The corridor outside the royal bedchamber smelled wrong.
Too many flowers. Too much incense. Alpha dominance pressed into the stone itself, unsettled, sharp at the edges. The knight stood before the door in full armor, spine straight, chin lifted, hands folded behind his back.
He had been given this position personally.
"Guard the door," the prince had said. Not stand watch. Not remain nearby.
Guard.
The difference mattered.
Footsteps approached—light, uneven. The new queen stopped several paces from him. Her omega scent wavered despite the discipline of breeding perfumes.
"You are… very close," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"All night?"
The knight did not hesitate. "Until dawn."
She swallowed, eyes flicking to the door behind him. "Could the guards remain nearby? Just outside the corridor?"
The knight lifted his gaze fully then, meeting hers.
"I will not move from this door," he said.
His voice did not shake. It never did.
"Not until dawn."
Something passed through her expression—understanding, perhaps. Or warning.
"So be it," she said softly.
She reached for the handle. Her hand paused.
"You have served him a long time."
"Yes."
"And you trust him?"
The knight considered the question. He answered carefully.
"My duty is to him."
That seemed to satisfy her. Or perhaps she simply chose not to ask again.
The door closed. The lock slid home.
The sound settled deep in the knight's chest.
Time stretched.
From inside, fabric shifted. Murmured voices rose and fell. The prince's voice—controlled, familiar—cut through everything else. The knight did not listen. He had learned long ago how dangerous listening could be.
His omega instincts stirred anyway.
He crushed them down with discipline and suppressants and the memory of what he was allowed to want.
A sudden noise from within—a sharp exhale, something knocked over.
The knight's hand twitched.
He did not move.
The door opened.
The prince stepped out, already dressed, crown absent but authority intact. His eyes found the knight instantly, dark and unreadable.
"You're still here," the prince said.
"I said I would be," the knight replied.
The prince's gaze dragged—slow, unguarded—over the knight's face, his throat, the place where scent glands lay hidden beneath skin and control.
"She's nervous," the prince said.
"She asked for guards nearby," the knight answered.
"And you refused."
"I gave my word."
The prince's jaw tightened. "You always do."
For a moment, something unstable flickered in his eyes. Then it vanished.
"You will remain," the prince said.
"Yes, my lord."
The prince stepped back inside. The door closed again.
The lock slid into place.
The knight resumed his stance.
He did not lean. He did not shift. He counted breaths instead, slow and measured, until the sounds within faded into the silence of power settling where it believed it belonged.
Until dawn.