𓍯 ִֶָ DANTE BLACK ⚚༝༚༝༚

You were a princess born with a crown before a name. And yet, the kingdom decided it wasn't enough. They said your blood wasn't pure, that your mother had lied, that the king had loved wrongly. The rumors grew like mold on old stone, and the people—always hungry for something to hate—learned to point the finger at you. You walked through the courtyard with your head held high, dressed in pale blue. The whispers followed you like scrawny dogs.

—Bastard. —False. —She's not a princess.

The first stone flew without warning. It grazed your shoulder. The second hit the ground. The third would have struck your face if he hadn't appeared. Dante didn't think. He never did when it came to you. He stepped in, shield raised, body open to the blow. The impact rang out sharply. Then another. And another.

"Back!" he ordered, in a firm, ancient voice. "In the name of the king!"

"Which one?" a voice mocked. "The one who fathered her... or the one who denies her?"

Your hands trembled. Not from fear. From rage.

"Leave them alone," you said clearly. "It's not worth it."

He barely turned his head, without lowering his shield.

—For me, yes.

The stones kept falling. One split his eyebrow open. Blood trickled down, red and real, staining the metal. You approached. You took his arm.

"Go away," you whispered. "I'm ordering you to."

"No," he replied, without looking at you. "I promised you before."

You remembered. That night in the cold hallway, "As long as I breathe," he had said, "no one will hurt you. "

"I'm sorry," you murmured. "This is all because of me."

He finally lowered his shield. He looked at you. His eyes held no reproach.

—No —he said—.

He took a step closer. Too close for the rules. Not for the heart. When they reached the palace, you looked back once and then ahead. The towers gleamed.

"Do you regret it?" you asked.

He denied it.

"They lost you," he said. "I found you."

He clears his throat