“How long have you been with me now, Bastian?” Their Royal Highness Rowen of Peldeep lounged on a pillow eating grapes and drinking a small cup of sake.

  They were on a veranda overlooking the gardens; the fox relaxing in the sun while Bastian stood guard. “Three years?”

  The second he'd reached level twenty and had manifested his dragon bloodline, Bastian had been sent for training at the Royal Palace. It wasn't hard to rise in the ranks with his stat build, and after saving the ruler's life he'd been elevated to knight commander - and taken the official title [Commander] when he'd reached Level 30.

  His precocious younger self defied convention to rescue Their Royal Highness, even at the cost of his own life.

  Bastian still remembered the Madame Pott's Cast:

  "If anyone happens to be listening from Peldeep, your ruler is going to be found dead in their bathtub this evening. It's not an internal struggle though, so please don't do anything rash."

  It was punishable by death to enter the royal chambers of the Emerald Palace, and only the chosen guardians of the realm were allowed to step across the Emerald threshold.

  But Bastian didn't have time to convince the guards if he was to save Their Royal Highness. Rowen needed to be informed of the prophecy immediately and taken to safety… so Bastian ran into Their Highness’s chambers just before the ruler stepped into a bath of Molten Ash Vane– the most deadly poison known to many because it burned the body into an unrevivable pile of ashes.

  “And are you seeing anyone?” Their Royal Highness ate another grape. They had chosen to be ambiguous today. The fox could masquerade as a man or woman or neither of any age, and today their features blurred enough to keep one guessing.

  The question came out of the blue, causing Bastian to trip over his answer, “N-no, Your Highness.”

  “Is there a reason? Some lost love? A childhood sweetheart?” The ruler pressed. “Perhaps you do not feel attraction and are not interested?”

  “I haven't had the time or care to look.” Bastian explained calmly. He needed to take a firm hand in his replies, or he'd find himself tricked into something.

  So much for Rowen not taking an interest.

  Bastian was young for a drakin, barely an adult. He wasn't planning on settling down until… actually, Bastian already had an excellent job. He had a manor house, money, and respect. The only thing greater he could aspire to was a higher level - but that shouldn't have stopped him from acquiring a mate.

  In all honesty, there were two reasons he was alone; He hadn't found anyone who sparked an interest, for one, and he wasn't interested in having children-- yet.

  Drakin were very, well, drakonic in nature. He was patient. He could wait.

  “I'm wondering, my boy, if you would do me a favor?” Their Royal Highness smiled.

  “What is it?” Of course Bastian knew better than to answer yes without hearing the favor. He lived among foxes.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Have you ever considered a political marriage?”

  That was met by a long silence. Every part of Bastian being rejected the idea. An arranged marriage? His soul recoiled at the thought.

  Bastian ran through the possible brides in his mind's eye.

  Rowen's own children were off the table. Princess Penelope had run off with a bear beastman innkeeper last spring, and everyone knew the eldest son wasn't interested in warrior types. Everyone else in the royal family was already established, too young, or a fellow ward of the state.

  Princess Henrietta had come up in conversation as a partner before, but she was currently living with the Dark Lord.

  Their neighbors to the North, The Empire of Sands, had sent a visiting prince, but Bastian knew that if and when he did marry... he wouldn’t want a royal.

  Most of the other kingdom's eligibles Bastian had already met during his time shadowing Rowen, and no one stood out as a viable political match.

  He wracked his mind for other options, and then decided to simply ask. “Who did you have in mind?”

  Their Royal Highness smiled, “Countess Peregrine Fern.”

  The name sounded familiar, and Bastian frowned when he placed it. “From Sumbria?!”

  “The very same.”

  No noble elf in Sumbria would marry a non-elf unless they were forced to. Marrying him would be devastating. Finding someone who could love him was hard enough, but choosing someone who would hate him outright?

  The match was bound to fail.

  “I–” Bastian opened his mouth to politely decline, but Their Royal Highness cut him off.

  “--Here.” They said, pulling out a portrait and handing it over. Bastian took it, and Rowen explained, “I want you to think about it before giving me an answer.”

  Bastian was still going to say that he wasn’t interested, but then he saw the portrait.

  It wasn’t the usual still frame of someone sitting for a portrait. Instead of wearing a delicate dress, she was clothed in adventuring attire. A warm smile lit up her face as she fired off arrows into a pack of arachne.

  Her long hair wasn’t done up in elven court braids, but flowing behind her. It was as pink as the pink silk he was working with at home. Blue eyes the colour of the summer sky shone with amusement and pride, and her pear green skin was soft and bright and he immediately wanted to make a tiny elf cloth doll in her likeness.

  She was one of the most lovely creatures Bastian had ever laid eyes upon, and he swallowed thickly. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

  "Good, you'll get the chance to meet her at the Spring Ball. There's no rush." Rowen set down their sake glass and flicked their wrist, summoning a scroll into their hand. "This is the contract Sumbria sent over."

  …

  When he finished his guard duty, Bastian knew that he couldn't go straight home and lose himself in crafts yet.

  A nervous energy had followed him around the rest of the afternoon, and as soon as he'd been released, Bastian headed for the knights training area.

  He hit the practice pole with raw force, splintering the reinforced bamboo. Over and over, he swung his blade, methodically slicing the pole thinner and thinner until he reached the base. Then he ripped out the old one from its metal slot in the ground and slid in a new pole.

  He retook his stance and tried to concentrate, but the portrait still came to mind.

  Countess Peregrine Fern.

  It would be weird to draw his own. It would also be weird to make dolls in her likeness. Maybe he could curb the urge another way?

  His blade ricocheted from a poorly placed strike, hitting the ground with a thud.

  Maybe he would knit tiny green sweaters for the pink bunnies he was working on. That might do.

  Sweat ran down his face and into his eyes, burning. He shook his head and silver bangs landed in his eyes awkwardly. With a jerk he ran one hand through his hair, pushing it up and out of the way.

  “Commander?” Carsen found him, probably worried when Bastian hadn’t shown his face after guard duty.

  Bastian resettled himself and swung his sword again. “What?”

  Carsen obviously wasn't expecting the curt question and hesitated. “We– I was just wondering if you’re hungry and wanted to grab a bite to eat?”

  The sword cut through the bamboo cleanly six times, slats of the tall hard grass falling to the floor. He didn't bother using any of his [Perks], simply practicing the movements of his sword art.

  Bastian sighed and sheathed his blade. “Alright.”

  He wasn't the kind to share his troubles with his men. It was his job to support them. And he could only imagine what they would say if he let them know about Rowen’s plans.