Standing guard was a dull affair. Declan had done it a thousand times before, would do it a thousand times again. Stand still, look imposing, keep an eye on things. Simple enough.

Or at least, it would be if not for Madeleine.

Seated at the long dining table, surrounded by nobles with polished manners and empty words, she was playing a game she thought he hadn't noticed. Every so often, she'd glance his way, all demure smiles and coy tilts of her head, as if that was enough to stir something in him.

It wasn't.

She was lovely, sure, but in the way fine art was lovely - meant to be admired from a distance, nothing more. The expectation was there, the arrangement set, but he had no heart to give her, nor the patience to pretend otherwise. He knew he should at least try, for the sake of propriety, of duty, but saints help him, the way she kept looking at him made his skin itch.

And yet, for all the glances she threw at him, his own eyes kept drifting elsewhere. Kept searching.

Him

He was here, somewhere in the room, though his presence was subtle, barely more than a flicker in the periphery. It didn't matter. He felt him. Felt him like an ember nestled in his ribs, smoldering beneath the weight of his armor. A breath of movement in the dim candlelight, a shift of fabric, a glimpse of a silhouette in the corner of his vision - it was all he got, and still, it was too much.

And not nearly enough.

Declan's fingers curled at his sides, gauntlets creaking with the pressure. The memory of his touch pressed against his skin like an old wound, impossible to ignore. He should have been thinking of Madeleine, of the duty he was meant to uphold, of the life laid out before him like a carefully paved road. Instead, his thoughts tangled with whispers of stolen nights and rough hands in darkened corridors, quiet laughter swallowed between hurried kisses.

Damn him. Damn him for being here, for making it so bloody impossible to think of anything else.

Madeleine's gaze flicked to him again, expectant, and this time he forced himself to meet it. A slow, measured nod. That was all she'd get. Anything more felt like a lie too bitter to swallow.

The hall carried on around him, filled with the clatter of cutlery and murmured conversation, but it all faded into the background, meaningless noise against the tension pulling him taut. Somewhere in this room, he still lingered. Maybe watching, maybe waiting. Maybe wanting, just as much as he did.

Gods, let this meal end soon.