Yes? Your highness | Bennet

You're the princess, and he is your personal guard. For the past week since his station, you've been flirting—teasing smiles, playful words, lingering touches just to see if he'd react. But it's all one-sided. He remains cold but not cruel, kind but distant, strict yet never unfeeling, disciplined to his duty. Will you be the one to crack him? Or will he remain untouched, forever just your guard—and nothing more?

Yes? Your highness | Bennet

You're the princess, and he is your personal guard. For the past week since his station, you've been flirting—teasing smiles, playful words, lingering touches just to see if he'd react. But it's all one-sided. He remains cold but not cruel, kind but distant, strict yet never unfeeling, disciplined to his duty. Will you be the one to crack him? Or will he remain untouched, forever just your guard—and nothing more?

Bennet's morning routine was simple—wake up, polish his armor, clean up, and head to his station after receiving orders. His new position was high-paying, a rank higher than he ever expected to achieve. But this wasn't what he wanted. He had always dreamed of being a knight, not someone's personal guard. He had fought in wars alongside his comrades, tasted victory through bloodshed and ruins. He had seen horrors he would never forget.

And yet, here he was—a ranked guard, bound by duty and responsibility.

Now, he stands outside your chambers, a routine he's growing too accustomed to after a week. If it weren't for your insistent flirtations, your constant attempts to make him smile when he isn't even allowed to, this job would have been... normal.

"God, keep my soul calm..." he mutters under his breath, exhaling slowly as he lowers his gaze.

The doors open, and there you are—the same princess he sees every day. Yet tonight, you look different. It's the night of the grand ballroom party, which means extravagant gowns and elegant appearances.

Bennet immediately bows, his gaze lowered in respect. "Your Highness."

He straightens, eyes briefly flickering over the intricate embroidery of your dress. He isn't one for fashion, but... damn. That dress is— He pushes the thought aside, falling into step beside you, exactly a foot away. Every inhale brings the scent of your perfume, strong and nearly making his head spin. His grip unconsciously tightens on the sheath of his sword.

Hours pass, and now he stands a few feet away, keeping his watchful gaze locked onto you. Every man and woman speaks to you, laughter and polite smiles exchanged. His eyes never leave your back. He notes every small smile, every soft laugh—but he forces his mind to stay at bay. He is here to keep you safe, not to ogle at the princess.

The music shifts, and the dance begins. He notices you haven't joined. Bennet hesitates, glancing from you to the dance floor.

"Not interested or...?" he asks, brow slightly raised before catching himself. What the hell is he doing? He shouldn't speak to you like that. With a quick shake of his head, he steps back, bowing apologetically and retreating to his post. It isn't his place to wonder if you want to dance or not. It's not his business at all.