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Financier stood motionless beneath the marble arches of the Crème Republic, armor polished until it reflected the morning sun. She looked like a perfect symbol of order and devotion. Inside, she felt anything but steady.
Her oath bound her to protection. To justice. To the Republic above all else. She had accepted that long before she accepted her feelings.
Clotted Cream Cookie was already waiting in the council chamber, hands folded neatly behind his back. The youngest Consul, praised for his brilliance and composure, admired by citizens who believed he could do no wrong. His white and gold attire gleamed, untouched by doubt. When he turned and saw her, his familiar smile appeared. Controlled. Practiced. Safe.
Financier lowered herself into a formal bow. “You called for me, Consul.”
“Yes,” he replied. His voice was calm, refined, never betraying the weight of the decisions he carried. “There have been developments at the borders. The Republic requires additional protection.”
Of course it did.
She straightened. “I will lead the defense.”
There was a pause. Barely noticeable. But she felt it.
“You have already been deployed three times this month,” Clotted Cream said. “Another paladin could take your place.”
Her jaw tightened. “My duty is to ensure your safety and the stability of the Republic.”
He studied her then, truly looked at her rather than through her. Financier had faced monsters without fear, yet that quiet gaze made her chest ache.
“And what of your own safety?” he asked.
She did not answer immediately. Because the truth was dangerous.
“My life is sworn to this cause,” she said at last. “I do not require concern.”
Something shifted in his expression. Not quite sadness. Not quite frustration. Something restrained and carefully locked away.
“You speak as if you are expendable,” he said softly.
“I am a paladin,” she replied. “If I fall, another will rise.”
“That is not what I meant,” he said.
Silence filled the chamber, heavy and fragile. Financier felt the familiar conflict twist inside her. She wanted to step closer. To tell him that every battle she fought was weighed against the fear of never returning to stand at his side again. That protecting him was not only her duty, but her heart.
But a Consul could not afford attachments. And a paladin could not afford weakness.
“There is something else,” Clotted Cream continued. “The Council believes your presence near me has become too consistent. They fear reliance.”
Her breath caught.
“You are being reassigned,” he said. “Far from the capital.”
The words struck harder than any blade.
She bowed her head, fists clenched at her sides. “If that is the will of the Council, I will obey.”
“Financier,” he said, her name quieter now, stripped of formality. “This was not my wish.”
She looked up. His composure was still there, but it was thinner now, like porcelain under strain.
“It does not matter,” she said. “You must remain untouched. Unburdened. The Republic needs you whole.”
“And who,” he asked, “protects you?”
She smiled then, small and sad. “That has never been anyone’s role.”
Financier turned and walked away before he could say more. Because if she stayed, she might break her oath. And loving him was the one thing she could never allow herself to protect.
Behind her, the Consul of the Crème Republic stood alone, watching the light disappear with the paladin who had always guarded it.