(Damien's POV)
The morning sun slipped through the tall stained-glass windows of the west wing, scattering crimson and gold across the marble floor. Damien sat on the edge of his massive bed, shirtless, head bowed, and fists clenched. His jaw worked in silence as memories crawled into his thoughts images he wished would die already. Her laugh. Her hands. Her warmth.
His mother.
Gone.
Murdered by time, or fate, or whatever gods decided that a ten-year-old should be broken so young.
He exhaled slowly, trying to force the ghosts back into the shadows. But it never worked for long. Not even now, at twenty-three, not even after years of training, fighting, rising through ranks of his father's army, leading men into the border war with the ferocity of a wounded animal.
Nothing numbed the grief like a blade in his hand.
And now, Father had decided he needed a damn babysitter.
"A bodyguard," Damien scoffed aloud as he rose to his feet and grabbed his training shirt. "What am I some delicate flower?"
He knew it wasn't just about protection. No. King Lucian wanted control. And since Caspian was too gentle to enforce it, he'd brought in someone new. Someone trained. Someone named Alec.
Damien's hands tightened into fists again at the mere memory of Alec's face. That arrogant smirk. The cool composure. The way he dared to meet Damien's glare without flinching.
He was new. Unfamiliar. And far too bold.
The training grounds smelled like sweat and steel, just the way Damien liked it. As he stepped out, guards scattered from the center like frightened ants. They all knew better than to speak to him this early.
He walked straight to the weapons rack, picked a long, sleek sword with a dark handle, and swung it twice to feel its weight. The satisfying sound of the blade slicing air soothed him.
Then he heard it.
Boots. Calm, steady.
"I see you're an early riser," came the too-familiar voice.
Damien didn't turn. He didn't have to. The air already felt too tight around him.
"I didn't ask for company," he growled.
"Noted. But I go where you go now. Orders from the king," Alec replied, stepping onto the sandy ring without hesitation.
Damien turned, slow and sharp, eyes burning. "You're either incredibly stupid or suicidal."
Alec met his gaze. "Neither. Just doing my job."
"Then let's make your job harder," Damien said, raising his blade.
Alec blinked once. "You want to spar?"
"No." Damien smirked darkly. "I want to shut you up."
The crowd that had started gathering around the edge of the training field held their breath as the prince lunged forward.
Alec was fast ..faster than Damien expected. He dodged the first strike, pivoted, and drew his own blade just in time to parry the second. Steel rang through the courtyard, the echo sharp and sudden.
Damien's movements were wild, aggressive, relentless meant to intimidate. Alec's, in contrast, were measured, disciplined. Where Damien roared, Alec breathed. Where Damien struck like lightning, Alec moved like water.
Damien growled as his blade nearly caught Alec's side, only for the man to slide back with a dancer's grace. The heat under Damien's skin rose to boiling.
Then it happened Alec disarmed him. A clean, calculated move that sent Damien's sword clattering to the sand.
Gasps rippled through the gathered guards.
Alec didn't press the advantage. Instead, he stepped back and lowered his sword. "You asked for a spar. I'm just doing my job."
For a moment, the world seemed to still.
Damien stood there, breathing hard, sweat glistening on his skin, fists shaking at his sides. And then..
"Enough!"
The voice that broke the tension was one he would never ignore.
Caspian.
The prince's older brother stepped between them, eyes flicking from Alec to Damien.
"What the hell is going on here?" Caspian asked, tone calm but firm.
Damien's chest heaved. "Just training."
Caspian sighed. "Looked more like you were trying to kill him."
"Maybe I was."
"Damien," Caspian said, stepping closer, lowering his voice. "He's not your enemy."
Damien's jaw twitched. "He thinks he can handle me."
Caspian placed a hand on Damien's shoulder, the only person alive who could do so without losing that arm. "Maybe he can. But that's not the point. Father assigned him for a reason. Don't push him away before you know why."
Damien stared at him, the rage in his chest slowly dissolving under his brother's
gaze. "Fine."
He turned, picked up his sword, and stalked off without looking at Alec again.
Alec watched the prince stalk off like a storm bottled in muscle and heat. Every step Damien took left behind a wake of tension, and yet Alec couldn't help but smirk. He admired strength, even when it was wrapped in rage.
The prince was trouble, no doubt. But Alec had seen worse.
He sheathed his blade and turned toward Caspian, offering a respectful nod. "Your Highness."
Caspian waved it off, eyes still following his younger brother. "He's difficult. Don't take it personally."
"I don't," Alec replied. "But if he ever swings at me like that again, I won't hesitate next time."
Caspian gave him a long look. "You'll learn with time… He's not really the monster he pretends to be."
Alec's gaze narrowed slightly. "Is that so?"
"He's hurting. Always has been, since we lost our mother. He loved her the most. Something in him broke after that."
Caspian walked away after that quiet truth, leaving Alec alone with the onlookers still buzzing in whispers.
Later that day, Alec was escorted to the prince's private quarters. The halls leading there were quieter than the rest of the palace wide and cold, like Damien's eyes.
When Alec stepped in, he found Damien shirtless again, seated on the window ledge, one leg propped, the other dangling lazily. The golden light behind him caught his cheekbones, his hair tousled like he'd run his hands through it in frustration.
"You're not welcome here," Damien said without looking.
Alec remained by the door, arms crossed. "I figured."
"What do you want?"
"To do my job."
Damien turned his face slowly, eyes like a coiled viper. "Your job is not to follow me into my bedroom."
"I go where the danger is," Alec answered calmly.
"You think I'm in danger?" Damien laughed bitterly. "The only danger here is me."
"I believe that," Alec said without blinking.
Damien slid down from the window, walking toward him with that barely-contained fire in every step. "Then you're a fool. I don't need protection. I don't need anyone."
"But your father thinks you do. And unless he removes me himself, I'll be here."
Damien was close now, face to face. "Tell me, Alec… how many bastards has the king trained to spy on his son?"
"I'm not a spy," Alec replied quietly, but firmly. "Just a man trying not to kill the prince he's supposed to protect."
For a moment, silence pulsed between them like the beat of a war drum.
Then Damien barked a laugh and moved past him. "You've got guts. I'll give you that."
Alec turned his head slightly. "And you've got walls higher than the palace gates."
Damien paused at that. He didn't turn around, but something in his voice shifted. "You think you know me?"
"I know pain when I see it," Alec answered.
Damien faced him again, this time with something less sharp in his expression still guarded, but... curious.
"My mother used to say the same thing about me," Damien muttered. "She said I wore pain like a crown."
There was a long pause.
Then, suddenly, Damien scowled and threw a pillow across the room. "Damn it! Why the hell am I talking to you?"
"Maybe because no one else listens," Alec said.
Damien glared. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm only talking because if I don't, I'll stab you."
Alec smirked. "Then keep talking. I prefer words over blades."
Another silence fell between them, thick but not hostile. Something unspoken passed wariness, perhaps, but not hatred. Not entirely.
Damien dropped onto the couch, running a hand through his hair. "If you think I'll make this easy, you're delusional."
"I don't want easy," Alec replied. "I want real."
Damien's eyes met his again, and this time, there was a flicker barely there but a flicker of something human.
"Then you're in the wrong palace," Damien muttered. "Nothing here is real… Not even me."