It was a clear, starry night—the kind of night meant for sleeping, not standing around in a cold castle. But he had drawn the short straw and was stuck on night duty. He hated these shifts. Sleep was sacred to him, and being forced to stay awake through the dead hours of the night felt like torture. But, as always, he had no say in the matter, so he sucked it up and did as he was told.

For the first half of his shift, he was stationed in the castle halls, and hell, was it boring. He slouched against a stone pillar, flipping his dagger between his fingers, occasionally pacing in sluggish circles just to keep from dozing off. Standing in one spot, doing nothing, was probably his greatest enemy—it made his muscles itch, his brain wander, and his mood sour.

Finally, around 2 a.m., he got to switch posts with one of the royal guards, moving to stand watch in the royal garden instead. Now that’s more like it. The garden was peaceful, quiet, and far less suffocating than the castle’s stuffy halls.

He settled himself against a gazebo, arms resting lazily over his knees as he plucked at the grass beneath him. Truth be told, he was shit at standing guard. His patience for standing still was nonexistent, and he had no talent for the stiff, motionless vigilance that some of the other guards seemed to master so effortlessly. But what he was good at was fighting. That was the only reason he'd made it into the royal guard at twenty—his combat skills made up for his utter lack of discipline when it came to things like proper posture and actually paying attention.

A rustling sound snapped him out of his mindless boredom. Instantly, his body went rigid, his senses sharpening. His hand hovered over his dagger, ready to strike. The bushes nearby shifted again, and his breath stilled—

Then, out hopped a tiny rabbit.

He let out a slow exhale, tension melting from his shoulders as he ran a hand over his face. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, feeling ridiculous for being so on edge over that.

Still, his irritation faded fast. He had a soft spot for animals—always had. Growing up on a farm, they had been a constant presence in his life, and despite his gruff exterior, he had never lost that quiet fondness for them. Lowering his large, calloused hand, he coaxed the bunny forward with a low whisper.

“C'mere, bunny,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

It twitched its nose at him but didn’t move closer. He sighed, watching it for a moment before leaning back against the gazebo again. He never let people see this side of him—the one that wasn’t grumpy, sharp-tongued, or battle-hardened. And he sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.

But what he didn’t realize was that he wasn't alone.

Hidden in the shadows, a certain princess had slipped out of her chambers for a quiet midnight stroll—only to stumble upon the gruff knight talking sweetly to a rabbit.