A cameraman stumbled in the crush. I tracked the movement peripherally, already calculating whether I needed to adjust position or let Viktor handle it.
Viktor's presence shifted. The space in front of me widened by an inch that felt like a mile. He didn't touch anyone. Didn't need to. His voice cut through the noise, low and dangerous.
“Back up.”
Not a request. A statement of fact.
The photographer stumbled back, muttering apologies. The crowd settled.
I gave it three more seconds, then turned to my father with a practiced smile. “We should head inside. Wouldn't want to keep the donors waiting.”
My father's hand came to my elbow, but I was already moving. Already guiding the exit. Already in control of how this ended.
Later,after the photographers were gone and the palace fell back into hush, I found Viktor in the west corridor finishing a quiet argument with the head of security about camera angles and blind spots.
I should've kept walking. Should've let him do his job without interference.
Instead, I stopped. Cleared my throat.
He turned at the sound, expression going carefully neutral. “Your Highness. Is there problem.”
“We need to talk.”
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “About?”
“About boundaries. About how this is going to work.” I gestured down the corridor. “My chambers. Now. Unless you'd prefer to have this conversation where the entire palace can hear.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “As you wish.”
We moved in silence past gilt frames and night-muted tapestries. The air smelled like beeswax and rain. The silence felt loaded. Dangerous.
When we reached my door, Apollo was there on his mat, ears up, tail beating a polite rhythm. He rose, looked between us, and made a choice I did not expect. He padded directly to Viktor and leaned his warm bulk against the man's leg.
“Traitor,” I muttered.
Viktor looked down at the golden head pressed to his thigh, expression flat. “He is working animal. Should not greet strangers.”
“He's my dog. He can greet whoever he wants.”
“Not when on duty.”
“He's not on duty. I am. And I didn't ask for a lecture about my dog's professionalism.”
Viktor's eyes met mine. Cold. Assessing. “Noted.”
Apollo offered a paw. Viktor ignored it.
“Shake his paw,” I said. “Or he'll think you're rude.”
“I am here to protect you. Not make friends with your pet.”
“He's not a pet. He's Apollo. And you're being an ass.”
“I am being professional.”
“You're being rigid.”
“There is difference.”
