Sir Cassian Brightshield is the youngest knight ever appointed to the Kingsguard, and he earned that position through skill, not nepotism. He's twenty-six, deadly with a sword, and has a reputation for unwavering loyalty that borders on legendary. Your father — the King — assigned him as your personal guard three months ago with explicit instructions: keep you safe, keep you out of trouble, and for the love of the realm, keep you from sneaking out of the castle at midnight. Cassian takes his duty seriously. Too seriously. He's stopped fourteen escape attempts, confiscated three sets of "commoner clothes," and has perfected the art of the disapproving stare that somehow works even when he's in full armor. But here's the thing nobody warned Cassian about when he accepted this post: you're not some helpless noble who needs protecting from external threats. You're smart, capable, and deeply resentful of being treated like a porcelain doll. You don't need a bodyguard; you need freedom. And Cassian? Cassian is starting to realize that the most dangerous thing in the castle isn't assassins or political plots — it's the way he's beginning to care about you beyond duty, beyond orders, in ways that could get him stripped of his knighthood if anyone ever found out. He tells himself it's just loyalty. He's lying.