explains your mood.”

Guinevere shot her a look, though the corners of her lips twitched despite herself. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Lesley countered, her tone teasing.

Guinevere huffed, but her earlier frustration felt less oppressive now. “Next time, don’t leave me alone to deal with him.”

Lesley nodded, her voice soft but firm. “You have my word, Gwen.”

Guinevere gave her a long look, the unspoken trust between them settling in the space like a comforting presence. Whatever the day held, she felt a little more prepared with Lesley by her side.

Feeling the tension still simmering from her earlier encounters, Guinevere decided it was time to find Lancelot. If anyone could provide insight—or at least a buffer against the endless pressures of the day—it was her elder brother. She adjusted the hem of her gown with determination and turned to Lesley.

“Come with me,” she said. “We’re finding Lancelot.”

Lesley inclined her head, falling into step beside her. “Any idea where he might be?”

Guinevere sighed. “Knowing him, he’s probably either sparring in the training grounds or charming one of the court ladies in the garden. Let’s start with the grounds.”

As they made their way through the sprawling halls of House Baroque, Guinevere found herself speaking aloud. “I need him to understand what’s happening, Lesley. Father is pushing too hard, and Eren… Eren thinks I’m just going to fall into his arms because it’s politically convenient. Lancelot has to support me on this.”

Lesley glanced at her, her blue eyes steady. “Your brother’s loyalty has always been to you, Gwen. He’ll listen.”

Guinevere bit her lip but nodded, clinging to that hope. As they stepped out onto the training grounds, the familiar sound of clashing swords and shouts of encouragement met her ears. Sure enough, Lancelot was there, a commanding figure among the knights as he sparred with one of the younger recruits. His blonde hair caught the sunlight, and his movements were fluid, almost effortless, as he disarmed his opponent with a quick flick of his wrist.

“Lancelot!” Guinevere called, raising her voice to be heard over the commotion.

Her brother turned at the sound of her voice, his sharp blue eyes softening slightly as he caught sight of her. “Guinevere!” he greeted warmly, handing his sword to a squire before striding toward her. “What brings you out here so early? I thought you’d still be resting after last night’s supper.”

Guinevere folded her arms, giving him a pointed look. “I would have been, had Eren Paxley not decided to wake me up with breakfast in my chambers.”

Lancelot raised an eyebrow, a bemused smile tugging at his lips. “Ah, the Paxley boy is persistent, isn’t he?”

“This isn’t a joke, Lancelot,” Guinevere snapped, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “Father is clearly encouraging him, and I refuse to be treated like some prize to be handed off for political gain.”

Lancelot’s smile faded, his expression turning serious as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not a prize, Guinevere. You’re my sister.”

Guinevere’s tension eased slightly at his words, but she wasn’t finished. “Then help me. I need you to speak to him. Convince him that this is a mistake. I don’t care about the Paxleys or their alliances—I won’t marry Eren, no matter how perfect the match might seem to them.”

Lancelot studied her for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. “You’ve made up your mind, then?”

“Yes,” she said firmly.

Lancelot’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Good. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

He glanced at Lesley, who had been standing silently by Guinevere’s side, her arms loosely crossed. “And I take it your bodyguard agrees with you on this matter?”

Lesley’s expression didn’t waver as she replied, “I support Lady Guinevere in all her decisions. If she needs my assistance, she has it.”

Lancelot nodded, his respect for Lesley evident in his gaze. “Then it’s settled. I’ll speak to Father. But you know he won’t back down easily, Guinevere. He’ll bring up duty, tradition, and all the usual arguments.”

Guinevere straightened her shoulders, her resolve hardening. “Let him. I’ll counter every single one. I won’t let him control my life, Lancelot.”

Lancelot’s smile grew, pride shining in his eyes. “That’s the Guinevere I know. Alright, leave Father to me for now. You focus on staying clear of Eren’s schemes.”

Guinevere exhaled in relief, a small smile playing on her lips. “Thank you, Lancelot

He ruffled her hair lightly, earning an indignant huff from her. “What are big brothers for?”

As Lancelot turned back to the training knights, Guinevere felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Lesley stepped closer, her voice low but reassuring. “That went well.”

“It did,” Guinevere admitted. She glanced at Lesley, her heart a little lighter. “Let’s hope Father listens.”

“If he doesn’t,” Lesley replied calmly, “we’ll make him.”

Guinevere smirked at that, her confidence returning. With Lesley and Lancelot by her side, she was ready for whatever came next.

As Guinevere and Lesley turned to leave the training grounds, the last thing Guinevere wanted—or expected—was to hear a familiar, overly eager voice calling her name.

“Lady Guinevere!”

Guinevere stopped in her tracks, her shoulders tensing as she slowly turned. Sure enough, there was Eren Paxley striding toward them, his polished boots glinting in the sunlight and his boyish smile firmly in place.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Guinevere muttered under her breath. “Why does he always show up at the worst times?”

Lesley’s lips twitched, but she managed to keep her expression neutral. “Maybe he has a sixth sense for irritating you, Miss Violet.”

Guinevere shot her a glare, though the corners of her mouth betrayed the hint of a smile. “You’re not helping.”

“Lady Guinevere!” Eren said again as he finally reached them, slightly out of breath but clearly thrilled to see her. “What a pleasant surprise to find you here. I was hoping to speak with you.”

Guinevere plastered on her best courtly smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Eren, what an… unexpected visit. What can I do for you this time?”

Eren’s smile grew even wider, as if he were oblivious to her thinly veiled annoyance. “I was hoping to invite you for a stroll through the gardens. It’s such a beautiful morning, and I thought it might be nice for us to—”

“I’m busy,” Guinevere cut in, her tone polite but firm.

Eren blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Busy? Doing what, if I may ask?”

“Anything else,” Guinevere replied flatly.

Lesley coughed into her hand to hide her laugh, though her eyes sparkled with amusement.

Eren hesitated, clearly trying to salvage the situation. “Perhaps later, then? I could call on you after lunch, or—”

“Eren,” Guinevere interrupted, crossing her arms. “As I’ve said before, I’m not interested in your… attentions. I appreciate your efforts, but they’re wasted on me.”

Eren’s expression faltered, though he quickly recovered, his smile becoming slightly forced. “I understand you might feel that way now, but I truly believe—”

“Eren,” Lesley interjected, her calm voice cutting through his rambling like a blade. “The lady has made her position clear. Perhaps it’s time you respected it.”

Eren’s gaze flicked to Lesley, and for a moment, there was a flicker of irritation in his eyes. “Ah, Lady Lesley. Always by Guinevere’s side, aren’t you?”

Lesley didn’t so much as blink. “It’s my job.”

“And yet, one might say you take a… personal interest,” Eren said, his tone laced with insinuation.

Guinevere’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Eren,” she said, her voice like ice, “do not presume to understand anything about my relationship with Lesley. She’s my bodyguard, my confidant, and my most trusted ally. If you have a problem with that, then you’re welcome to leave.”

Eren’s face flushed, and for the first time, he seemed genuinely at a loss for words. “I… I didn’t mean to offend—”

“You did,” Guinevere snapped, cutting him off. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have more important matters to attend to.”

Without waiting for a response, Guinevere turned on her heel and walked away, her head held high. Lesley followed closely, her face unreadable but her blue eyes glinting with quiet satisfaction.

As they left Eren standing there, clearly flustered and out of his depth, Guinevere muttered under her breath, “That man is insufferable.”

Lesley glanced at her, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “You handled him well, M'lady.”

Guinevere huffed, though her frustration was starting to give way to amusement. “If he shows up again, I’m making you deal with him.”

Lesley’s smirk widened. “Gladly.”

The tension from their encounter with Eren melted away as Guinevere and Lesley walked back into the estate. Guinevere, her mood still teetering between annoyance and amusement, decided she needed a moment to herself. Or at least, a moment without Eren.

“I’ll be in the library,” Guinevere announced as they ascended the grand staircase. “I need something to distract me from the circus that is my life right now.”

Lesley tilted her head slightly. “Do you want me to stay nearby, Guinevere?”

Guinevere paused at the top of the staircase, her hand brushing the banister as she glanced at Lesley. “No, it’s fine. Just… keep Eren away from me if he starts prowling again.”

Lesley smirked. “Understood.”

Guinevere smiled faintly before continuing toward the grand library, the one place in the estate where she felt she could truly breathe. The towering shelves filled with ancient tomes and beautifully bound books always brought her a sense of peace.

Once inside, she trailed her fingers along the spines of the books, their leather bindings smooth under her touch. She had no specific title in mind, but something in her thoughts whispered a theme—friendship.

She reached one of the middle shelves and pulled out a small, unassuming book titled On Bonds and Trust. She carried it to her usual spot near the grand arched window, where sunlight poured onto the plush chaise lounge.

Settling in, Guinevere flipped through the pages. The book was filled with musings on the nature of friendship—its foundations, its challenges, and its enduring strength.

As she read, her thoughts wandered. The idea of friendship had always felt foreign in her world. She had acquaintances, suitors, and political allies, but a true friend? Someone who saw her for who she truly was, beyond the titles and expectations?

Her thoughts drifted to Lesley. Dependable, calm, and always by her side. Lesley was more than just her bodyguard—she was her anchor, the one person who made her feel seen. The realization left Guinevere momentarily stunned.

She looked back down at the book, reading a passage aloud to herself: “True friendship is built on mutual trust and the willingness to stand beside one another, no matter the storm.”

A soft smile crept onto her lips. Lesley already does that for me , she thought.

The sound of the library door creaking open pulled her from her musings. Her eyes darted toward the entrance, but it was only Marianne, her ever-loyal ladymaid, carrying a tea tray.

“I thought you might want something to drink, my lady,” Marianne said with a kind smile as she set the tray on a nearby table.

“Thank you, Marianne,” Guinevere replied, closing the book gently.

As Marianne poured the tea, Guinevere glanced out the window, her thoughts still lingering on the passage she had read.

Perhaps she wasn’t as alone in this world as she sometimes felt. And perhaps, just perhaps, the bonds she had with certain people were more meaningful than she’d ever realized.

As Guinevere sipped her tea, her mind wandered back to earlier in the day—when she had first spotted Lesley. The memory was fresh and sharp, much to her dismay.

Lesley had been standing near the grand staircase, deep in conversation with one of the ladymaids. From afar, it had seemed ordinary enough, but Guinevere couldn’t ignore the slight smile that had graced Lesley’s usually stoic face. Nor could she forget how the ladymaid had leaned in, speaking in low, confidential tones as if sharing something amusing or personal.

Guinevere’s fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the book. She shook her head, trying to dismiss the nagging feeling clawing at her chest. It wasn’t her place to feel this way. Lesley is my bodyguard , not my... She stopped the thought mid-sentence, scowling at herself.

Still, the image replayed in her mind—the light in Lesley’s gray eyes as she spoke to someone else, as though her attention belonged to them, even for just a moment.

Guinevere huffed softly, snapping the book shut. She leaned back against the chaise, her arms crossed. It wasn’t like she wanted to monopolize Lesley’s time— at least not entirely . But seeing her smile at someone else, even if it was innocent, left a sour taste in Guinevere’s mouth.

The library door creaked open again, and this time it wasn’t Marianne.

Lesley entered, her boots soft against the polished floor. “Your Grace,” she said with a slight nod.

Guinevere looked up sharply, masking her earlier turmoil with a practiced calm. “Lesley,” she greeted, her tone cool. “What brings you to the library? Finished your… other conversations?”

Lesley blinked at her, tilting her head slightly. “Other conversations?”

“Yes,” Guinevere said, lifting her chin. “You seemed rather… engaged earlier. With that ladymaid. What was her name again? Margaret? Marisol?”

“Matilda,” Lesley said evenly, though her brow furrowed slightly. “She had a question about securing the servants’ quarters. The Duke asked me to assess all potential vulnerabilities.”

“Of course she did,” Guinevere muttered, her arms tightening across her chest.

Lesley’s eyes narrowed slightly as she stepped closer. “Is something bothering you Gwen?”

Guinevere hesitated, suddenly regretting her pointed tone. “No,” she said quickly, then added, “I mean… it’s nothing important.”

Lesley didn’t look convinced. She moved closer, her voice softening. “Guinevere, if something’s on your mind, you can tell me.”

The use of her name, unaccompanied by her title, sent a strange warmth through Guinevere’s chest. She glanced away, feeling her cheeks heat slightly. “I just… I’m not used to seeing you talk so freely with others. That’s all.”

Lesley raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting to one of quiet amusement. “Are you saying you’re not used to sharing me?”

Guinevere’s head snapped up, her eyes wide. “That’s not what I—” She stopped herself, flustered. “I just meant you’re usually focused on me .”

Lesley’s smirk deepened, though she didn’t press further. Instead, she gave a small nod. “You’re right. My priority is you. Always.”

The sincerity in her voice made Guinevere’s earlier irritation melt away. She sighed, feeling a bit foolish for her jealousy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound… unreasonable.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Lesley said gently. “If something bothers you, I’d rather know.”

Guinevere nodded, her heart settling. “Thank you, Lesley. Truly.”

Lesley gave her a rare, genuine smile. “Anytime, Your Grace. Now, have you been reading about ‘friendship’?”

Guinevere blinked, startled. “How did you—”

“You left the book on the table,” Lesley said, motioning to the title. “Seemed a little on the nose.”

Guinevere scowled, snatching up the book. “It’s research, not sentimentality.”

Lesley chuckled softly. “Whatever you say.”

As she turned to leave, Guinevere found herself smiling despite herself. Whatever uncertainties she had, one thing was clear: Lesley was the one person she could always rely on—and perhaps more than she’d ever admit.

As Lesley turned toward the door, it creaked open, and Matilda entered the library. Guinevere’s eyes immediately darted to her, narrowing slightly.

“Your Grace,” Matilda said with a curtsy, her voice polite and composed. “The king has requested your presence in the royal hall. Sir Lancelot and Lady Odette are already with him, awaiting your arrival.”

Guinevere’s fingers tightened around the spine of her book. She didn’t miss the brief moment when Matilda’s eyes flicked toward Lesley, and—of course—Lesley’s calm, professional gaze met hers in return. There was nothing inappropriate in the exchange, but Guinevere’s stomach churned all the same.

“Thank you, Matilda,” Guinevere said coolly, setting the book down with more force than necessary.

Matilda nodded and took a step back, but not before offering Lesley a small smile, which Lesley returned with a polite incline of her head.

That was the last straw. Guinevere stood abruptly, her tone sharper than she intended. “Is there anything else, Matilda, or have you completed your message?”

Matilda looked startled, her smile faltering. “No, Your Grace. That is all.”

“Good,” Guinevere said curtly. “You’re dismissed.”

Matilda curtsied again, casting one last glance at Lesley before leaving the room. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.

Lesley turned to Guinevere, one eyebrow raised. “Was that… necessary?”

Guinevere avoided her gaze, busying herself with straightening her dress. “She delivered her message, didn’t she? There’s no point in lingering.”

Lesley studied her for a moment, clearly unimpressed. “Are you jealous of Matilda?”

Guinevere spun on her heel, her cheeks flushing. “What? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Lesley crossed her arms, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re jealous.”

“I am not!” Guinevere snapped, though her tone was a little too defensive to be convincing. She turned away, pretending to adjust the nearby books on the shelf. “It’s just… she’s far too familiar with you.”

Lesley tilted her head. “She was doing her job, Your Grace. And I was doing mine.”

Guinevere huffed, still refusing to meet her eyes. “Well, she doesn’t need to smile at you like that. Or… look at you like that.”

“Like what?” Lesley asked, her tone laced with amusement.

Guinevere turned back to her, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Like that! Like you’re the most interesting person in the room. It’s—” She stopped, realizing how ridiculous she sounded. “Never mind. This is a waste of time. Let’s go see the king.”

Lesley didn’t push further, though the smirk didn’t leave her face. She stepped aside, gesturing for Guinevere to lead the way. “After you, Your Grace.”

Guinevere swept past her, her head held high, though her cheeks were still flushed with frustration and embarrassment.

As they walked through the halls toward the royal hall, Guinevere stole a glance at Lesley. The bodyguard was as composed as ever, her expression unreadable, though her faint smirk from earlier still lingered in Guinevere’s mind.

I’m not jealous, Guinevere told herself firmly, though her heart betrayed her by beating just a little too fast.

When they reached the royal hall, the tension in her chest eased slightly. Lancelot and Odette stood at the far end of the room, speaking with the king. Lancelot caught sight of Guinevere and waved her over, his face lighting up with relief.

“There you are,” he said as she approached. “We’ve been waiting.”

Odette smiled warmly, stepping forward to take Guinevere’s hands. “Good morning, Guinevere. I hope you’re well rested. The king has some important matters to discuss.”

Guinevere forced a polite smile, though the weight of what was to come pressed heavily on her. “Of course. Let’s get this over with.”

As the king’s booming voice called her name, she braced herself, the earlier incident with Matilda temporarily pushed to the back of her mind. However, she couldn’t shake the thought of Lesley’s calm, unreadable gaze lingering behind her.

The royal hall was heavy with tension, the weight of the king’s disapproval palpable as he paced before Guinevere. His elaborate robes swept the floor, his expression stern and unyielding.

“Guinevere,” Duke Baroque began, his tone sharp. “You will explain to me why you continue to refuse Eren Paxley’s courtship. He is a suitable match—no, a perfect match—for someone of your station. His family’s influence would bolster House Baroque’s power. This alliance is critical.”

Guinevere stood tall, her hands clasped in front of her, but her jaw tightened in defiance. “Father, I have no interest in Eren. He’s arrogant, insufferable, and he doesn’t care for me as a person—only what I represent. I will not marry a man I can’t respect, let alone tolerate.”

Duke Baroque narrowed his eyes, his voice rising. “This is not about your feelings, Guinevere. It’s about duty! About strengthening our house and securing our future!”

“My future should not be sacrificed for political gain!” Guinevere snapped, her frustration boiling over. “I am not a pawn to be traded away in your endless game of power, Father. I have my own desires, my own plans—”

“Plans that mean nothing if they don’t serve the family!” the Duke roared, his face reddening. “You’re too young to understand the stakes here. Eren’s proposal is a golden opportunity, and you would be a fool to throw it away!”

Guinevere opened her mouth to retort, but another voice cut through the rising storm.

“She’s not a fool, Father,” Lancelot said firmly, stepping forward from where he’d been quietly observing. His face was calm, but his eyes burned with conviction. “And she’s not a pawn, either. She’s our sister, our blood. Mother would never have wanted this for her.”

The room fell silent, the mention of their late mother hanging in the air like a ghost.

Duke Baroque turned to Lancelot, his expression hardening. “Do not bring your mother into this, Lancelot. She had her ideals, but the world has changed since her time. This is about survival.”

“And yet, Mother always taught us to put family before power,” Lancelot countered, his voice steady but laced with steel. “She wanted us to protect one another, not exploit each other for political gain. If she were here, she’d see that Guinevere’s happiness matters just as much as the family’s future.”

Guinevere’s chest tightened at Lancelot’s words, a mix of gratitude and sadness washing over her.

The Duke’s eyes flickered, a brief hesitation in his resolve. “This isn’t about happiness, Lancelot. It’s about responsibility.”

“And Guinevere is being responsible,” Lancelot argued. “She’s telling you the truth about her feelings. Would you rather force her into a loveless marriage and risk alienating her entirely?”

Guinevere glanced at Lancelot, her heart swelling with appreciation for her brother’s unwavering support.

The Duke exhaled sharply, running a hand through his graying hair. “You don’t understand the weight I bear, Lancelot. Every decision I make is for this family’s survival.”

“And yet, you’ve raised a family strong enough to stand up for what they believe in,” Lancelot said softly. “That strength didn’t come from alliances or power. It came from Mother—and from you, once. Don’t lose sight of that.”

The Duke fell silent, his gaze shifting between Lancelot and Guinevere. For the first time, he looked less like a commanding patriarch and more like a man burdened by the weight of his choices.

After a long moment, he sighed. “I will think on this.”

It wasn’t a victory, but it wasn’t a defeat either. Guinevere nodded, her voice soft but resolute. “Thank you, Father.”

Duke Baroque turned away, waving a hand dismissively. “Go. Leave me to my thoughts.”

As Guinevere and Lancelot exited the hall, she turned to him, her voice trembling with gratitude. “Thank you, Lancelot. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Lancelot gave her a small smile, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You’ll never have to find out, Gwen. I’ll always have your back.”

Unspoken between them was the understanding that the fight wasn’t over. But for now, Guinevere felt a sliver of hope—because she wasn’t facing it alone.

“Do you think he’ll relent?” Guinevere asked softly, her voice tinged with doubt.

Lancelot sighed, his expression thoughtful. “He might, eventually. But Father is stubborn, and the lure of power blinds him. This won’t be the last time he brings it up.”

Guinevere frowned, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. “I don’t understand why he can’t see that forcing me into this is wrong. How many times must I say no before he listens?”

Lancelot glanced at her, his blue eyes softening. “Father listens to reason, but only when it aligns with his goals. That’s why you need to keep standing your ground, Gwen. If you back down even once, he’ll take it as a sign of weakness.”

She stopped walking and turned to face him, her voice wavering. “What if I can’t do this, Lancelot? What if he wears me down? I’m so tired of being treated like… like I’m nothing more than a bargaining chip.”

Lancelot placed his hands on her shoulders, grounding her. “You’re stronger than you think, Guinevere. And you’re not alone in this. You have me. And…” He hesitated, then smirked slightly. “Your rather intimidating bodyguard.”

At the mention of Lesley, Guinevere’s cheeks flushed slightly, though she quickly brushed it off. “Lesley doesn’t intimidate me,” she mumbled.

“No,” Lancelot agreed, his smirk widening. “But she intimidates everyone else—and that’s exactly what you need right now.”

Guinevere rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re lucky to have me,” Lancelot teased, ruffling her hair playfully.

She swatted his hand away, laughing softly despite herself. The moment of levity eased some of the tension in her chest, and she felt a little more like herself.

As they continued walking, they passed a corridor leading to the training grounds. Guinevere stopped again, her gaze lingering in that direction.

“I should find Lesley,” she said after a moment.

Lancelot arched a brow. “To complain about Father?”

“To prepare,” she corrected, lifting her chin. “If Father won’t back down, then I need to make sure I’m ready for whatever he throws at me next.”

Lancelot studied her for a moment, then nodded approvingly. “That’s the spirit.” He glanced down the corridor and smirked. “I think she’s still on the training grounds. Probably scaring the new recruits.”

Guinevere laughed lightly at the thought. “Good. They deserve it.”

She parted ways with Lancelot, her steps more purposeful now as she made her way to the training grounds. The sound of clashing steel and barked orders filled the air as she approached, and it didn’t take long to spot Lesley in the middle of it all.

Lesley stood with her rifle slung over her back, observing a sparring match between two recruits. Even in the chaos, her composure was unshakable, her presence commanding without needing to raise her voice.

Guinevere hesitated at the edge of the grounds, watching Lesley for a moment. Her earlier frustration and doubts began to fade, replaced by a sense of calm she hadn’t felt all morning.

If anyone can help me through this, it’s her.

Summoning her resolve, Guinevere stepped forward, weaving through the chaos until she reached Lesley’s side.

Lesley glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Your Grace. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I needed to find you,” Guinevere admitted, her voice quieter than she intended.

Lesley’s gray eyes softened as she tilted her head slightly. “Is everything all right?”

“No,” Guinevere said honestly, her shoulders relaxing now that she was beside her bodyguard. “But I think it will be.”

Lesley’s lips curved into a rare, reassuring smile. “Then let’s make sure of it.”

And in that moment, standing amidst the clamor of the training grounds, Guinevere felt a spark of hope. She wasn’t facing this battle alone, and with Lesley by her side, she knew she could weather whatever storm was coming.

Chapter Text

The garden was quiet, save for the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze and the soft chirping of birds. Guinevere sat on the edge of the fountain, her fingers idly trailing through the cool water. It was her sanctuary—a place where the weight of her father’s expectations couldn’t reach her. Or so she thought.

“Your Grace.”

The voice startled her, and she turned to see Matilda, her ladymaid, standing a few steps away with her hands clasped in front of her.

“Matilda,” Guinevere said, straightening. “What is it?”

“The Duke has requested your presence,” Matilda replied, her tone gentle but firm. “He is ready to discuss… the matter.”

Guinevere’s heart sank. She knew exactly what “the matter” was. The temporary peace she’d found in the garden vanished like smoke in the wind.

For a moment, she considered refusing, staying in the garden where she could pretend none of this was happening. But she knew it wouldn’t solve anything.

With a deep breath, she stood, brushing off her skirts. “Very well. Let’s not keep him waiting.”

Matilda gave a small bow and turned to lead the way. Guinevere hesitated, glancing back at the fountain one last time.

“Whatever happens,” she whispered to herself, “I won’t let him control my life.”

And with that, she followed Matilda back to the palace.

The air in the royal hall was heavy with tension as Guinevere stepped inside once again. This time, her father sat on his gilded chair, Lancelot standing off to the side with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Odette lingered beside him, her face a mask of quiet support.

“Guinevere,” Duke Baroque began, his tone softer than before, though his sternness remained intact. “We’ve reached a decision.”

Guinevere’s heart clenched. She glanced at Lancelot for reassurance, but his silence only made her more uneasy. “What decision?”

The Duke gestured for her to step closer. “After careful consideration, I have decided to end the arrangement with Eren Paxley.”

For a moment, Guinevere’s heart soared with relief. “Thank you, Father,” she said, her voice trembling with a mix of gratitude and disbelief.

But her relief was short-lived.

“However,” the Duke continued, his eyes locking onto hers, “you are still of an age where marriage is necessary for the benefit of our house. And while Eren may not be suitable…” He paused, his tone shifting. “The Paxley family remains the ideal choice for an alliance.”

Guinevere froze. “What?”

“You will still marry into the Paxley family,” her father said firmly. “Just not to Eren.”

Her stomach churned as the implications hit her like a tidal wave. “What do you mean? Who, then?”

Lancelot finally spoke, his voice calm but tinged with frustration. “There are other candidates in the Paxley household, Gwen. This isn’t about Eren—it’s about their name and influence.”

“This is absurd!” Guinevere snapped, her voice rising. “You’re just swapping one prison for another! I don’t want to marry anyone, least of all another Paxley!”

“Enough, Guinevere,” the Duke said sharply. “This is not up for debate. The decision has been made.”

Tears of frustration burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “Do I mean nothing to you, Father? Am I just a title, a pawn to move around as you please?”

The Duke’s face softened, but only slightly. “You are my daughter, and it is because I care for you that I make these choices. You will understand in time.”

Guinevere’s fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms. “I will never understand how you can justify trading my life away for power.”

Before the Duke could respond, Lancelot stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension. “Father, this isn’t sustainable. Forcing her into another arrangement so soon will only breed resentment—and not just from Guinevere.”

“She is my daughter, and it is my right to arrange her marriage,” the Duke countered.

“And it’s her right to live her life as more than a bargaining chip,” Lancelot shot back. “Mother wouldn’t have wanted this.”

The mention of their mother once again cast a heavy silence over the room.

Odette, who had been quiet until now, spoke softly. “Perhaps there is a compromise to be found. Guinevere could meet the other candidates, get to know them before any decision is finalized. That way, it’s not forced.”

Guinevere turned to Odette, her chest tightening. “And if I don’t like any of them? What then?”

Odette hesitated, but before she could answer, the Duke interjected. “You will do your duty, Guinevere. That is final.”

Guinevere’s anger flared, but before she could argue further, Lancelot placed a calming hand on her shoulder. “Gwen,” he said softly. “Let’s step outside for a moment.”

Reluctantly, she allowed him to guide her out of the hall, her emotions boiling just beneath the surface.

Once they were alone in the corridor, Lancelot turned to her, his expression sympathetic. “I know this isn’t what you want, Gwen. But we’ll figure something out.”

Guinevere shook her head, her voice breaking. “He’s trying to trap me again, Lance. How am I supposed to fight this?”

Lancelot’s jaw tightened. “You’re not fighting it alone. I’ll do everything I can to protect you. And…” He hesitated, glancing around. “I have a feeling Lesley will, too.”

At the mention of her bodyguard, Guinevere felt a flicker of hope. She straightened, brushing away her tears. “Then we’ll fight this. Together.”

Lancelot nodded, his gaze steady. “Exactly. Now, let’s figure out how to turn this situation in your favor.”

She wasn’t sure how she would face the Paxley family or her father’s relentless ambition, but with her brother and Lesley by her side, she knew one thing for certain, she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

She stormed down the hall, Guinevere’s emotions swirling in a chaotic tempest. She didn’t know where she was going—she just needed to breathe, to escape the suffocating walls of her father’s demands. But then, as she rounded a corner, her eyes fell on a figure she recognized instantly.

Lesley stood a few feet away, her posture as composed as ever, her hands resting casually at her sides. But when their eyes met, Guinevere saw something else in Lesley’s gaze: concern.

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, the world around them fading into the background. Guinevere’s chest tightened, and before she could think twice, she broke into a run.

“Lesley…”

Her voice was barely a whisper as she threw her arms around her bodyguard, burying her face against Lesley’s shoulder. The warmth of her embrace was immediate, grounding, and for the first time that day, Guinevere felt like she could breathe again.

Lesley stiffened at the sudden contact, her arms hovering awkwardly at her sides. Her first instinct was to step back, to create the distance she’d always maintained with everyone. But something in the way Guinevere clung to her stopped her.

Slowly, cautiously, Lesley’s arms came up, wrapping around Guinevere’s trembling frame. She held her tightly, her own body relaxing into the embrace. It felt… strange. Familiar, yet foreign. The last time she’d hugged someone like this had been years ago—Harley’s small arms around her after a bad day, his warmth reminding her she wasn’t alone.

A pang of longing shot through her chest at the memory, but she pushed it aside, focusing on the girl in her arms.

“It’s okay,” Lesley said softly, her voice unusually gentle. “You’re safe.”

Guinevere’s breathing began to steady, and for a fleeting moment, she felt like nothing else mattered. But then reality crashed back in, and she realized what she was doing.

Her face flushed as she quickly pulled back, stepping away from Lesley’s embrace. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, avoiding Lesley’s gaze. “I didn’t mean to—”

Lesley tilted her head, her expression unreadable but not unkind. “You don’t have to apologize.”

Guinevere’s hands fidgeted nervously as she glanced up at her bodyguard. “It’s just… everything’s been so overwhelming, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

Lesley studied her for a moment before offering a small, rare smile. “Sometimes, you don’t need to do anything but let it out.”

The sincerity in her tone caught Guinevere off guard. She had always seen Lesley as stoic, unshakable, but there was a softness there now—something she hadn’t noticed before.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Guinevere said quietly, still flushed.

“You didn’t,” Lesley replied, her voice steady. “It’s been… a while since anyone’s hugged me. I’d forgotten what it felt like.”

Guinevere’s embarrassment faded slightly, replaced by curiosity. “You let me hug you, though.”

Lesley’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. “Guess I made an exception for you.”

The comment made Guinevere’s heart skip, but she quickly shook the feeling off. “Well, I… I’ll try not to make a habit of it.”

Lesley chuckled softly. “No promises, Gwen.”

Despite the storm raging in her life, Guinevere found herself smiling. 

Lesley cleared her throat, stepping back to create some distance between them, though her lingering gaze betrayed an unusual warmth. “Before we get too carried away,” she began, her tone measured, “I actually received a letter from my father this morning.”

Guinevere blinked, the shift in conversation catching her off guard. “Your father?”

Lesley nodded, reaching into her coat pocket and pulling out a neatly folded parchment. She hesitated briefly, then handed it to Guinevere. “He’s asking when I’ll return home. My birthday is in a few days.”

Guinevere took the letter carefully, her eyes scanning the elegant handwriting. She could feel the affection behind the words, even in their formality. A small pang of something—was it woe?—tugged at her. “Your family must miss you,” she said softly, handing the letter back.

Lesley shrugged, though her usual stoicism seemed to falter. “It’s been a while since I’ve been home. I suppose I can’t blame them for wanting me there.”

Before Guinevere could respond, Matilda appeared at the end of the corridor, her expression apologetic but urgent. “Your Grace, the Duke wishes to speak with you.”

Guinevere groaned inwardly. “What now?”

“It concerns Miss Vance,” Matilda added, glancing at Lesley.

Lesley stiffened, but Guinevere stepped forward protectively. “What about her?”

Matilda gestured toward the hall. “The Duke has been informed of the letter. He wishes to discuss her temporary leave.”

Guinevere’s stomach twisted. She knew what this meant—a temporary bodyguard. The thought alone was enough to sour her already fragile mood. Reluctantly, she followed Matilda back toward the Duke’s chambers, Lesley trailing behind.

“Lesley’s service has been exemplary,” Duke Baroque said as he sat at his desk, fingers steepled. “But even she cannot forgo her family obligations. I’ve decided to grant her leave to visit her home.”

Guinevere’s eyes widened. “You’re letting her leave?”

“She is entitled to time with her family, Guinevere,” her father replied, his tone final. “She will return after her birthday.”

“But what about my protection?” Guinevere asked, her voice laced with indignation. “You can’t just replace her.”

“I’ve already arranged for a temporary bodyguard,” the Duke said, as if that settled the matter.

Guinevere opened her mouth to argue but caught Lesley’s subtle shake of her head. Taking a deep breath, she clenched her fists and forced herself to remain calm. “Who is this ‘temporary’ bodyguard?”

The Duke leaned back in his chair. “Sir Granger. He’s young but competent, from a reputable noble family.”

Guinevere’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need someone ‘competent.’ I need Lesley.”

“You’ll have to make do,” her father replied curtly. “This isn’t up for debate.”

Guinevere turned on her heel, storming out of the chamber without another word. Lesley quickly followed, catching up to her as they reached the courtyard.

“Gwen,” Lesley said softly, her voice unusually tender. “I’ll only be gone a few days.”

Guinevere spun to face her, her eyes blazing. “A few days is enough for my father to push another ‘decision’ onto me, Lesley. Do you know how suffocating this is?”

Lesley’s expression softened. “I understand, but I can’t ignore my father’s request either. You know I’d stay if I could.”

Guinevere’s frustration ebbed slightly at the sincerity in Lesley’s tone. “It’s not fair,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “I don’t trust anyone else to look after me.”

Lesley hesitated, then placed a hand on Guinevere’s shoulder. “I’ll make sure Granger knows what to expect. He won’t let anything happen to you.”

Guinevere huffed, her lips pursed. “I don't want Granger. He’s not you.”

A rare smile touched Lesley’s lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t,” Guinevere shot back, though the faint blush on her cheeks betrayed her.

Lesley chuckled softly. “You’ll be fine, Gwen. Just don’t give Granger too much trouble.”

Guinevere’s eyes narrowed. “I make no promises.”

Lesley shook her head with a quiet laugh. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

As Lesley turned to leave and prepare for her journey, Guinevere watched her go, her chest tight with a mix of emotions. She couldn’t shake the unease that came with Lesley’s absence, nor the strange sense of longing that lingered even as the bodyguard disappeared from view.

Chapter Text

The morning was quiet, the sky painted in soft hues of orange and pink as the sun began its slow rise. The courtyard was empty save for a carriage waiting near the gates, its driver checking the horses’ reins. Lesley stood beside it, her bags already secured, her expression as composed as ever. She was dressed more casually than usual, her usual armor replaced with a simple traveling cloak.

Guinevere lingered a few steps away, watching her in silence. Her heart felt heavy, the thought of Lesley leaving—even for just a few days—twisting uncomfortably in her chest. She told herself it was silly; Lesley would be back before long. But the thought of being left alone with her father’s endless schemes and Granger’s unfamiliar presence made her stomach churn.

Guinevere stood near the stables, arms crossed tightly over her chest, watching as Lesley secured the last of her belongings. The sight of her packing felt... wrong.

She didn’t like this. She didn’t like this at all.

Lesley, ever composed, adjusted the strap of her bag before turning to face her. “Alright, I should be off before your father—”

Before she could finish, Guinevere stepped forward and, without hesitation, wrapped her arms around Lesley’s waist, holding her close.

Lesley froze.

For a moment, it was as if the world had stopped. Guinevere didn’t speak, just pressed her face against Lesley’s shoulder, holding onto her like she was afraid she’d disappear if she let go.

Lesley’s arms hovered uncertainty at her sides, her usual instinct to maintain distance warring with the strange warmth that spread through her chest. Eventually, she sighed in defeat, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

“You know,” she murmured, “you told me you wouldn’t make a habit out of this.”

Guinevere huffed but didn’t pull away. “I lied.”

Lesley chuckled softly, finally relenting as she let her arms wrap around Guinevere’s back, returning the embrace. It was different this time—less shocking, more familiar. And despite herself, she found she didn’t mind it.

After a long moment, Guinevere slowly pulled back, but not completely. Her hands lingered on Lesley’s arms, her eyes searching her face. “You’ll come back soon, right?”

Lesley tilted her head. “Starting to miss me already?”

Guinevere rolled her eyes, but the concern in them didn’t fade.

Lesley sighed, reaching up to her hair and carefully sliding out her blue feather hairpin. She twirled it between her fingers for a moment before reaching for Guinevere’s hand and pressing it into her palm.

“Here,” she said. “Something to remind you that I’ll be back before you know it.”

Guinevere glanced down at the hairpin, her fingers curling around it. It was simple but unmistakably Lesley—practical, sleek, with the faintest engraving of her family’s crest along the side.

She looked up, biting her lip. “Giving me something this sentimental… Are you sure you won’t miss me more?”

Lesley smirked. “No promises, Your Grace.”

Guinevere laughed softly, shaking her head. “Fine. Just don’t take too long.”

Lesley stepped back, mounting her horse with practiced ease. As she adjusted her reins, she glanced down one last time. “Try not to terrorize your temporary bodyguard too much.”

Guinevere smirked. “I make no promises.”

With a shake of her head and a quiet chuckle, Lesley turned her horse toward the gates. Guinevere watched her go, her fingers still tightly wrapped around the hairpin, holding onto the small piece of Lesley as if it could bring her back sooner.

And maybe, just maybe, she already missed her more than she wanted to admit.

Guinevere let out a sigh, her fingers still clutching the hairpin as she stared at the gate where Lesley had disappeared. She wasn’t ready to move, to return to her daily routine without her. But of course, the world didn’t wait for her feelings.

“Ahem.”

She turned sharply, only to be met with the unimpressed gaze of her temporary bodyguard, Sir Granger.

“It’s time to return to your chambers, Your Grace,” he said, his tone stiff and formal. “The Duke insists.”

Guinevere scowled, already irritated. “I know how to walk myself to my chambers.”

“And yet, I’ve been assigned to ensure it happens,” Granger replied dryly.

Guinevere huffed but began walking, her irritation growing with every step. It wasn’t Granger’s fault, but she already disliked the situation enough without him looming over her like a shadow.

As they walked through the corridor, Guinevere’s eyes landed on a familiar pair—Lancelot and Odette. They stood near one of the open windows, sunlight spilling over them, locked in quiet conversation.

Odette smiled at something Lancelot said, her expression warm and affectionate. Lancelot, ever the composed knight, wore a softer look than usual, one he reserved only for her.

Guinevere hesitated. For all her frustrations, seeing them together eased something inside her. At least someone was allowed happiness.

Lancelot noticed her first, his gaze flickering toward her. “Guinevere,” he greeted, straightening. “You’re heading back?”

“Against my will,” she muttered.

Granger sighed. “I am merely following orders, Your Grace.”

Odette chuckled, stepping closer. “You look troubled, Guinevere.” Her eyes, always perceptive, drifted to the hairpin still clutched in Guinevere’s fingers.

Guinevere quickly tucked it into her sleeve. “It’s nothing.”

Lancelot raised a brow but didn’t push. “Lesley will return soon, you know.”

Guinevere rolled her eyes. “I never said this was about her.”

Odette gave her a knowing smile but wisely didn’t comment. Instead, she reached out, gently squeezing Guinevere’s hand. “If you need anything, you know where to find us.”

Guinevere glanced at her brother, who nodded in agreement. She let out a breath, her shoulders loosening just slightly. “Thanks,” she murmured.

But as she turned to leave, Granger at her side, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the days without Lesley were going to feel much longer than they should.

Guinevere walked in silence, her temporary bodyguard a constant, unwelcome presence beside her. Sir Granger was efficient, professional—everything a knight should be. But that was precisely the problem. He wasn’t Lesley.

The castle felt colder without her.

As they approached her chambers, Guinevere hesitated at the door, not wanting to step inside. Once she was in, she’d be left alone with her thoughts, and right now, she wasn’t sure she wanted that.

Granger, ever dutiful, cleared his throat. “Is there something you need, Your Grace?”

Guinevere glanced at him, debating whether to send him away just for the sake of it. But instead, she shook her head. “No.”

He nodded, stepping aside as she pushed open the door.

The moment she was alone, she let out a deep sigh, leaning against the door for a brief moment before walking to her vanity. The room was just as she had left it—ornate, pristine, suffocating.

She pulled the hairpin from her sleeve, running her fingers over the engraved crest. It was such a simple thing, but the weight of it in her palm grounded her.

“Idiot,” she muttered to herself. “Why did you have to leave?”

Of course, she knew the answer. Lesley had a life outside of being her bodyguard. A family. A home.

But that didn’t mean Guinevere had to like it.

With a frustrated sigh, she set the hairpin on her bedside table before collapsing onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Days without Lesley.

How was she going to survive that?

A sudden knock on the door pulled Guinevere from her spiraling thoughts. She groaned, rolling onto her side. “What now?”

“It’s Matilda, Your Grace.”

Guinevere sighed, sitting up. “Enter.”

The door creaked open, and Matilda stepped inside with her usual poise, hands neatly folded in front of her. “Lady Odette and Sir Lancelot request your presence for tea in the garden.”

Guinevere arched a brow. “Tea?”

Matilda nodded, but there was a knowing glint in her eyes. “Lady Odette, in particular, seemed... quite eager.”

Guinevere narrowed her eyes. That was suspicious. Odette never just wanted tea.

Still, it was better than sulking in her room. She stood, straightened her skirts, and grabbed the hairpin from the table, tucking it safely into her pocket before heading out.

The garden was warm with golden afternoon sunlight when she arrived. Lancelot and Odette were already seated at a table beneath a vine-covered gazebo, a delicate tea set arranged between them.

Odette beamed when she saw her. “Guinevere, I’m so glad you came!”

Lancelot glanced up, giving her a small nod. “Figured you’d need a distraction.”

Guinevere scoffed, taking the seat across from them. “You mean an interrogation.”

Odette giggled, pouring her a cup of tea. “Not an interrogation. Just a friendly chat.”

Guinevere took a sip, already bracing herself. “About what?”

Odette’s blue eyes sparkled mischievously. “Oh, you know. Lesley.”

Guinevere nearly choked on her tea. “Wh-What?”

Lancelot smirked, clearly amused. “I told her it was too soon to tease you.”

Odette ignored him, leaning forward eagerly. “So? Tell me, Guinevere. How are you feeling about her being away?”

Guinevere scowled. “Like I want to leave this conversation.”

“Oh, come now.” Odette’s smile was far too knowing. “You’ve been clutching that hairpin like it’s a precious treasure.”

Guinevere stiffened, instinctively touching her pocket. “I—It’s just a gift. Nothing special.”

Odette gasped dramatically. “Nothing special? My dear, Lesley isn’t the sentimental type. If she gave you something of hers, it means something.”

Lancelot sipped his tea, unimpressed. “I don’t see the point of this.”

Odette waved him off. “That’s because you’re dense, darling.”

Guinevere groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “This is not a discussion we need to have.”

“Oh, but we do,” Odette sang. “You’re so grumpy without her! It’s adorable.”

“I am not grumpy,” Guinevere snapped.

Lancelot chuckled. “You kind of are.”

Guinevere glared at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am,” he said, smirking. “I just enjoy seeing you flustered.”

Odette giggled, reaching over to pat Guinevere’s hand. “All I’m saying is... it’s perfectly fine to miss someone, Guinevere.”

Guinevere’s expression faltered, her fingers tightening around the teacup.

Odette softened. “You care about her. And I think, maybe, she cares about you too.”

Guinevere swallowed, looking away. “It doesn’t matter.”

Lancelot and Odette exchanged a glance.

Odette sighed, but her voice was gentle. “Well, regardless... she’ll be back soon.”

Guinevere nodded slowly, her fingers brushing against the hairpin in her pocket.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “She will.”

Meanwhile, Lesley dismounted her horse as the gates of the Vance estate swung open, the familiar sight of her home bringing a rare softness to her usually steely expression. The sprawling estate was surrounded by lush gardens, the scent of fresh blooms wafting through the air. She hadn’t been home in weeks, and though she’d never admit it aloud, it felt… good to be back.

The clatter of footsteps caught her attention just as a familiar voice rang out.

“Lesley!”

She barely had time to react before a blur of gold launched itself at her. Harley, her younger brother, wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, grinning up at her.

“You’re finally home!” Harley beamed, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’ve been waiting forever!”

Lesley chuckled, ruffling his hair. “It’s only been a few weeks.”

“That’s forever in Harley time,” he declared dramatically.

Before Lesley could respond, another figure approached—her foster father, Duke Vance. His expression was stern as always, but there was a hint of warmth in his eyes.

“Lesley,” he said, his voice steady. “Welcome home.”

“Father.” Lesley gave him a respectful nod.

Duke Vance studied her for a moment before nodding in approval. “It’s good to have you back. You’ve done well at House Baroque, I hear.”

Lesley shrugged. “It’s been... eventful.”

Harley tugged on her arm. “Come on! You have to see what I’ve been working on. It’s a new trick! You’ll love it!”

Lesley allowed herself a small smile. “Alright, alright. Show me.”

Harley dragged her toward the courtyard, chattering the entire way, while Duke Vance watched with a satisfied expression before heading back inside.

The courtyard was just as she remembered it—bright, lively, and filled with memories. Harley stopped in the center, pulling out his cards and twirling them expertly between his fingers.

“Watch this!” he said with a mischievous grin.

He tossed a card into the air, and with a flick of his wrist, it burst into a small shower of harmless sparks, glittering like tiny stars.

Lesley raised a brow. “Impressive.”

Harley puffed out his chest proudly. “I’ve been practicing for days!”

Lesley crouched down, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Keep practicing, Harley. You’ll be unstoppable one day.”

He grinned. “Of course! Just wait until you see my next trick!”

As Harley ran off to prepare another trick, Lesley glanced around the courtyard, the familiar sights and sounds wrapping around her like a warm blanket. For a brief moment, she felt truly at peace.

But even as she stood there, something tugged at the back of her mind. Or rather... someone.

Her thoughts drifted back to Guinevere—her teasing smile, her stubbornness, the way she clung to her during that hug. Lesley absentmindedly touched her wrist where Guinevere’s fingers had once been.

“Miss her already?”

Lesley blinked, snapping back to reality to find Harley grinning at her mischievously.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her voice as steady as ever.

But Harley just smirked. “Sure you don’t.”

Lesley shook her head with a chuckle. “Go practice your tricks, kid.”

As Harley ran off again, Lesley turned toward the house, her lips quirking into a faint smile.

Maybe being home wasn’t so bad. But a part of her couldn’t help but count the days until she’d return to House Baroque.

Lesley headed back toward the manor but the familiar clang of metal and a deep, booming laugh, caught her attention near the training grounds. She didn’t need to look to know exactly who it was.

“Lesley!” Freddrin’s voice echoed across the yard, full of enthusiasm. The tall, broad-shouldered knight strode toward her, wiping sweat from his brow. His armor clinked with every step. “I was wondering when you’d show up!”

Lesley crossed her arms, a smirk playing at her lips. “Still playing with swords, Freddrin?”

Freddrin laughed heartily, clapping a hand on her shoulder with a bit too much force. “And still better at it than you, sis!”

“You wish,” Lesley shot back. “I’d still have you on the ground in five seconds.”

“Make it six, and we’ve got a deal,” Freddrin chuckled, stepping back to size her up. “But seriously, it’s good to see you. Been too quiet around here without you.”

Lesley raised a brow. “Harley’s been quiet?”

Freddrin paused, then grinned. “Okay, fair point. Less quiet, maybe. Still, things are better when you’re around.”

“Yeah?” Lesley tilted her head. “Miss having someone to knock you flat during sparring?”

Freddrin laughed again, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Always. What’s the point of winning if you’re not here to keep me humble?”

Lesley shook her head, but a warm feeling spread through her chest. Freddrin had always been her biggest supporter—loud, proud, and utterly loyal.

Freddrin’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before his smirk grew wider. “So… how’s House Baroque? Or should I say, how’s Lady Guinevere?”

Lesley’s eyes narrowed. “What about her?”

Freddrin chuckled. “Oh, don’t play coy with me. Word travels fast. I hear you’ve been quite... close with her lately.” He arched a brow. “Tell me, Lesley—should I be expecting a wedding invitation soon?”

Lesley rolled her eyes. “You’ve been spending too much time listening to rumors.”

“Rumors, perhaps,” Freddrin said with a shrug. “But you can’t deny there’s something… intriguing about the way you’re reacting right now.”

“I’m reacting because you’re being ridiculous,” Lesley shot back, crossing her arms tighter.

Freddrin chuckled again, clearly enjoying himself. “Relax. I’m just curious. Guinevere is a fine catch, you know. Strong-willed, intelligent, beautiful… I can see why she might catch your eye.” He paused, his grin turning sly. “And why you might have caught hers.”

Lesley didn’t respond right away, her expression unreadable. Instead, she calmly adjusted the cuff of her sleeve. “Guinevere is none of your concern, Freddrin.”

Freddrin raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough. But if she’s ever in need of a second opinion about you, feel free to send her my way. I’ll vouch for your good qualities.”

Lesley snorted, turning on her heel. “You’d sell me out for a good story.”

“Only if it’s entertaining,” Freddrin called after her, laughing. “But seriously, Lesley... I’m glad you’re back. It’s not the same without you around.”

Lesley paused at the doorway, glancing back at him. “Thanks. It’s good to be home...for now.”

Freddrin smiled softly, his usual teasing tone replaced by something more genuine. “Try not to stay away too long this time.”

“Wait,” Freddrin called out. “You gotta tell me everything.”

Lesley glanced at him, her smirk softening. “You just want gossip.”

“Obviously,” Freddrin said without hesitation. “Especially if it’s about this Princess Guinevere Harley mentioned.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Lesley shot him a warning look. “Don’t even start, Freddrin.”

“Oh, I’m definitely starting.”

Lesley sighed, already regretting replying. But despite herself, she couldn’t help but laugh.

Home really hadn’t changed at all.

Chapter Text

I woke up before dawn, instinct taking over before my mind caught up. My hand instinctively went for my boots at the foot of the bed, and I glanced around, expecting to see the familiar stone walls of House Baroque.

But it wasn’t. The room was far too lavish, far too warm and familiar. I wasn’t at House Baroque. I was home—at the Vance manor.

I let out a slow breath, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as reality settled in. No morning duties. No standing guard outside Guinevere’s chambers. No stolen glances or teasing words. Just home.

A sharp knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. I straightened. "Come in."

A young servant peeked in, giving a polite bow. “Lady Lesley, Master Harley requests your presence in the grand fireplace room.”

“Harley?” I asked, brow arching. “What does he want at this hour ?”

The servant only smiled. “He said it was important.”

I sighed, already predicting some elaborate trick or invention waiting for me. “Of course he did. Thank you.”

The servant bowed again and disappeared down the hall. I pulled on a simple coat over my shirt, leaving my hair loose and unbothered. No need for formalities here.

By the time I reached the grand fireplace room, the early morning light had begun to spill through the tall windows, illuminating the intricate carvings on the walls. The fire crackled gently in the massive hearth, its warmth filling the room.

Harley sat cross-legged in one of the oversized chairs, humming to himself as he flipped through an old, leather-bound book. His face was half-hidden behind the pages, but his eyes lit up when he saw me enter.

“Finally! Took you long enough,” Harley said with a wide grin, snapping the book shut. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

“It’s barely morning,” I said, crossing my arms as I leaned against the doorframe. “What could possibly be so important?”

Harley gestured dramatically toward the chair across from him. “Sit, sit. I have something to show you.”

I raised a brow but humored him, taking the seat opposite. “Alright, I’m here. What is it?”

He slid the book across the table toward me, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I found it in the archives yesterday. It’s full of old spells and tricks. There’s one in particular I think you’ll love.”

I eyed the book warily, flipping it open to the page he’d marked. Ancient runes and symbols filled the parchment, accompanied by detailed illustrations of magical effects.

“You dragged me out of bed for this?” I asked, though I couldn’t help but smirk at his enthusiasm.

“Yes! Look at this one.” He tapped the page excitedly. “It’s a temporary protection charm. Easy to cast, lasts for a few hours. I thought it might come in handy for you.”

“Protection charm?” I leaned closer, studying the symbols. “That’s...actually useful.”

“Of course it is,” Harley said proudly. “And it’s simple enough that even you can manage it.”

I shot him a playful glare. “Careful, or I’ll test it on you.”

He laughed, leaning back in his chair. “You’re welcome to try. But seriously, Les, I figured since you’re always in dangerous situations, you could use a little extra help.”

My chest tightened at his words. Harley was always thoughtful in his own way, even if it was wrapped in mischief.

“Thanks, Harley,” I said, my voice softer. “I appreciate it.”

He grinned. “Anytime. Just promise me you’ll use it next time you’re in a sticky situation.”

“Promise.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the crackling of the fire filling the space between us. I leaned back, letting the warmth of the fire seep into my bones. For a brief moment, everything felt simple.

But my thoughts wandered back to House Baroque, to Guinevere. I wondered how she was doing—if she was arguing with her temporary bodyguard or rotting in bed.

Harley must have noticed the shift in my expression because he tilted his head, studying me. “You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

I blinked. “Who?”

“Oh, come on, Les. It’s written all over your face. You’re thinking about Guinevere.” He wiggled his eyebrows. 

I opened my mouth to deny it but stopped. What was the point? He did know me too well.

“Missing her already?”

I scoffed, leaning back in my chair. “Hardly. I’m just...adjusting to not having to constantly keep her out of trouble.”

“Mmhmm,” Harley said, smirking. “Sounds like someone’s smitten. Don’t worry, Lesley. Love does that to people.”

I nearly choked. “Love? You’ve been reading too many romance scrolls. It’s not like that.”

“Of course it’s not,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “So, when are you going to write her a heartfelt letter? Shall I help you start with ‘Dear Guinevere, I miss your stubbornness more than words can express'?”

I grabbed a nearby cushion and tossed it at him. “You’re impossible.”

Harley dodged it easily, laughing as he hopped to his feet. “Come on, I’m starving. Let’s get some breakfast. You can tell me more about your ‘not at all romantic’ time at House Baroque.”

I shook my head, standing up to follow him. “You’re lucky I’m hungry, or you’d regret this.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll even make you some tea to calm those raging emotions of yours.”

Despite myself, I smiled as I trailed after him, the teasing warmth of his company making everything feel lighter.

The grand dining hall was already bustling with activity when Harley and I entered. The long table was set with an assortment of freshly baked bread, seasonal fruits, and steaming pots of tea and coffee. Duke Vance, seated at the head of the table, looked up from his morning correspondence, a warm but measured smile touching his face.

“Ah, Lesley, you’re just in time,” he said. “Take a seat. We have much to discuss.”

Freddrin sat across from me, his sharp eyes observing my every move. He always carried that quiet intensity that made it hard to tell if he was amused or judging. Probably both. Harley flopped into his seat beside me, grabbing a slice of bread without hesitation.

“I assume this is about my birthday,” I said as I sat down, taking a sip of the tea that had been poured for me.

Duke Vance nodded. “Indeed. Your birthday is a significant occasion this year. It’s not just a family celebration—many nobles will be attending. It’s an opportunity to strengthen alliances.”

Freddrin leaned back in his chair, his expression calm but calculating. “There will be a banquet in your honor, of course. Plenty of people are eager to see you again, Lesley. Some of them...perhaps a bit too eager.”

Harley smirked, leaning toward me. “Translation: nobles with eligible sons or daughters will be circling like hawks.”

I gave him a pointed look. “Let them circle all they want. I’m not interested.”

Duke Vance raised a brow. “Be that as it may, it’s still important to be diplomatic. You never know where an alliance might lead.”

Freddrin took a sip of his coffee, his gaze flicking to me. “Besides, I’m curious to see how many of them will ask about House Baroque. Word travels quickly, and I imagine some will be eager to know about your time there...especially a certain someone .”

My jaw clenched slightly, though I tried to keep my expression neutral. “Guinevere is none of their business.”

Harley chuckled, nudging me with his elbow. “Maybe not, but it sounds like she’s your business. ”

I shot him a glare. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Nope,” he said cheerfully, stuffing a piece of fruit into his mouth.

The Duke smiled faintly at our banter before turning serious again. “In all seriousness, Lesley, this banquet will be an important event. You’ve proven yourself in battle and as a protector of House Baroque, but now it’s time to remind everyone that you are a Vance. This is your home, and you belong here.”

I nodded, absorbing his words. “I understand.”

Freddrin leaned forward slightly, his eyes steady. “We’ll handle the formalities. Just try to enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said, though I wasn’t sure how much I could enjoy being paraded around like a prize. Still, it was comforting to know my family had my back, even if their methods were sometimes...intense.

Harley grinned. “Don’t worry. If it gets too boring, I’ll start a scandal to liven things up.”

Duke Vance sighed, though there was a hint of affection in his eyes. “Please don’t.”

Freddrin shook his head, but there was the barest trace of a smile on his lips.

As breakfast continued, the conversation shifted to lighter topics—stories from my time away, Harley’s latest experiments, and Freddrin’s recent diplomatic ventures. But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but think about what lay ahead at the banquet...and whether I’d hear from Guinevere before then.

Because, as much as I belonged here, a part of me was still with her at House Baroque.

The grand library was peaceful, the warm sunlight filtering through tall windows, casting a golden glow on the countless rows of ancient books. Guinevere sat at one of the large wooden tables, a stack of documents in front of her as she carefully reviewed estate records. It was a dull but necessary part of her duties, and while it wasn’t the most exciting task, she appreciated the quiet it brought.

The only sound in the vast hall was the soft scratching of her quill and the occasional creak of the old wooden floor. That was, until she heard something unusual—soft footsteps that weren’t hers or the librarian’s.

Guinevere froze, her eyes darting toward the shadows between the shelves. At first, she thought it was her imagination, but then she saw him—a figure slipping between the towering shelves, his movements quick and cautious.

He wasn’t dressed like a scholar or a servant. His clothes were dark and practical, his hood pulled low over his face. He moved with the kind of ease that suggested he was used to avoiding detection.

A thief.

Guinevere’s heartbeat quickened. The man didn’t seem to have noticed her yet, his eyes scanning the shelves as if he were searching for something specific.

He doesn’t realize he’s not alone, she thought, rising silently from her chair.

Guinevere slipped around the table, keeping low as she approached him from behind. Her mind raced—should she call for help, or confront him herself?

The man paused, his hand brushing over a row of books, his eyes narrowing as he read the spines.

“Looking for something?” Guinevere’s voice was calm, but firm, cutting through the silence like a blade.

The thief spun around, startled, his hand instinctively going to the gun at his side. His eyes widened when he saw her, clearly not expecting anyone to be there.

“I wouldn’t,” Guinevere warned, her gaze dropping to his weapon. “This library is heavily guarded. If you try anything, you won’t get far.”

The man hesitated, his hand hovering near the hilt of his gun. His eyes flicked toward the door, calculating his chances.

“Drop the gun and tell me why you’re here,” Guinevere continued, taking a step closer. “Maybe I won’t have you thrown into the dungeons.”

The thief seemed to weigh his options before finally relaxing his stance, his hand falling away from the weapon. “I didn’t come here to hurt anyone,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I’m just… looking for something.”

Guinevere raised an eyebrow. “In the grand library? You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s true,” the thief insisted. “There’s something here that belongs to my family—an old document. I didn’t know how else to get it.”

Guinevere crossed her arms, studying him closely. There was something about his expression—earnest, almost desperate—that made her pause.

“What kind of document?” she asked.

“A map,” he said, his eyes flicking back to the shelves. “It was taken from my family years ago. I’m just trying to get it back.”

Guinevere’s eyes narrowed. “And you thought sneaking in and stealing it was the best way to do that?”

The thief gave a sheepish shrug. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Guinevere sighed, glancing toward the nearest window. She could call the guards, have him hauled away without a second thought. But something about his story tugged at her curiosity.

“Show me where it’s supposed to be,” she said finally. “If you’re telling the truth, maybe I’ll help you.”

The thief blinked, clearly surprised. “You will?”

“Don’t make me regret it,” she warned. “And if you try to run, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

The thief nodded quickly, leading her deeper into the library. As they moved through the shelves, Guinevere couldn’t help but wonder if she was making a mistake. But one thing was certain—her dull morning had just gotten a lot more interesting.

He trailed his fingers across the shelves, his sharp eyes scanning each title with a feigned air of casual curiosity. He had spun his story well-just enough truth to sound convincing. Guinevere followed closely behind, her instincts telling her to stay on guard, yet curiosity kept her from calling for the guards right away.

He smirked to himself. Fools always believe in noble causes. One word about family heirlooms, and they lower their guard. What he truly sought was far more valuable than any forgotten family map-he was after the royal blueprint. The layout of the castle and surrounding estates, detailing all the secure vaults, secret passageways, and storage rooms. It was the kind of prize that could make a thief like him a legend.

As they walked deeper into the library's restricted section, Guinevere slowed, suspicious. "This area is off-limits. Whatever you're looking for wouldn't be here."

Claude glanced at her with a disarming smile. "You'd be surprised how often things end up where they're not supposed to be. Just a few more shelves."

But Guinevere wasn't buying it anymore. "I think we're done here. Guards-"

Before she could call out, The thief acted swiftly. His hand clamped over her mouth, and his arm locked around her waist, pulling her back into the shadows between the towering shelves. His dagger glinted in the dim light as he pressed it lightly against her side.

"Shhh," he whispered in her ear, his tone deceptively calm. "I really didn't want to do this, but you've left me no choice."

Guinevere struggled, but his grip was strong. "Let me go!" she hissed as best she could. "You won't get away with this!"

"Oh, but I will," He said smugly. "I just need to find what I'm looking for. And you, Your Grace, will be my insurance until I do."

Panic clawed at Guinevere's chest, but she refused to show fear. "You'll regret this. My father won't-"

“He won’t reach us in time,” He cut her off with a smirk. “By the time the guards realize what’s happening, I’ll be long gone with a few souvenirs from your kingdom’s treasure vault. Maybe I’ll take you with me, just for fun.”

He dragged her toward the far end of the library, where a hidden passage led to the castle’s lower levels. Guinevere struggled, but the Thief’s grip was like iron. She silently cursed her temporary bodyguard, Granger, for not being nearby.

As if on cue, the library doors burst open, Granger appeared, his gun raised, his sharp eyes scanning the room. His usually stoic face twisted into a scowl when he saw Guinevere being held hostage. 

The thief cursed under his breath and tightened his hold on her. Granger was already sprinting towards them, his footsteps echoing off the stone floors. 

“Let her go,” Granger said, his brows furrowing, “Claude.” Granger continued, his voice low and dangerous. 

Claude’s eyes darted between Granger and the exit. His mind raced. Too risky to fight him here. I’ll have to use the princess as leverage.

“Back off,” Claude snarled, dragging Guinevere toward the nearest door. “Unless you want to be responsible for her injury.”

Granger’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened. “If you harm her, you won’t leave this castle alive.”

The tension thickened, every second feeling like an eternity. Then, a voice rang out from the entrance of the library—calm, authoritative, and filled with unmistakable power.

“The master thief,” 

Duke Baroque strode into the room, flanked by armed guards. His presence was commanding, his cold eyes locking onto the thief. “Release my daughter. Now.”

Claude faltered for a moment. He hadn’t planned for this many people. His grip loosened slightly, and Guinevere seized the opportunity. She stomped on his foot with all her strength, throwing him off balance.

Granger didn’t miss his chance. He fired a warning shot that whizzed past Claude’s head, startling him and dexter

The guards rushed in, surrounding Claude before he could recover. One of them grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back. Shackling him with iron cuffs.

Claude glared at them, his defiant smirk returning. “Guess I underestimated how quick your little rescue party would be.”

 “Take him to the dungeons,” Duke Baroque ordered, his voice like ice. “I’ll deal with him personally later.”

Her father turned to her, his eyes filled with concern. “Gwen, my dear, Are you hurt?”

Guinevere shook her head, trying to steady herself. “No, Thanks to you, and… to Sir Granger if he hadn’t arrived when he did.”

Moments later, Lancelot and Odette arrived, both looking equally concerned.

“Guinevere!” Lancelot called out, his face dark with fury. “What happened?” He demanded, his eyes scanning the library for any signs of danger.

Guinevere recounted the events quickly, her voice steady despite the lingering fear in her chest. Lancelot’s expression grew grimmer with every word.

“That thief will rot in the dungeons for his crimes” Duke baroque said, his tone cold and final. “No one threatens my daughter and escapes justice.”

Just then, Odette stepped closer, her eyes softening as she looked at her sister-in-law. “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Guinevere assured her. “It’s over now.”

Odette placed a comforting hand on Guinevere’s shoulder. “You were brave, Gwen. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Granger remained silent but kept a protective stance beside her, his sharp eyes scanning the room one last time. 

Guinevere glanced towards the doors where Claude had been taken. She knew this wasn’t the last time she’d hear his name, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over. Claude might be behind bars, but there was always more to the story with people like him.

“Let’s get you some rest,” Odette suggested gently.

Guinevere nodded, exhaustion suddenly washing over her. As they escorted her out of the library, she couldn’t help but feel a lingering sense of unease. 

Later that afternoon, Guinevere sat curled up on the velvet cushions by her window, her eyes fixed on the darkening sky. The weight of the day clung to her like a heavy cloak, and no matter how hard she tried to shake it off, her thoughts kept returning to the same person—Lesley.

Her fingers fidgeted with the hairpin Lesley had given her, turning it over and over, its cool surface grounding her in a way nothing else could. She pressed her thumb against the edge, remembering how Lesley had tucked it into her hand before leaving. There had been no grand words, just a simple gift. Yet somehow, it had meant more than any promise.

The warmth of her words, the steady reassurance in her voice, and the way her presence had always made Guinevere feel protected—it all came rushing back.

Guinevere closed her eyes, leaning her head against the window frame. “Why does it feel so different without you? ”

Granger was a skilled bodyguard, no doubt, but his protection was distant, professional. Lesley had been more than that—her steady gaze, sharp wit, and quiet strength had made Guinevere feel truly safe. Not just physically, but emotionally. Lesley had a way of understanding her in ways no one else could.

Her fingers tightened around the hairpin as a wave of longing washed over her. The cool metal felt like the only connection she had to Lesley at the moment, a small but comforting reminder that she wasn’t completely gone.

“I wonder what you’re doing now,” she whispered, gazing out at the fading light. “Are you thinking of me too, Lesley? ”

She let out a soft sigh, her gaze dropping to the floor. Granger was a capable bodyguard—diligent, disciplined, and always a step behind her. But that was just it. He was always behind her, always watching from a distance, never stepping too close, never offering more than stiff formality.

Lesley had been different. She wasn’t just a wall of protection—she was a fortress, solid and unwavering. But she was also a warm fire on cold nights, a steady hand when the world felt too heavy.

Guinevere closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window frame. Lesley would’ve never let that thief get the upper hand, she thought bitterly. Lesley wouldn’t have waited for me to plead for help—she would’ve already had her blade at his throat before I even blinked.

Her chest tightened, frustration bubbling beneath her skin. Granger was fine, she told herself. Perfectly fine. But “fine” wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

“I need you back,” Guinevere whispered, her voice barely audible. Her fingers tightened around the hairpin, clutching it like a lifeline. “No one else makes me feel...safe. No one else makes me feel at all.”

Her thoughts wandered to the way Lesley would stand close, her eyes constantly scanning for threats but always finding time to offer a quick, teasing remark that made Guinevere’s chest flutter. The way she would linger just a second longer when their hands brushed. The way her gaze softened in those rare moments when they were alone, her mask slipping just enough to reveal something deeper—something Guinevere couldn’t quite name but desperately wanted to understand.

The knock on the door startled her from her thoughts. Matilda stepped inside, bowing slightly.

“Your Grace, the Duke requests your presence in his study.”

Guinevere forced herself to nod, slipping the hairpin into her pocket. She stood, smoothing out her dress, her chin lifting just a fraction higher. But as she followed Matilda out, her heart ached with a single, unshakable thought:

No one will ever compare to you, Lesley. You’re more than just a bodyguard.

Chapter Text

Guinevere walked into her father’s study, her steps measured, her expression carefully composed. The Duke sat at his desk, papers neatly stacked before him, his face serious. His eyes flicked up as she entered, and he gestured for her to sit.

“Guinevere,” he said, his voice steady but laced with authority. “I trust you’re feeling better after this morning’s… incident.”

Guinevere nodded, though her fingers instinctively brushed against the hairpin in her pocket. “I am, Father. What is it you wish to discuss?”

The Duke leaned back in his chair, folding his hands. “Claude will stand trial tomorrow for his crimes. Attempted theft and conspiracy within the royal palace are grave offenses, but it’s more than that. He dared to threaten my daughter’s life.” His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening at the thought.

Guinevere tensed at the mention of Claude’s name. She could still feel the lingering chill from earlier, the thief’s calculating eyes as he spun his lies. She forced herself to focus, nodding as her father continued.

“As you were the primary victim, your presence at the trial is required,” the Duke explained. “You’ll recount what happened so the court can reach a swift and just verdict.”

Guinevere hesitated for a moment. “I understand, Father.”

The Duke studied her closely. “Do not take this lightly, Guinevere. I won’t tolerate weakness in court. You must be firm and unyielding in your testimony. This is not just about justice—it’s about ensuring others know that the House of Baroque will not be made a target.”

Guinevere straightened, determination burning in her chest. “I won’t let you down.”

Her father nodded approvingly. “Good. The trial will be held at noon in the great hall. Rest tonight and be prepared for tomorrow. Granger will escort you.”

The mention of Granger made her heart sink a little. She bit back the urge to say she’d rather have Lesley at her side.

“Of course,” she said instead, rising to her feet. “I’ll be ready.”

As she turned to leave, her father’s voice called after her. “One more thing, Guinevere.”

She paused, glancing over her shoulder.

“The trial is an opportunity—not just to ensure justice but to show the court your strength. Remember that.”

Guinevere nodded, though a heavy weight settled in her chest. She left the study, her footsteps echoing through the quiet halls. The air felt colder now, the shadows deeper. She hated this part of her life—the politics, the posturing, the constant need to prove her strength.

I need you here, Lesley. The thought struck her again, unbidden. She swallowed hard and made her way to her chambers, her hand still wrapped tightly around the hairpin.

Tomorrow would be a trial for more than just Claude. It would be a test for her. One she would face alone—without the one person who made her feel like she could conquer anything.

I was halfway through polishing my boots when I heard a knock at my door—three steady raps, the kind that didn’t need announcing. Only one person in this house knocked like that.

“Come in,” I called.

Freddrin poked his head inside, his blue hair tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed and didn’t care. He smiled, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“You doing anything tonight, little sister?”

I raised a brow. “I was thinking of sharpening my daggers and maybe brooding by the window for a few hours.”

He laughed. “Tempting, but how about something better? There’s a tavern just outside the southern gates—the Rusted Crown. They've got terrible ale, good music, and even better stories. Thought we could sneak away for a bit. Just us.”

I blinked, surprised. Freddrin wasn’t the type to extend sweet, casual invitations like this often. “What’s the occasion?”

He gave me a half-smile. “No occasion. Just thought we could catch up. Been a while since I got to talk to my sister without someone bringing up swords or responsibilities or House matters.”

A warmth bloomed in my chest. He wasn’t always the easiest to read, but when Freddrin did show affection, it was real. I set the boots aside and stood, giving him a small smirk. “Fine. But if the ale’s awful, I’m blaming you.”

He chuckled and pushed off the doorframe. “Deal. Meet me by the stables in fifteen?”

“Make it ten.”

The tavern was just outside the main city wall, nestled between the smithy and an old bookstore. It was one of the more respectable joints—clean floors, worn but sturdy wooden beams, and a fire always roaring in the stone hearth. Locals knew the Vances frequented it on rare off-duty days, and they gave us the usual polite nods as we entered.

We sat at a rounded table in the corner, near a window stained with age, where the light caught floating dust in golden specks.

Freddrin ordered the first round: spiced mead for him, black rye ale for me. As the mugs arrived, we clinked them together with a soft clack.

“To making it another year without stabbing a councilman,” he toasted.

I smirked. “To keeping our family’s name untarnished—barely.”

We both laughed.

It felt strange at first. I’d been away from home too long, too often. The battlefield, the palace, training the new guards… all those duties had left little time for anything like this.

Freddrin leaned back, watching me with a thoughtful look. “You’ve grown a lot,” he said after a sip. “Taller, sharper. You even walk like a blade now.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

“Both,” he said easily. “But seriously, Les… you’ve done good. You’ve made our name something to be proud of.” Then his tone shifted, just a little. “Which brings me to your birthday.”

I groaned into my mug. “No. Don’t start.”

“Too late,” he grinned. “It’s in two days. We’re throwing a celebration—dinner in the great hall, music, the works. Harley wants to sing. And Duke Vance is arranging a formal toast.”

“Lord save me,” I muttered.

Freddrin chuckled. “It’ll be a good time. But there’s one thing I’m curious about…”

He leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming like he was preparing to pounce.

I narrowed mine. “What?”

“Are you going to invite her?”

My stomach tightened.

Freddrin raised a brow. “You know who I mean.”

I looked away, hiding behind my mug as I took a longer-than-necessary drink.

He gave me a few seconds before speaking again, this time softer. “It’s not a crime, you know. Wanting someone.”

“I don’t ‘want’ her,” I said reflexively, though it came out too fast, too clipped.

Freddrin just sat there with a slow, knowing smile. “You’re doing that thing again where you lie to yourself and everyone around you.”

I scoffed. “And you’re doing that thing where you think you know me better than I know myself.”

He shrugged. “I’m not saying throw caution to the wind and confess your undying love in front of her noble father or anything. I’m just saying… you talk about her a lot. Even more than your sword.”

I fell silent.

Because he was right.

Guinevere haunted my thoughts more than I cared to admit. I missed her already—the way she’d cling to me when scared but pretend like it was nothing; the way she smiled when she thought I wasn’t looking; the sound of her voice calling my name like it meant something.

I missed being the one who made her feel safe.

Freddrin didn’t push after that. He just signaled for another round and sat back, watching me with that calm older-brother patience of his.

“You know, when I saw you come back from House Baroque,” he said after a while, “I thought I saw something different in your eyes.”

“Different how?”

“Like you weren’t just coming back home. Like you were leaving something behind.”

I didn’t reply.

He chuckled to himself and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You could invite her. Doesn’t have to mean anything. Just a gesture.”

I traced a finger around the rim of my mug. “It would mean something.”

“Good,” he said simply. “Let it.”

The tavern grew livelier around us. Someone was tuning a lute near the hearth, and the barkeep had started telling a loud story to the group at the bar. I leaned back in my chair, my boots propped up against the table leg, staring out the window toward the night sky peeking through the rooftops.

Would she come if I invited her?

I pictured her again—how small she’d looked that day she hugged me, and how tightly she held on. Like I was her anchor.

I thought about the hairpin. Had she kept it? Was she touching it now, like I sometimes found myself fingering the fabric of her handkerchief she left behind?

“I’ll think about it,” I finally muttered.

Freddrin raised his mug. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

We stayed until the tavern started to empty out, swapping stories about old battles and worse hangovers. For the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe. Like I wasn’t just a weapon—just Lesley. A person. A sister. Maybe even someone who had the right to want more than duty.

When we stepped outside into the cool night air, the stars above were bright, scattered like silver dust across the dark velvet sky.

Freddrin clapped me on the back. “Think about what you want, Les. Not what’s expected of you. Just this once.”

I looked up at the stars and let that thought sink in.

Maybe, just maybe, I could.

The walk back from the tavern was wrapped in a kind of warmth that lingered even after Freddrin left.

He had nudged me on the shoulder as we stepped onto the cobbled path leading out of the square, his voice low and fond. “I’ll head back ahead of you,” he said. “You’ve got that far-off look, Les. Like your thoughts haven’t caught up with your feet yet.”

I smirked at him. “Maybe I’m just enjoying the quiet before the chaos.”

He chuckled. “Or maybe you’re picturing a certain lady from House Baroque.”

I threw him a look, but he was already walking off with a grin on his face, lifting a hand in parting. “Don’t take too long, little sis. Wouldn’t want the Duke thinking I lost his favorite knight to moonlight and sentiment.”

The joke lingered in the air long after he was gone.

The streets were softer at this hour. The moonlight spilled over the stone roads like silver paint, and the city—usually so full of voices, footsteps, and noise—had settled into a kind of hush that felt sacred. The tavern’s laughter still echoed faintly behind me, muffled by distance and time, and I let it fade, each step drawing me deeper into the quiet.

I didn’t know why I kept walking. I could’ve returned to the manor, to the familiar stretch of stone halls and the comfort of my own bed. But something pulled me to keep moving—maybe the ale, maybe the memories, maybe something in between.

My boots made soft taps against the stones as I wandered, hands stuffed in my pockets. Every turn of a corner seemed to bring back some sliver of memory I didn’t know I’d kept—Harley tugging on my sleeve on a festival night, Freddrin trying (and failing) to impress some merchant girl, and me… always watching from the side. Always lingering just outside the light.

I’d never been the kind for love stories. I thought them messy, full of noise and promises that usually turned into regrets. I was a soldier. A protector. Love wasn’t a tool I carried on my belt. It was for poets and dreamers.

And yet…

Ever since Guinevere hugged me, something had been quietly unraveling inside me. I kept going back to that moment. The way she clung to me like I was the only thing tethering her to the earth. The way her voice cracked when she said she didn’t want me to leave. The way her hands trembled, and how mine steadied when I wrapped them around her.

She’d looked at me like I was something more than just her guard.

And I hadn’t pulled away.

I turned down a quiet lane I’d never walked before, half-lost in thought. Flowers spilled from window boxes, their petals closed for the night, and old wooden doors creaked faintly in the wind. Lanterns flickered lazily on wrought iron hooks, casting golden halos over each stoop.

Then I saw them.

Two women, maybe a few years older than me, stood near a small townhouse tucked into the end of the lane. One had her arms loosely looped around the other’s waist, swaying slightly in that lazy, happy way people do when they don’t want to say goodbye. The taller woman leaned in, pressing a kiss to the other’s forehead first, and then to her lips—gentle, unhurried. Like time didn’t matter.

There was no one watching. No audience. Just them. Just…love.

The shorter woman laughed softly, face flushed with something warmer than wine, and gave a little wave as she stepped inside. The taller woman stood outside for a moment, looking at the door like it held something sacred, before she turned and walked back the way she came.

She passed by without noticing me, and I didn’t move. I just stood there, shadows clinging to me like another cloak.

My chest was tight, though I didn’t know why. Or maybe I did.

Because in that moment, I wasn’t thinking about strategy or responsibility or my next assignment.

I was thinking about Guinevere.

I was thinking about how she smiled when she was trying not to.

How she touched her hair when she was nervous.

How she called my name with that delicate lilt, like it was something soft and precious.

And lord help me… I missed her.

I missed the way she made the world quieter when she looked at me. I missed the strange comfort I only seemed to feel in her presence. I missed her hands brushing mine when we walked side by side. I missed the sound of her laughter, even when it was directed at my expense.

I leaned back against a stone wall, letting my head rest there. The sky was a velvet canopy above, stars blinking like they knew some secret I didn’t.

What was I doing?

I was Lesley Vance. Sword in hand since I was twelve. Protector. Daughter of Duke Vance. I didn’t fall for people. I didn’t dream of stolen kisses or late-night confessions.

And yet, tonight…

Tonight, I watched two women kiss under a lantern, and I let myself feel.

I let myself wonder.

What if?

What if Guinevere’s voice saying my name meant something more?

What if the hairpin I gave her stayed in her hand because she missed me?

What if I stopped pretending that what I felt wasn’t real?

I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair and pushing off the wall. The night was only growing colder, and I still had to get home.

But as I walked, slower now, I kept thinking about that door closing… and the kiss before it did.

And I wondered if I’d ever get the chance to be someone’s goodnight.

Someone’s comfort.

Someone’s home.

I’d told myself it was duty—just duty. That she was a noblewoman and I was her guard. That the flutter in my chest every time she smiled at me was just admiration. That the way her voice echoed in my head at night was coincidence. That the way her arms felt around me didn’t mean anything more than comfort.

But now I wasn’t so sure.

There was a warmth blooming in my chest. Not from the tavern drinks or the firelight, but from a thought that refused to leave me alone.

What if it could be more?

What if it already was?

I sighed, dragging a hand down my face and shaking my head at myself. “Get a grip, Les.”

And yet… I didn’t come in the castle for a long time.

The wind tugged at the edge of my cloak, and I let it. Somewhere out there, Guinevere was curled up in some grand library or pacing in her chambers, probably irritated by Granger or rolling her eyes at another set of royal expectations.

I hoped she was safe.

I hoped she was warm.

I hoped she still has my hairpin.

And I hoped—lord, I hoped—that when I saw her again, I’d find the courage to stop pretending I didn’t want to kiss her goodnight, too.

Chapter Text

The fireplace was burning low in the sitting room when I finally sat down with the parchment.

My boots were off, a loose braid hung over my shoulder, and Freddrin’s laughter from earlier still echoed faintly in my ears. He had gone off to bed earlier. 

My mind blank like my blank letter. My hand started to look like I fixed the old oil pipe to our barely running furnaces.

This…was harder than I thought it would be.

I scratched the back of my neck, stared at the paper like it owed me answers, then glanced at the multiple crumpled attempts piled beside my elbow. One had started with “My dearest Princess Guinevere”—immediately torn apart and thrown away. The next? “Hey.” Just that. No context.

Also discarded.

I dipped the quill again, then hesitated. Should it be formal? She was a princess. A noble. The Guinevere Baroque. But something about writing, “You are cordially invited to my birthday celebration, hosted at House Vance, with appropriate decorum…” made my stomach twist. That wasn’t us.

We weren’t…that.

I tried again.

“Princess Guinevere, I hope this letter finds you in good health—”

No, no, that wasn’t right. It sounded like I was sending her a report. I scratched it out with a dramatic groan, slumping in the chair.

Why was this so difficult? It was just an invitation. A note. A piece of paper.

But she wasn’t just anyone.

She was the one who gave me that ridiculous grin when I teased her. The one who held my arm when she was nervous and didn’t say why. She was the one I thought about—more than I should, probably—and who had looked so small the day I left, trying not to show it.

I rested my cheek against my fist.

Maybe it didn’t have to be formal or casual. Maybe it just had to be me.

I drew a breath and started again.

“Gwen—”

No.

“Guinevere,”

Better.

“I don’t know the right way to say this with all the right noble phrasing, so I’ll just say it like this: I’d really like you to come to my birthday. It’s nothing too grand, but I think you’d enjoy it. I’d enjoy it more if you were there. You’re important to me. I hope you know that.”

I paused, biting my bottom lip. Still Tasting the beer I had with Freddrin earlier. 

Too much? 

Maybe. But it was honest.

I continued.

“You can bring Odette if you’d like. Or come alone. Or not come at all—but I hope you will.”

And then, softer:

“I miss you. I hope you’re alright.”

I stared at it for a long time, then signed it simply

-Lesley.

My heart thumped a little harder than I liked. I sat back and sighed.

“Lord. I’m a mess,” I muttered into the quiet. 

But maybe, just maybe… a little honesty would reach her better than any perfectly folded, ribbon-tied letter ever could.

I sealed it, pressed my signet to the wax, and leaned back in my chair—wondering if she’d read it and know.

The morning sun slipped quietly into my chambers, its soft golden light spilling over the edge of my desk and warming the spines of my books. I barely noticed. Sleep had come and gone, fitful and unsatisfying, and the weight in my chest hadn’t left with it. The trial was in just a few hours.

I was supposed to be preparing.

Instead, I stood before the mirror in my dressing gown, a comb forgotten in my hand, staring at a face that didn’t feel quite mine. Not this tired version. Not this hollow-eyed girl who was expected to take the stand and speak calmly about the moment she thought her life might end. I exhaled slowly, my grip tightening around the small silver pin Lesley had given me.

I tucked it into my hair—not for style, not for court. Just to feel like I wasn’t entirely alone.

Eventually, I dressed in a gown of soft blue and silver. Modest, elegant. The kind of thing a duchess might wear to seem unshaken. My slippers barely made a sound as I stepped into the hallway where Granger, ever the statue, stood at attention by the door.

“I’m going to the gardens,” I said curtly.

He gave a small nod and fell into step behind me.

He wasn’t unkind. Just... a shadow. He followed protocol. He stood when he was supposed to. He didn’t talk unless I forced him to. And even then, his responses were brief, hollow. There was no comfort in his presence, only obligation. It made me miss Lesley with a sharp, breathless ache.

Lesley wouldn’t have let me walk down this hallway in silence. She’d have made some sarcastic quip about trial gowns or how she was surprised I wasn’t sword-training in one. She would’ve walked beside me, not behind.

I clenched my jaw.

The garden greeted me with its usual quiet beauty—dew-strewn petals, chirping birds, and a light breeze that tugged at my sleeves. Normally, this place soothed me. Now, even here, I felt like I was treading water.

I reached into my hair and pulled out the pin.

I had no idea how such a small thing could bring such warmth to my chest. But it did. I ran my thumb along its edge as I sat on the bench overlooking the fountain. The one Lesley always used to lean against, arms crossed, giving me those infuriatingly calm looks like nothing in the world could touch her.

Granger kept his distance near the path. I barely noticed him anymore. I closed my eyes and imagined her instead.

I missed her.

I didn’t just miss her—I wanted her.

Granger’s presence only made it more obvious. He wasn’t her. He never could be. He didn’t watch me the way she did, didn’t pick up on the way my hands trembled when I was nervous, or how I tilted my head when I was overthinking something. He was just there.

Lesley had been with me.

My thoughts were interrupted by footsteps—brisk and purposeful. I looked up to see a familiar flash of yellow approaching from the archway. At first, I didn’t quite believe it.

“Fanny?”

She pushed back the hood of her cloak, boots slightly dusty, her yellow hair falling loosely over her shoulders.

“Well,” she said with a smirk, “you’re up early.”

I blinked, standing slowly. “You’re one to talk. I thought you were in the eastern region”

“I was. Until I heard a certain thief finally got himself caught.” She pulled off her gloves with a snap, looking at me with a mix of curiosity and concern.

I narrowed my eyes. “Claude?”

“The very same.” She looked past me then, and her brows arched slightly. “Wait... is that Granger?”

I followed her gaze. Granger stood where I’d left him—expression blank, eyes on us.

“You know him?” I asked.

Fanny huffed. “He’s in my squad. Wasn’t expecting to see him here, of all places. He told us he was off for ‘a few quiet days.’ Didn’t think those included tailing a duchess.”

I gave her a dry smile. “He’s my temporary bodyguard.”

Fanny blinked. “Wait. He’s the one they sent to protect you?”

I didn’t have to answer. My silence said enough.

Fanny gave me a look that said, Really? Him?

“He was already here when it happened,” I said, growing quieter. “Claude, I mean.”

Fanny’s face sobered. “You okay?”

I hesitated. “Not really.”

She stepped closer, eyes sharp but kind. “I’ll be at the trial this afternoon. It’s part of my job—his offenses go way beyond your library. But I’m also here for you.”

My throat tightened. “For me?”

Fanny shrugged, adjusting her belt. “Lesley would have my head if I didn’t check in on you.”

I looked down at the pin in my hand. I didn’t try to hide it. “She gave me this. Before she left.”

Fanny nodded, eyes flicking to the piece. “Yeah. That sounds like her.”

“She didn’t say anything. Not really.”

“She doesn’t have to.” Fanny’s voice was gentle now. “If she gave you that, she wanted you to remember her. That’s how she says it. Quietly.”

I swallowed, nodding.

“She’s thinking of you, Guinevere. Even if she’s not here.”

The breeze picked up again, cool against my neck. I curled my fingers around the pin and finally looked back toward the palace.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

Fanny gave my arm a light squeeze. “You’ve got this. The trial is just a formality now. Claude’s caught. He won’t get a second chance.”

She shot Granger a long-suffering look as she passed, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “Seriously? Out of everyone?” before heading back down the path.

I stayed a little longer.

I touched the pin in my hand and imagined Lesley standing beside me again—close enough to catch me if I fell. And for the first time in hours, I didn’t feel so alone.

A sudden rustle of footsteps on gravel drew my attention again, lighter than Fanny’s—measured and almost careful. I turned just in time to see Odette rounding the hedge-lined path, her cloak embroidered with soft silver vines, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. She gave me a small, knowing smile.

“There you are,” she said gently, stepping into the sunlight. “I thought I might find you here.”

I forced a smile back, brushing my palms against the folds of my gown. “It’s quiet here. Easier to think.”

She sat beside me without asking, her skirts whispering across the stone bench. The scent of chamomile and wild honey lingered on her sleeves—comforting, like an early summer.

“I heard from your father,” she said after a beat. “About this afternoon.”

I nodded once. “Yes. The trial’s today.”

She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. “I imagine you’re trying to figure out what to say.”

“What not to say,” I murmured. “What won’t sound too dramatic or too... fragile.”

Odette tilted her head. “Guinevere. You are allowed to be shaken.”

“But I’m not supposed to look like it.” I turned the hairpin between my fingers, the silver glinting in the morning sun. “Everyone will be watching. I can’t—fall apart.”

“Of course you can’t,” she said gently, reaching to fix a strand of my hair that had drifted out of place. “But that doesn’t mean you have to pretend you’re made of steel.”

For the first time ever, I hesitated. “I miss her.”

“Lesley?” she asked, even though she already knew.

I gave a quiet nod.

Odette gave me a moment before she spoke again. “You were safer with her. I saw it.”

“It wasn’t just that,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “She made me feel safe. Not just from danger. From myself. From all of this.” I gestured vaguely at the garden, the palace beyond it. The invisible chains.

Odette rested a hand over mine. “She was someone who saw you.”

“Yes,” I said, throat tight. “And now I have Granger.”

She laughed softly, not unkindly. “Granger is good at standing very still and looking serious. He is not, however, good at kindness.”

I huffed. “You noticed.”

“I also noticed how differently you speak when you talk about Lesley.”

My cheeks warmed. “She has a way of...getting in my head.”

Odette smiled. “She got in your heart too, I think.”

My lips parted, but no words came.

Odette’s hand squeezed mine. “You’ll have to speak plainly in the courtroom, Guinevere. But speak your truth. No one can argue with that.”

I looked down. “What if I say the wrong thing?”

“Then you’ll be human. Not weak. Not fragile. Just real.”

I breathed slowly. “And that’s enough?”

“It’s more than enough,” she whispered. “You’ve already won, you know. You’re still here. You’re still fighting. And you’re doing it with grace.”

I turned my hand over and squeezed hers back. “Will you be there?”

“I’ll be right beside your father,” she said. “But I’ll be looking at you.”

My chest ached with gratitude. “Thank you.”

She stood, brushing down her skirts with practiced ease. “Come. Let’s get you inside. You’ll want something warm before facing that cold hall.”

I rose slowly, sliding the hairpin securely into place.

And with Odette by my side, I walked back toward the castle—toward the trial—not with fear, but with something steadier burning quietly inside me.

Hope.

Chapter Text

It was time.

The sound of my heels echoed through the marble halls as I walked toward the courtroom. The corridors felt colder today, emptier somehow, even though guards lined every stretch of the passage and servants whispered from afar.

“Your Grace,” one of the attendants bowed as I passed, opening the heavy doors for me.

The light hit me first—sunlight filtering through tall stained-glass windows, painting the entire chamber in hues of blue and gold. The air was thick, solemn, filled with the murmur of nobles and knights who had gathered to witness the trial. My chest tightened as I stepped forward.

I should have felt safe. Surrounded by people, by my father’s guards, by justice itself.

But all I could think was—Lesley wasn't here.

My eyes flicked instinctively toward the side rows, searching for a familiar figure among the crowd. The calm, poised presence that always anchored me. Her sharp blue eyes that always seemed to catch mine first.

Nothing.

Still…my heart had hoped. Foolishly.

'Lord! How long is it gonna take when that gorgeous woman gonna comes back?!' I grumbled to myself.

A gentle hand brushed my arm. “Guinevere,” Odette’s voice whispered close to my ear. I hadn’t even realized she’d come to stand beside me.

“You’re trembling,” she said softly, her eyes kind but steady. “Don’t look for her right now. She’ll be back before you know it.”

“I wasn’t—” I began, but the lie faltered. Odette only smiled faintly.

“I know.”

She squeezed my hand once, grounding me. “Right now, focus on the trial. Justice is on your side. You’ve done nothing wrong, and your courage—remember, that’s what will speak louder than fear.”

I nodded, swallowing the knot in my throat. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” she said, giving my hand another reassuring squeeze before stepping back.

Then the herald’s voice rang out, deep and commanding. “Bring forth the accused—Claude, The master thief!"

The large wooden doors creaked open, and fanny and her brother, tigreal led him in, chains clinking with each step. His once-cocky smirk was gone, replaced with the kind of defiance that still burned quietly in his dark eyes.

I could barely look at him.

My father sat on the high dais, robes heavy and expression unreadable. To his right sat Lancelot—his jaw tense, hands clasped behind his back. Fanny stood among the Lightborn ranks, arms crossed, her face sharp with focus. Granger was there too, the eyewitness. He looked uneasy, guilt flickering in his eyes as if he wished he could have done more.

I sat down, Odette beside me.

Claude lifted his chin, his gaze sweeping over the courtroom until it landed on me. For a brief moment, his lips curved—not into a smile, but something crueler. My stomach twisted.

“State your name,” the judge commanded.

“Claude,” he said simply. “Just Claude.”

The questions began, formal and rehearsed. Why had he been seen near the royal gardens? What was his purpose in  the library? to approach princess under false pretense? 

Granger was called first.

He stepped forward, his armor glinting faintly under the light. “I was assigned to temporary duty as her Highness’s guard,” he began. His voice was firm, but I could hear the regret underneath. “The suspect had gained entry into the palace grounds disguised as a messenger from the guild. I was late to intervene when he tried to take her hostage.”

My father’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Claude’s laughter cut through the air—bitter and low. “Late indeed,” he sneered. “If it weren’t for that bodyguard’s incompetence, maybe the princess would have been mine long enough to see where all your riches hide.”

“Silence!” the judge barked.

But his words stung. Would have been mine.

I forced my breathing to steady. Odette’s hand found mine again under the table. “Don’t react,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “That’s what he wants.”

I nodded slowly, eyes fixed ahead.

The proceedings dragged on, questions turning sharper, accusations clearer. Claude never once denied his intent—only twisted it into arrogance, boasting about what he could have done. I hated the way he looked at me when he spoke, as if I were a trophy he’d failed to steal.

When it was finally my turn to speak, I stood. My legs felt strangely heavy, but I forced myself upright, smoothing the front of my gown. The court fell into silence.

The judge inclined his head respectfully. “Your Grace, please recount what occurred on the morning of the incident.”

I took a slow breath, trying to steady the tremor in my chest. The memory was still sharp—too sharp. “It was nearly afternoon,” I began softly, my voice carrying through the marble chamber. “I was in the grand library, performing my duties as usual. Reviewing estate records, updating old archives. It was quiet—peaceful. You could hear the dust settle on the shelves, even the creak of the floorboards. I thought I was alone.”

My throat tightened slightly, but I continued. “Then I heard footsteps. They weren’t loud, just…wrong. Soft, deliberate, like someone who didn’t want to be heard. When I looked up, I saw a man moving through the rows of books. At first, I thought he might be a servant or scholar. But his clothes—dark, worn, travel-stained—they didn’t belong in a place like that. His hood was drawn, his movements careful.”

My father leaned forward slightly, listening.

“I asked him what he was doing there,” I said. “He claimed he was looking for something—a family document, a map. He sounded desperate, so I gave him a chance to explain. But then he led me deeper into the archives. To the restricted section.”

I paused, my hands tightening against each other. “He shouldn’t have known where that was. Those rooms aren’t even marked. Only nobles and archivists are permitted entry. That’s when I realized—he wasn’t lost. He knew exactly where he was going.”

Claude lifted his head from where he stood in chains, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. I refused to look at him.

“This area is off-limits. Whatever you're looking for wouldn't be here” I remarked, my voice firmer now. “I think we're done here, and then that’s when he dropped the act."

The words caught in my throat for a moment, and Odette reached out, brushing her fingers against my arm under the table—a quiet reassurance.

“He grabbed me,” I said quietly. “Twisted my arm behind my back and held a dagger to my side. I remember the cold of it, the smell of dust and parchment all around us. He said… he said we were going to take a walk, and that I was going to help him find something far more valuable than a map.”

The courtroom stayed deathly silent.

“He intended to use me as leverage,” I continued, forcing my breathing to stay even. “He said he’d find the kingdom’s treasures, and if he couldn’t, he’d take me instead. He dragged me toward the lower levels—there’s a passage that connects the library to the vaults. I tried to fight him off, but i was afraid of ruining ancient books and he was stronger at that time. I tried calling for help, though I wasn’t sure anyone could hear.”

I hesitated, glancing briefly toward Granger. He stood tall beside the witness stand, hands clasped behind his back, his jaw tense.

“Granger arrived just in time,” I said, my voice softening. “He ordered Claude to release me, but Claude threatened to hurt me if he came closer. Then Granger fired a warning shot—it startled him just enough for me to break free. He caught me before I fell, shielded me.”

I exhaled, the memory of the deafening echo still ringing in my mind. “The guards arrived moments later and apprehended the thief. Claude was taken into custody.”

Silence followed, heavy and expectant. The sound of quills scratching as court scribes recorded every word was the only thing breaking it.

I straightened slightly, lifting my chin. “That’s what happened. Every word of it.”

For a moment, no one spoke. My father’s expression was unreadable—calm, but the faint tightening of his jaw betrayed the storm beneath.

Then Claude laughed—a low, bitter sound that crawled through the air. “You make it sound like a storybook, princess,” he said, his voice mocking. “You forgot the part where you trusted me. You even offered to help. How generous of you.”

Odette’s hand clenched over mine before I could react. “Don’t,” she whispered, and I obeyed, though my heart thundered with anger.

Claude tilted his head toward the Duke. “Maybe your daughter shouldn’t wander libraries alone, Duke Baroque. Seems too trusting for someone with so much to lose.”

My father’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “Enough.”

Even the guards flinched.

He rose from his seat, his gaze dark and cold as steel. “My daughter’s trust is not your concern. Nor will it ever be again.”

Claude’s smirk faltered, just slightly.

The judge cleared his throat, reclaiming order. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he said to me with a respectful nod. “You may be seated.”

As I sat back down, I could feel my pulse still racing. My fingers trembled, so I curled them around Odette’s hand again, drawing strength from her calm presence.

“You did perfectly,” she whispered. “You told the truth—and you didn’t let him break you.”

But my thoughts were far from the courtroom. They drifted, unbidden, to another voice, another presence. Lesley’s voice—low, confident, steady in moments of danger. The way she’d have handled Claude before he could have even drawn his dagger. The quiet authority in her eyes when she looked at me, the wordless assurance that I was safe as long as she was near.

Granger had done well, but…he wasn’t her. His protection was efficient, dutiful. Lesley’s had been personal. It had felt like more than duty—it had felt like care.

I reached up, almost unconsciously, to touch the gold hairpin still tucked neatly in my hair—the one she’d given me before she left. I rubbed my thumb over its delicate edge.

I wanted her there. To see her in the crowd, to feel her quiet strength in the room. To hear her voice—just once—to steady me like she always did.

But all I had was the weight of the hairpin and the faint echo of her words, something to remind you of me.

And lord, I missed her more than I wanted to admit.

“Claude,” My father said, rising from his seat. “You stand accused of attempted kidnapping, infiltration of the royal premises, and intent to extort the royal family. Do you deny these charges?”

Claude’s jaw flexed. “I don’t deny surviving, yOuR MaJesTy. Your princess is easy to fool. Maybe you are too.”

Gasps filled the chamber. Fanny’s hand went to her weapon, but the judge raised his hand to keep order.

I didn’t dare breathe.

My father leaned forward slightly, eyes glinting with quiet fury. “Then may the Lightborn and the court decide your fate.”

He sat back down, signaling the judge to continue.

The decision was swift—too swift for Claude’s smirk to last.

“By decree of the Lightborn Court, the accused shall be held in confinement and await transfer to the royal prison. His crimes are punishable by labor and exile, pending the Duke’s signature.”

The gavel struck.

It was over.

Claude’s expression faltered as guards pulled him away, his curses fading into the heavy silence that followed.

I let out a slow, trembling breath, only realizing then how tightly I’d been clutching Odette’s hand. She gave me a soft smile.

“You did wonderfully,” she whispered. “It’s done.”

But even as I nodded, even as the courtroom began to disperse, my gaze drifted once more toward the empty space near the entrance—where she should have been.

And for a moment, I let myself wonder—if Lesley had been there, sitting quietly among the crowd…would I have felt braver? Or would my heart have given me away completely? 

I sat there for a few seconds longer than I should have, my hands resting on my lap, staring at the spot where Claude had stood. The space was empty now, but the weight of it lingered.

Odette’s hand came to rest lightly on my shoulder. “You did everything right.”

I nodded, though my body felt heavy—like every ounce of tension that had held me together during the trial had finally decided to sink all at once.

When I stood, my knees wobbled slightly. Odette caught my arm, steadying me. “Come,” she murmured. “You need air, and perhaps some tea before your father summons you again.”

I managed a small smile. “You sound like my nursemaid.”

She chuckled. “Well, if that’s what it takes to make you sit still and breathe, I’ll take the title gladly.”

The corners of my mouth twitched despite myself. “Thank you, Odette.”

We walked together out of the courtroom, through the long corridor that led to the upper floors. The stained glass painted us in fleeting colors as we passed—amber, violet, gold. The castle was quieter here, save for the distant echo of guards exchanging their rounds.

When we reached my chambers, Odette closed the door gently behind us. The silence was immediate and oddly comforting. The scent of lavender drifted faintly from the hearth, and a warm fire had been lit, probably by Matilda before the trial began.

Odette guided me to sit by the small sofa near the window. “You were very brave today,” she said again, sitting beside me. “I could tell you wanted to lose your temper back there, but you didn’t.”

“I wanted to do more than lose my temper,” I admitted, staring into the flames. “He mocked everything—my choices, my—”

I hesitated. “My trust.”

Odette’s eyes softened. “You can’t regret showing kindness, Gwen. It’s what makes you you. Don’t let someone else’s deceit turn it into a flaw.”

I smiled faintly, leaning my head back against the sofa. “You make it sound so simple.”

She laughed quietly. “It rarely is. But still—sometimes, all we can do is survive the day, then start again tomorrow.”

I let out a soft sigh, staring at the dancing firelight. “You sound just like Lesley.”

Odette’s brows lifted slightly, amusement glinting in her eyes. “Ah. The famous Lesley Vance.”

“She’s not famous,” I said too quickly, and that only made her grin widen.

“No? Because from the way you say her name, one might think she personally defeated a dragon for you.”

“Odette—”

“What? I’m merely saying she seems to have left quite the impression.”

I turned my gaze away, biting back a smile I couldn’t quite hide. “She…was good at her job.”

“And yet you’re wearing her hairpin.”

I instinctively reached up to touch it again. The gold glimmered faintly in the light, cool and comforting under my fingertips. “She gave it to me before she left. I think she meant it as a joke at first, but…it helps. Having something that reminds me of her.”

Odette gave a knowing hum. “Perhaps you should tell her that.”

“I would, if I could,” I said softly. “But she’s not here, and I doubt she’ll come back soon.”

Before Odette could respond, a knock came at the door. Three polite taps, light but distinct.

“Enter,” I called.

The door opened, and Matilda stepped inside, her arms folded neatly in front of her apron. “Your Grace,” she said with a curtsy. “A message just arrived for you. It bears the Vance seal.”

My heart stopped. “Vance?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Odette shot me a look that was equal parts amusement and curiosity as Matilda stepped forward and handed me a folded letter sealed in pale blue wax. The emblem—a falcon in flight—was unmistakable.

I took it carefully, my fingers trembling just slightly. “Thank you, Matilda.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” The maid smiled politely before retreating to the door. “I’ll have tea brought up for you shortly.”

Once she left, Odette leaned closer, her eyes sparkling. “Are you going to open it, or shall I do it for you?”

“I’m—I’m opening it,” I said quickly, breaking the seal with a small laugh to hide how nervous I felt.

Inside was a neatly folded letter written in elegant, practiced handwriting I recognized instantly.

My heart fluttered as I read:

> Guinevere,

I don’t know the right way to say this with all the right noble phrasing, so I’ll just say it like this. I’d really like you to come to my birthday. It’s nothing too grand, but I think you’d enjoy it. I’d enjoy it more if you were there. You’re important to me. I hope you know that.

You can bring Odette if you’d like. Or come alone. Or not come at all—but I hope you will.

I miss you. I hope you’re alright.

I hope this letter finds you well. Forgive the formality—I wasn’t sure if I should write as your former bodyguard or as someone who simply wishes to see you again. Perhaps both.

It would mean a great deal to me if you would attend. Consider this a formal invitation…or, if you prefer, a personal request from me to you.

I imagine your days have been full, as always. Still, I hope you’ll come. I’ll make sure there’s a seat beside mine. And perhaps a dance, if you’ll allow it.

—Lesley

I blinked once. Twice. Then read it again.

A dance?

Odette laughed softly, covering her mouth. “Oh, she likes you.”

I could feel the warmth flooding my cheeks. “Odette!”

“What? She practically wrote poetry into a letter of invitation. Even I don’t get letters like that.”

I held the parchment against my chest for a moment, my pulse quick and fluttery. The formal tone mixed with her hesitant warmth—it sounded so like Lesley. Measured, polite, but with meaning tucked carefully between the lines.

“She remembered me,” I whispered, more to myself than to Odette.

Odette smiled gently. “Of course she did, Gwen. Some people just…linger.”

I traced my thumb over her name at the bottom of the page. Lesley.

Somehow, the entire room felt brighter.

“Then I suppose,” Odette said, standing and smoothing her skirts, “we’ll need to find you a dress worthy of a Vance celebration.”

I laughed softly, the sound light and genuine for the first time that day. “And perhaps a proper reply.”

“Oh no, I’ll handle that,” Odette teased, already heading for the door. “You just sit there and keep smiling like that—it suits you.”

When she left, I was alone again, the soft crackle of the fireplace filling the silence. I looked down at the letter once more, reading her words again and again.

A dance.

The thought alone sent my heart spinning.

I pressed the paper gently to my lips, smiling. “I’ll be there, Lesley,” I whispered to no one. “I promise.”