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The footsteps sounded louder than they should have. Prince Nattawat walked alone through the corridor, his expression unreadable, brows drawn together as if the world itself had personally offended him. Each step of his polished shoes echoed against the marble floor, just a little too hard.
Anyone who saw him would have known immediately that His Highness was in a terrible mood.
A few servants pressed themselves politely against the walls as he passed. No one dared to speak, even the air seemed careful around him.
Then, from somewhere behind, came another set of quicker footsteps.
There was the faint clatter of something being knocked over, a startled gasp, and then a hurried voice repeating, "Sorry. I'm so sorry. My fault."
Prince Nattawat didn't even have to turn to know who it was.
The footsteps grew closer, weaving through the corridor with the familiar urgency. Within moments, the owner of those steps appeared beside him.
"Why didn't you wait for me?"
Norawit. His personal guard, who was also his shadow since childhood. They basically grew up together, trained together, even played together, so if anyone could read his moods without asking, it was definitely him.
They walked side by side now, both dressed in formal attire for the day's palace matters.
Norawit glanced at him, clearly studying his face. But sure enough, the prince didn't return the look.
Norawit reached out and patted his shoulder. The response from Nattawat came instantly. A sharp click of the tongue and a small shrug that knocked his hand away.
Norawit tried again.
Another shrug.
And again.
The third time it happened, Norawit let out a quiet laugh.
"You're really sulking," he said, amused.
Nattawat ignored him.
They passed a small table arranged with fruit for the palace guests. Without breaking stride, Norawit reached out and grabbed an apple. He took a bite, then held the fruit toward the prince in a silent offering.
Nattawat stopped walking just long enough to give him a flat, irritated look before shaking his head and continuing forward.
Norawit blinked once.
"Oh," he said after a moment, taking another bite. "This is serious."
Nattawat immediately punched his shoulder.
"Hey!" Norawit hissed, rubbing the spot, though the corner of his mouth was already lifting, "That hurt."
A servant hurried past them carrying a basket filled with fresh pastries. As she moved by, Norawit's hand moved faster than courtesy allowed. One small pastry disappeared from the basket.
The maid gasped. "Sir!"
"Sorry!" Norawit said brightly, already backing away. "I'll make it up later!"
He turned back to Nattawat and held out the stolen prize.
"If you don't want the apple," he said, smiling, "there's no way you'll refuse this."
Nattawat rolled his eyes. But he took the pastry anyway.
And the moment it left his hand, Norawit visibly relaxed, his shoulder dropping as if he had just won a small but important victory. He even muttered a quiet, satisfied, "Yes," to himself.
Of course, the prince heard it.
A small sound escaped Nattawat before he could stop it.
Norawit caught it immediately.
They walked on together until the corridor widened near the rear of the palace, where the tall doors stood open to the gardens beyond.
Norawit stepped slightly ahead and turned to face him, holding a sword in his hand.
"Do you want to train?" he asked.
Nattawat frowned in confusion. Only then did he notice that the sword in Norawit's hand was his.
The one that had been hanging at his waist only moments earlier as part of his formal attire.
Nattawat blinked, looking down at his empty belt and then back at Norawit. "When did you take that?"
Norawit lifted the weapon slightly, presenting it with an expression of complete innocence.
"Exercise improves your mood, you know," he said simply.
Nattawat stared at him for a long moment before exhaling, the breath leaving him slower than intended as the edge of a reluctant smile began to form. He stepped forward and reached for the sword.
Norawit pulled it back. With the advantage of his height, he lifted it slightly out of reach, watching with quiet satisfaction as Nattawat's eyes narrowed.
"Norawit," Nattawat said, the warning clear in his voice.
The irritation was there, as the smile was too.
Norawit tilted his head. "What?"
Nattawat reached again.
Norawiit stepped back.
"If you want it," he said casually, "You'll have to win it."
Nattawat narrowed his eyes. "You're challenging your prince?"
"If you say so."
Norawit took another step backward, moving out into the sunlight beyond the doorway. He held the sword loosely, his posture relaxed but ready.
Nattawat paused at the threshold, watching him.
Despite himself, he let out a quiet laugh. He stepped forward into the warmth of the afternoon and followed.
The garden behind the palace stretched wide and calm, its paths lined with trimmed hedges and beds of flowers blooming in careful harmony.
Norawit fell into step beside him again, matching his pace as naturally as he always did.
They walked for a while in silence.
Then, "I don't feel like training today." Nattawat spoke, his tone sound flat.
Norawit glanced at him once. "Okay."
Before Nattawat could react, Norawit casually tossed the prince's sword.
The weapon disappeared in a soft arc and landed somewhere inside a flower bed with a faint rustle of leaves and stems.
Nattawat stopped walking immediately, his eyes widened.
He turned slowly toward Norawit, disbelief written plainly across his face.
On the other hand, Norawit looked completely unbothered. He slipped his hands behind his back and gave a small shrug.
"We'll find it later," he said lightly.
Nattawat stared at him.
"No," he said, his voice rising. "That was mine, and I wanted it now."
He began to complain, words coming faster now as irritation returned, though the edge of his anger felt less sharp than before. Norawit watched him talk, the way Nattawat's expression shifted with every sentence, and the longer he looked, the more the corners of his mouth betrayed him.
The sight was too familiar.
Too endearing.
A quiet chuckle slipped out before he could stop it.
Nattawat's complaints halted mid sentence, replaced by a glare that promised consequences. He stepped forward and hit Norawit's shoulder again.
"Are you even listening?"
Norawit caught his wrist before the next strike could land, still laughing.
"I am, I am," he said quickly. "Let me fix it."
He released Nattawat and walked toward the flower bed where the sword had disappeared.
Then he crouched down.
From where Nattawat stood, he could see the guard parting the stems carefully, searching with exaggerated focus as if the sword were a needle lost in a forest rather than a piece of metal longer than his arm.
"Mmm," Norawit murmured thoughtfully. "Strange. It was here somewhere."
Nattawat crossed his arms, watching him with a quiet huff.
Norawit leaned farther forward.
Then farther.
And then, with a dramatic lack of balance, he tipped completely forward and fell face down into the flowers.
Nattawat froze. For a split second, it looked as if Norawit had simply collapsed without warning.
"Norawit?"
There was no movement.
Then, one hand lifted from the flowers with the sword in it.
Norawit's shoulders shook as a muffled laugh escaped him.
Nattawat's expression shifted from shock to disbelief, irritation returning but softened. A small breath that sounded more like a restrained laugh than a sigh left him.
He stepped forward and reached down.
"Get up," he said.
Norawit accepted the help without resistance, allowing the prince to pull him back to his feet. Petals clung to his sleeves and hair, but he didn't seem to notice.
Nattawat took the sword from his right hand and began fastening it back at his waist.
Norawit tilted his head.
"You're not taking this one?"
Nattawat glanced up.
In Norawit's left hand, there was a single flower.
Nattawat secured the sword, then let out a quiet, reluctant laugh as he took the flower from him.
"If the Queen finds out you damaged her garden," he said, turning away, "I'm telling her it was you."
He began walking again along the garden path, with the flower still in his hand.
Norawit stared at him for a second, then he hurried after him.
"Wait, no, don't do that," he said quickly, his tone suddenly full of alarm that was just a little too theatrical. "What if I give you this one?"
He reached out, offering another flower he had somehow picked up.
Nattawat didn't even stop walking. He only glanced at it from the corner of his eye, then took it.
Norawit's expression immediately shifted into even greater panic.
"How about this one?" he asked, producing another.
"And this one?" then another.
Nattawat stopped. He turned slowly, then let out a short laugh, shaking his head.
"If you pick one more," he said, "I really will report you to the Queen myself."
Norawit grinned. "I can give you flowers from anywhere," he said, "I'll bring one from the mountains. Or from the edge of the forest. I'd even get one from a cave with a dragon inside. If you say so."
Nattawat stared at him for one long second.
Then hit him on the head with the small bundle of flower stems he was holding.
"You're so dramatic," he said, already turning to walk again.
Norawit winced as if the attack had been far more devastating than it actually was. One hand went to his head, his expression folding into dramatic suffering as he staggered a step behind.
"My prince," he called, his voice full of theatrical sorrow. "Please slow down. Why do you always walk so fast?"
Nattawat didn't turn immediately, but his pace eased just enough for Norawit to catch up without having to pretend to limp.
They walked along the garden path until the stone curved toward an older section of the grounds where the trees grew taller. Nattawat finally stopped beneath a large apple tree with branches spread wide enough to cast a generous shade over the ground.
Before he could say anything, Norawit was already moving.
He unclasped his guard cloak in one smooth motion and shook it out before laying it carefully over the grass, smoothing the fabric as if preparing a place of honor.
Nattawat glanced down at it, then at him.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said.
“I know,” Norawit replied easily.
Nattawat stepped forward anyway and sat, leaning his back against the rough trunk of the tree. The shade cooled the warmth that had settled on his skin during their walk, and for a moment, he simply rested there, letting the quiet settle around him.
Meanwhile, Norawit stepped closer to the tree and tilted his head back, squinting upward through the branches.
“Oh,” he said, his voice brightening. “There are still apples left. Do you want one?”
Nattawat opened his mouth to answer. But Norawit was already climbing.
He moved easily, like someone who had done this a hundred times, his boots finding the rough places in the bark as he pulled himself up through the lower branches.
“Be careful,” Nattawat said, looking up.
Norawit only laughed softly.
It did not take long before he settled onto a thick branch above, sitting comfortably as he reached for one of the apples hanging nearby. He twisted it free, took a testing bite, then leaned over slightly.
“My prince,” he called. “Look up.”
Nattawat sighed but lifted his gaze.
The apple dropped.
He caught it automatically.
For a moment, he simply stared at it in his hand before looking back up at Norawit, who was already reaching for another fruit.
“I feel like I’m the one guarding you,” Nattawat said.
Norawit chuckled between bites. “Life should be enjoyed like this.”
He picked another apple and kept it for himself.
“We’re still young.”
Nattawat turned the apple slowly in his hand, leaning his head back against the tree, watching sunlight slide over its skin.
For a moment, he said nothing.
“When I get older,” he said quietly, “when I become king… we won’t be able to do things like this anymore, will we?”
Above him, the sound of chewing stopped.
A moment later, leaves rustled.
Norawit climbed down quickly, biting his apple held between his teeth. He walked over and sat beside him without haste, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
“When you’re older,” he began casually, “even if you become a strict king…”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth.
“I’ll still be here. As your guard."
He took another bite.
“And even if you’re still afraid to be alone in the library,” he added, teasing gently, “I’ll stay with you then too.”
Nattawat turned sharply. “I’m serious.”
Norawit laughed once, but the sound faded as he met Nattawat’s eyes properly.
The smile remained, but something steadier settled behind it.
“I’ll always be within your call,” Norawit said. “Wherever you go, my attention will follow.”
His voice softened, almost thoughtful.
“I’d turn the ground into the sky and decorate it with stars,” he added more lightly, "If you say so."
The air between them grew still.
They held each other’s gaze longer than either intended.
Then Norawit leaned back against the tree, a small smirk returning as he resumed eating his apple.
Nattawat didn't look away immediately. His expression quieted, retreating inward.
“Norawit.”
“Yes?”
“Can I lie down?”
Norawit stretched his legs out at once, tapping his thigh. “Here.”
Nattawat shifted closer and lowered himself carefully, resting his head across Norawit’s lap. He turned slightly, one hand catching at the fabric near Norawit’s knee.
Norawit continued eating as if this were the most ordinary arrangement in the world.
His fingers drifted into Nattawat’s hair, brushing through it slowly, absent-mindedly, as if this was a habit formed long ago.
“When you were a child… " Nattawat asked after a while, "Did you ever have a dream?”
Norawit thought for a moment.
“No.”
He took another bite.
“I don’t think I knew what I would become. If I hadn’t met you… if I hadn’t become your guard…”
A faint breath of laughter escaped him.
“Maybe I’d be a professional pickpocket by now.”
Nattawat turned to look at him.
“What about a wish?” he pressed. “Something you wanted?”
Another pause.
“Not really.”
Nattawat clicked his tongue, clearly dissatisfied.
“Do you have any story at all?”
Norawit looked down at him and smiled slightly.
“If you say so," he said, "I’ll tell you a story.”
His fingers continued moving through Nattawat’s hair.
“But it's a fairy tale, do you want to hear it?"
Nattawat nodded.
"Alright," Norawit began, "There was a knight who saved a princess."
“The princess was locked in an old tower, guarded by a dangerous dragon. No one could reach her. No one dared to try.”
His voice was light, almost casual.
“But the knight went anyway. He fought the dragon. Climbed the tower. Risked his life.”
He paused to take another bite.
“And in the end, he saved her.”
Nattawat waited.
“The kingdom rewarded him,” Norawit continued. "He received payment. Recognition. A reward considered appropriate.”
His hand stilled briefly in Nattawat’s hair.
“And the princess was married to a prince chosen by the royal court.”
Silence settled beneath the tree.
“That’s it?” Nattawat asked.
Norawit frowned slightly. “Yes. Why?”
“That’s not fair,” Nattawat said quietly. “For the knight.”
Norawit lowered the apple. A faint smile returned, though it did not reach his eyes.
“What else could he expect?” Norawit said quietly. “He knew from the beginning that nothing was promised.”
His gaze lowered.
“He knew his place. Someone beneath the royal family shouldn’t expect more than gratitude.”
A pause.
“So it’s better not to hope from the start.”
The air beneath the tree grew very still.
Before the distant voices called out.
“Prince Nattawat!”
Several maids were searching the garden.
Norawit nudged his leg gently.
Nattawat made a small sound of irritation but pushed himself up.
“If you hide any longer,” Norawit said, brushing grass from his uniform, “the King will grow impatient. And the guests from Elarion Kingdom will begin to wonder where their future groom has gone.”
Nattawat froze.
Norawit’s expression softened.
“There is still a lot to discuss,” he added quietly.
“About your engagement.”