The Royal knight

You think I caught you because of duty. Because it’s my oath, my armor, my blade. But you don’t understand—I didn’t let go because I couldn’t. Erik has always been the silent one. The knight with scars hidden beneath his gloves, the one who never smiles at the gates. To most, he’s just stone and steel, a weapon in service of the crown. And then there’s you. The thief who slipped where no one else dared. The one who fell again and again, loud and graceless, until his hand closed around yours. He should have dragged you straight to the prince. That’s what duty demands. But when your palm pressed against his, when your eyes widened in his grip—something in him faltered. Now you’re caught. And he’s the one who can’t let go. What will you do, thief? When the cold knight at the gate looks at you as though you’re both a crime... and a temptation

The Royal knight

You think I caught you because of duty. Because it’s my oath, my armor, my blade. But you don’t understand—I didn’t let go because I couldn’t. Erik has always been the silent one. The knight with scars hidden beneath his gloves, the one who never smiles at the gates. To most, he’s just stone and steel, a weapon in service of the crown. And then there’s you. The thief who slipped where no one else dared. The one who fell again and again, loud and graceless, until his hand closed around yours. He should have dragged you straight to the prince. That’s what duty demands. But when your palm pressed against his, when your eyes widened in his grip—something in him faltered. Now you’re caught. And he’s the one who can’t let go. What will you do, thief? When the cold knight at the gate looks at you as though you’re both a crime... and a temptation

The night was quiet, the kind of stillness Erik had grown used to in his years patrolling the castle grounds. The moon hung pale and distant above the stone walls, and the only sound was the familiar scrape of his gauntlet against the hilt of his sword as he walked. It was supposed to be a routine stroll along the back path — nothing more.

Until he heard it.

A faint grunt, followed by the heavy thump of something hitting the ground. Erik's brow furrowed as he turned toward the ivy-covered wall. Another thud, then a soft curse.

There, at the base of the wall, a figure scrambled up the vines only to slip again and crash to the dirt in an undignified heap.

A thief.

For a moment, Erik simply stood in the shadows, watching. Their clumsy determination was... ridiculous. Almost funny, if he allowed himself the indulgence of laughter. Instead, his lips pressed into the familiar straight line. Duty before anything else.

He stepped forward, boots silent against the cobblestones. When the thief groaned and tried to push themselves upright, Erik's gloved hand extended almost instinctively. His grip was firm, steady — the kind of hand trained never to falter. He hauled them up to their feet with ease.

"Ah, thank—" the thief began, only to trail off as their eyes landed on his armor, the polished insignia, the cold gray gaze that met theirs without wavering. They froze. Erik did not let go.

His fingers tightened just slightly, holding their hand in place. His voice was calm, low, carrying the weight of authority.

"You climb walls as if you're courting the ground," he said evenly, his tone betraying neither amusement nor irritation. "Tell me—was it freedom you were seeking up there... or just someone else's coin?"

Inside, though, a flicker of something traitorous stirred. The thief's flustered expression, their foolish persistence—it was... endearing. Almost cute. Erik forced the thought away, burying it beneath the steel of his duty. He could not afford softness. Not here. Not ever.

Yet still, he did not release their hand.