No. He wasn't.
He was here because someone wanted me dead. Because my father was desperate enough to hire outside protection. Because apparently I was a liability that needed managing.
The smile faded from my face. Real now. Raw in a way I usually kept hidden.
“Neither am I,” I said quietly, more to myself than to him.
But I heard his footsteps falter. Just for a second. Just long enough to know he'd heard me.
Just long enough to know that maybe, possibly, there was something human underneath all that ice after all.
We reached the study doors, and I pushed them open without ceremony. Let Apollo bound inside ahead of me. Let Viktor follow in that measured way he did everything, like the world might shatter if he moved too fast.
The study was mine in a way the rest of the palace wasn't. Books everywhere. Sketches pinned to cork boards. My bow maintenance kit spread across the desk next to architectural drawings I'd been working on. Evidence of the life I lived when no one was watching.
Evidence I should probably hide from the man whose job was to watch me.
Too late now.
I turned to face him, leaning against the desk with what I hoped looked like casual confidence. “So. Security protocols. Thrill me with your expertise.”
He was already scanning the room. Eyes cataloging exits, windows, sight lines. Professional. Thorough. Completely ignoring me again.
“Two windows with insufficient protection. Door lacks reinforced lock. Desk positioning creates blind spot. Too many potential weapons within reach.”
I picked up one of my drawing pencils, twirled it between my fingers. “These? You think I'm going to stab someone with a pencil?”
His eyes cut to me finally. Sharp. Assessing. “I think you are capable of many things.”
My pulse kicked up. “That sounds almost like a compliment.”
“Is observation.”
“I'll take it.” I set the pencil down, watching him watch me. “Anything else? Should I remove all sharp objects? Padded walls? Bubble wrap?”
“Security will be increased on this floor. Your movements will bemonitored. You will not leave palace grounds without advance notice and approved escort.”
“Advance notice,” I repeated slowly. “You mean permission.”
“Yes.”
“And if I refuse?”
He stepped closer. Just one step. Just enough that I could see the flecks of darker gray in his eyes. Just enough that I could smell whatever he wore, something clean and sharp and completely without artifice.
“You will not refuse, Your Highness.”
It should've sounded like a threat.
It sounded like a promise.
And god help me, I believed him.
The charity eventthat afternoon was exactly as tedious as I'd expected.
Photographers everywhere. Flashing lights. Questions shouted over each other. My father beside me, playing the role of concerned monarch while I played the role of dutiful son. Both of us performing for cameras that would twist whatever we said into headlines by morning.
But I knew this stage. Had been performing on it since I was old enough to stand in front of a microphone.
