Chapter 277

Velesia

I watch from the shadows as His Highness—no, His Majesty—works straight into the night. Again.

The scratch of his pen, the soft sigh as he sets one finished document aside and pulls another forward, the faint scent of ink and midnight oil.

He is as he has always been since the crown settled on his brow: diligent, weary, bearing the weight without complaint.

I can tell he will be a wonderful king. Not because he desires glory, but because he understands duty. And I will be with him every step of the way, a silent promise etched in my bones, for as long as I am alive. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

"Velesia."

I flinch, a tiny, involuntary jerk in the darkness. My presence is meant to be unseen, unfelt—a specter of protection. Being acknowledged feels like a failure of my purpose.

Reluctantly, I step out from the deep shadow of the bookshelf into the pool of warm lamplight. The light feels too exposing.

He leans back in his high-backed chair, the leather sighing, and looks at me. The lamplight falls across his face, highlighting the thin, pale scar that now scores his jaw from the duel.

If anything, the scar makes him more attractive, more real, more lion.

But there is something in his eyes, even now, amidst the fatigue and the weight of rule, that other predators do not have. A certain gentle awareness, a kindness that lurks behind the gold, no matter how hard he tries to bank it. It can never fully escape.

It is the ghost of the rabbit, the echo of Felix Longear, and it softens the regal severity in a way that is uniquely, dangerously compelling.

It is a wonderful, impossible mix. The strength of the lion, the heart of the rabbit. I should not have these thoughts. My body and my life are sworn to protection, a role of pure service.

But my thoughts are my own. They are the last, secret chamber I have not given to the crown.

"You do not tire? Standing so long?" he asks, his gaze still on the papers, but his attention palpably on me in the silence.

"I do not," I reply, my voice even, betraying nothing.

He scrutinizes me.I do not like this. It makes me weak. It stirs the ghost of the girl who memorized the curve of his smile, not the line of his security perimeter. He should not be looking at a guard this way.

I, as always, pretend not to see. I let my eyes go unfocused, fixing on a point beyond his shoulder, becoming a statue of duty. But some days are harder than others.

Today seems to be that day.

"Come closer."

My heart gives a single, traitorous thud against my ribs. I take a couple of steps forward, the soft soles of my boots silent on the rug.

I stop at what I deem a respectful, professional distance—close enough to intervene if needed, far enough to maintain the boundary.

He looks at me, his golden eyes catching the lamplight. He says nothing. The silent command is clearer than words.

Holding my breath, I take another couple of steps.

He just looks at me, and doesn’t say another word, but his eyes are loud. So very loud. They say things.

"This is not a good idea, little lion."

The voice is a dry purr from the deepest shadows in the corner of the room—a corner I had visually cleared moments ago. It is impossible.

I jump, every instinct shrieking into action. My hand flies to the dagger at my thigh.

A vise closes around my throat. Not from in front of me, but from the side.

From the empty air. An arm, slender and impossibly strong, materializes from the darkness itself, halting my draw and lifting me off my feet with casual, terrifying ease. My boots scrabble against the floor. I cannot breathe.

My only coherent thought is a spike of pure, professional terror: I have failed. His Majesty is exposed.

"Duke of Panthers," He says, his voice startlingly calm. He hasn’t even risen from his chair.

The pressure on my throat vanishes. I am thrown aside, landing in a heap on the thick rug, gasping for air. The figure steps fully into the lamplight.

The Duke of Panthers stands there, brushing a speck of invisible dust from her sleeve.Her golden eyes gleam with amusement.

"My apologies," she says, her tone not apologetic in the slightest. "I was attacked. I reacted instinctively."

I push myself to my knees, my body trembling not from the impact, but from the raw, primal fear now coursing through me.

"Surely," the Duke purrs, strolling toward the empty chair opposite the king as if she owned it, "I hope I wasn’t interrupting a tryst between you two. Your Queen wouldn’t take so kindly if you were involved with your guard." She drops into the seat.

"Nothing happened," Felix says, his voice flat, final.

And my heart, the foolish, hidden thing I thought I had armored, shatters.

She chuckles, a low, rasping sound. "That can’t be. Or else there’s no way the snake wouldn’t have noticed me come in."

Her words are a second, colder splash of water, shocking me from my internal devastation back into the reality of my failure. She’s right.

I had let the perimeter of my awareness shrink to the radius of my own aching heart. A fatal mistake for a protector.

"Anyway, Your Majesty," she says, shifting her full, unnerving attention to Felix. "Let’s have a conversation."

"Velesia," he says, his voice returning to its kingly distance. "Leave us."

I hesitate for a fraction of a second before bowing deeply.

"Your Majesty. Your Grace."

I step out of the office, the heavy oak door closing behind me with a soft, definitive click.I clench my fists so hard my claws bite into my palms, the sharp pain a welcome anchor.

Ashamed. The emotion is a tidal wave, drowning the heartache.

What if it had not been the Duke of Panthers?

What if it had been an assassin from the remnants of the Tiger faction, a hired blade, a vengeful Snowfrost agent?

My distraction, my emotional stupor, would have gotten His Majesty killed. I had one job. The only job that ever truly mattered. And I failed at the moment of testing.

It’s time. Past time. This time I shut this emotions feel down and this time it’s forever.