Knox

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The wind whistled and danced with the flowers around the grounds. The flowers bent down against the force, their petals getting ripped off slowly until many were left bald. The petals floated and swirled in the air around Knox. He reached up to pluck a rose petal out of the air. It was soft, smooth and smelt quite fragrant. He hardly heard the soft footfalls approaching his station until they got close. He straightened up, rolling his shoulders back, looking straight ahead. His jaw clenched as he glanced to see whom it was. The princess strolled by, clearly with a mission. She looked at him, and his gaze snapped to the tree straight ahead, praying that she didn't see his traveling gaze. The princess, unlike the older princes, had always been a lovely person to the guards, often bringing them leftover scones among other breakfast items. Most of the guards would fall over each other for a taste of the scones, but Knox had always turned the young miss down. He wasn't about to eat the palace's food, after all, he had access to lunch. He'd much prefer if those food items had been passed out among the lesser folks that ate only a few times a week.

The man's posture relaxed, and he closed his blue eyes as he leaned against the cool rock that made up the estate. The sun felt so nice this morning, fighting against the breeze, bringing heat to Knox's face. He sighed and leaned his head back as well, tilting his face towards the warm rays. The next pair of shoes that the man heard he knew well. Ange was a frequent flyer through the area, and only the rookie guards didn't know her footfalls. He turned to look at her, silently questioning why she stood there with a stern look on her face, arms behind her back like a drill Sargent. “Yes Ma'am, how may I help?” Knox questioned, meeting her gaze with his own stern glare. “The prince, he is requesting you.” Knox's jaw clenched. The older two prince's often requested his presence just to torture him with boredom while playing chess, or polishing their shoes because for whatever reason the maids couldn't and it was a threat to their safety. “May I ask what prince is requesting my services?” Ange nodded. It was slight, but Knox caught it. “Prince Arno.” The surprise was painted all over the man's face.

He followed Anges silently, mind racing with a million thoughts. Was everything alright? He'd set him off fifteen minutes earlier to his family and now he was being requested. His face was unreadable, cold and bored, but he truly was worried. Has something happened? Ange held the large wooden doors open for Knox as the guard stepped in. He bowed to the prince, swept away at the sheer size of the man's quarters. He couldn't help his wandering gaze, mouth agape ever so slightly. His chambers were the size of the house he and five siblings had been raised in. “Thank you Ange.” He dipped his head to her before straightening, hands clasped behind his back, sword at his side right in reach in case he needed it. The doors closed and Knox heard the lock click. A lock on the door, he almost went over to admire it. He'd never had any sort of door with a lock on it, nor been in a room so warm. The warmth engulfed him, and Knox found himself tugging at his collar, trying to breathe easier.

He'd been waiting for the prince to speak, but when the man remained quiet, leaving the guard standing there like a wax figure, Knox decided to talk first. It was against the guards rules, but so was standing in a prince's chambers without Anges or another guard. It was funny, he'd never broken a rule before this. “Is everything alright your highness?” He hadn't moved since he'd come into the room, feeling unusually exposed with his back to the large doors. His heart melted as the Prince turned. His face… his lovely sweet face. Who'd done such a thing? A red mark such of that was something Knox often sported as a child, but it didn't look nearly as good on Arno as it did Knox. He didn't dare ask any more questions, but if this was about him running off, Knox did see such a big deal. He knew Arno had been a decently behaved teenager in the terms of manners, and at some point they had to rebel. He'd watched all of his siblings go through that phase.

The guard stepped closer, taking ahold of the man's hand and pulling it away from the mark to get a better look at it. It wasn't bleeding, so that was a good sign. Knox knew this hand however. It was a very special hand, a very recognizable hand. He hadn't ever seen anyone with such a hand as the kings. It was a shorthand, with rather sausage-like fingers that had always made Knox miss the homemade sausage his mother made every Sunday. He swallowed, falling back into line, waiting for the prince to speak. He looked like a disaster, and the wafting smells of sweat among other things came from the man's bed. When was the last time he'd had his sheets changed? He was half tempted to do it himself, after all, the guards were responsible for the changing and washing of their own sheets and clothes. Upon realizing that Knox was in the Prince's space, he took a step back, still eyeing the mark on his face before his gaze fell down to the floor.