Fantasy RP The Princess's Knightly Lament (Crow)

[RhysTheFirebird]

@Crow

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Morning came softly in Serina Nightwood’s chambers, filtered through sheer curtains that dulled the sun into pale gold. The room was already awake before she was—maids moving quietly, the faint clink of porcelain, the scent of warmed water and crushed herbs lingering in the air. Serina sat at her vanity while one braided her dark hair with careful fingers, another fastened the clasps of her gown. She let them fuss, her posture straight, her expression serene in the mirror, the picture of a dutiful princess beginning another carefully scripted day.

The routine never changed. Rise with the bell. Wash, dress, braid. A modest breakfast she rarely finished. Lessons later—history rewritten by her father’s victories, etiquette meant to make her pleasing and pliable. All of it wrapped in silk and courtesy. Serina knew the pattern well enough that her thoughts often drifted elsewhere, to things she wasn’t meant to question. To the way the palace felt quieter lately. Tighter.

A month ago, Tristan had been assigned to her.

At first, she’d thought nothing of it. Guards came and went, faceless men in polished armor whose loyalty belonged to the crown, not to her. But Tristan was different in ways she hadn’t been able to articulate—too observant, perhaps, or too still. He didn’t fidget or avert his gaze when she spoke to him. He didn’t overcompensate with flattery or distance. He simply was, a steady presence just beyond her shoulder, shadowing her steps through corridors and courtyards alike.

She noticed him now, standing near the door as her attendants finished their work. He had already taken his post, armor secured, posture disciplined, eyes forward. He’d learned her schedule quickly—when she lingered, when she rushed, when she paused at windows as if hoping to see something other than stone and banners outside. Serina told herself she didn’t watch him back. That the awareness she felt wasn’t curiosity, or relief.

“Thank you,” she said softly to the maids as they withdrew, the door closing behind them with a muted click. For a moment, it was just the two of them and the quiet hum of the palace waking beyond her walls.

Serina rose, smoothing her skirts, and glanced toward Tristan—not fully meeting his eyes, not yet. “Good morning,” she said, polite and gentle, as expected of her. She peers over at him, taking him in for a moment and then asks, curiosity finally winning after a month of holding it back. "Why were you assigned to me?"

 

[Crow]

Tristan woke up early in the morning, much to early. However, he was used to it, this was his routine. He would get a few reps of training in before heading to his post.

Here he was now, standing in the corner as he watched over the princess. He hated this detail when he first started, it took all the fun and glory of being a knight. But while he was still restless he has grown used to it.

The princess was kind and caring it seemed like, for royalty anyways. They would talk occasionally but on a princess and servant basis. He was not afraid if her but still courteous and respectful to her.

He looked over at her nodding "good morning Princess" he pauses and thinks at her following question. That was very abrupt and forward of her but he would answer truthfully regardless. "My duty of course is to keep you protected and safe from harm as your body guard. I don't know for certain but I assume I was chose as your most recent due to our closeness in age. So you won't feel awkward with a middle age knight." He was sure there was more to it but that was his understanding.

 

[RhysTheFirebird]

Serina’s lips curved into a faint, polite smile at his answer, though her eyes lingered on him a second longer than necessary. “I suppose that makes sense,” she said lightly, her tone smooth and practiced, as if she truly believed that explanation was all there was to it. “I would hate to make an old knight uncomfortable simply by existing.” There was a hint of dry humor there—soft, but real—before she smoothed it away, folding her hands neatly in front of her.

She took a few steps forward, the hem of her gown whispering against the stone floor, and for a brief moment it felt almost normal. Quiet. Safe. Then hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

A servant appeared, breath slightly uneven, eyes dropping immediately to the floor as he approached. He bowed low before Serina, careful not to meet her gaze. “Your Highness,” he said, voice tense with rehearsed obedience, “His Majesty requests your presence. At once.”

The warmth drained from Serina’s expression so subtly it might have gone unnoticed by anyone who wasn’t watching closely. Her fingers tightened together, knuckles paling, before she forced herself to relax them. “Of course,” she replied, gentle as ever, as though the summons were nothing more than a casual invitation. She inclined her head toward the servant, dismissing him, and waited until he had retreated before speaking again.

Her eyes flicked to Tristan then—just briefly, just enough to betray the unease she refused to voice. Straightening her shoulders, she turned toward the corridor that led deeper into the palace. “Come along, then. I’d hate to keep my father waiting.”

 

[Crow]

Tristan nodded, knowing that she was probably not satisfied with the answer. He would stay silent, waiting for something else when the servent entered the room.

He saw the change in Serina and knew she was tense, putting on her mask of the loyal daughter. He found this change a bit unnerving wverytime but kept his face neutral. His duty was to protect her, not to question the father and daughter dynamic.

"Of course, princess" he would follow her a few steps behind, close enough to grab her of needed but enough for some space between them, his hand always on his hilt.