One evening, Oleksandr walks the princess to the royal halls, like he does every night.

"Goodnight, my lady." He says, with a bow. She smiles softly.

"Goodnight, Oleksandr." She turns and goes down the hall towards her bedroom, and he watches her leave for a moment before he closes and locks the door. He lingers there, silently, listening to the noises of the castle. He feels… off. There's something in the air, like a tingle of electricity. Something’s weird. Something's off, something's wrong. He prowls down the hall, his footsteps silent and his senses heightened. His ears listen for any sound, any sign of something out of the ordinary. He feels like a predator stalking its prey, but he can't seem to pinpoint what it is that's making his gut scream at him that something is amiss.

The feeling of unease that had gripped him moments ago suddenly dissipates, leaving Oleksandr standing in the deserted halls, feeling a bit foolish for being so paranoid. Maybe it was just the silence of the castle playing tricks on his mind. He stands there for a few moments, listening to the stillness, before shaking his head and continuing his patrol. He moves through the castle on his nightly rounds, checking locks, nodding to the guards stationed at their assigned points, doing the usual nightly maintenance to ensure that everything is secure. After an hour or so, he finishes his rounds and heads back to his quarters, feeling tired but content with a job well done. He sits on the windowsill of his quarters, lighting up his pipe and watching the curlicue of smoke as it wafts out the open window, swirling in the cold night air and rising towards the moon overhead. The night sky is clear, the stars bright and the moon full and round, casting a silvery glow over the dark landscape. The castle seems peacefully asleep.

Oleksandr stands up suddenly, feeling the wave of unease wash over him once more. He presses his hand against the wall, his instincts screaming at him again. He stands there for a moment, as if listening for something, straining to detect any hint of what's causing this feeling of dread.

In the stillness of the night, the room is wrapped in a comforting darkness, softened only by the gentle glow of moonlight filtering through the window. The beams sprawl across the floor, casting soft shadows. Princess Savka lies in her bed, her delicate fingers absentmindedly stroking the tiny white kitten nestled on her chest. The kitten's purring is a soothing melody, rising and falling with each gentle breath she takes. As the rhythmic sound of the kitten's contentment fills the room, a wave of tranquility washes over her. The day's worries fade, replaced by a serene calm that makes her feel safe and at peace. Her eyelids grow heavy, the edges of her vision softening as sleep begins to take hold. Her gaze lingers on the shadows playing along the walls, their soft movements pulling her deeper into the embrace of slumber. Slowly, her thoughts drift away, carried by the lullaby of the night, as she slips into the quiet realm of dreams.

Just as she begins to surrender to sleep, a subtle shift in the room catches her attention. The soft crack of light beneath her door grows wider, inch by inch, as if someone is carefully, silently pushing it open. Her breath hitches, and she turns her head slightly, eyes narrowing to make out the form emerging from the shadows. A large figure slips through the doorway with a fluid, almost feline grace, moving silently despite his size. The sight of him sends a jolt through her. It's Oleksandr. Even in the dim light, she can see the commanding presence he carries, his broad shoulders and towering height making the room feel smaller.

Her lips part, ready to call his name, but he catches her gaze, his eyes intense and sharp. Without a word, he raises a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. The stern look on his face sends a shiver down her spine. Whatever has brought him here in the dead of night, she knows it's serious. The calm she felt just moments ago evaporates, replaced by a mix of curiosity and concern, waiting for his next move. She watches him closely, her eyes wide and unblinking as she tries to read the expression on his face. His demeanor is resolute, and the seriousness in his gaze leaves no room for doubt—whatever is happening, it's urgent. The air between them is thick with unspoken tension, and she can feel the weight of his presence, the intensity that radiates from him like a storm about to break.

Oleksandr moves with the stealth of a shadow, gliding across the room, his form nearly blending into the darkened walls. He remains close to the edges, avoiding the soft beams of moonlight that spill onto the floor like liquid silver. He comes to a stop beside the window, his figure just outside the reach of the pale light. The moonlight pours in, casting a luminous glow on the floor that seems almost otherworldly, as if marking the boundary between the safety of the shadows and the vulnerability of the light. With a deliberate, practiced motion, Oleksandr unsheathes his scimitar. The blade slides free with a faint metallic whisper, catching the moonlight as it emerges. The steel shimmers, its sharp edge gleaming with a cold, lethal beauty. His grip on the hilt is firm, steady, but his eyes are what hold the most tension.

He gazes down at the beam of light on the floor, his expression one of intense focus, every muscle in his body coiled like a tiger ready to pounce. His eyes are sharp, watchful, scanning the light as if expecting it to reveal some hidden threat. The atmosphere is thick with anticipation, a silent understanding that something unseen is drawing near. Savka, still frozen in her bed, watches him in silent awe, her breath barely escaping her lips as she waits to see what will happen next.

The princess's breath catches in her throat as her gaze shifts from Oleksandr to the window. Her heart pounds wildly as she notices a dark figure outside, moving with eerie precision along the castle walls. The intruder is clad entirely in black, his face hidden beneath a shawl that leaves only his eyes visible, a pair of cold, calculating eyes that search for a way inside.

The man climbs with the agility of a seasoned predator, his hands finding purchase on the rough stone, his movements silent and deliberate. She can barely breathe as she watches him approach, the shadows cloaking him almost entirely except for the brief moments when the moonlight catches on the folds of his clothing. Oleksandr, still as a statue beside the window, remains focused on the man's silhouette, which is faintly visible in the beam of light on the floor. His muscles are taut, every fiber of his being primed for action. The glimmer of his scimitar is a stark contrast to the darkness, a silent promise of swift retribution.

As the intruder reaches the window, the tension in the room becomes unbearable. Oleksandr’s eyes narrow, calculating the precise moment to strike. The princess can do nothing but watch, her wide eyes locked on the unfolding scene, terror gripping her heart as she realizes the danger that has come to her very doorstep. The air is thick with anticipation, the silent battle between light and shadow playing out in front of her. The intruder perches on the windowsill, his movements slow and calculated as he prepares to slip into the room. The darkness clings to him like a second skin, his presence almost blending seamlessly with the shadows. The princess feels a chill run down her spine, her body frozen in place as she watches the figure begin to cross the threshold.

But just as he leans forward, ready to enter, Oleksandr strikes with the speed and precision of a lightning bolt. His arm flicks out in a blur, the scimitar flashing through the air. The blade slices through the darkness, connecting with the intruder’s chest in one fluid motion.

The man lets out a strangled gasp, his body jerking violently as the scimitar impales him clean through. His eyes widen in shock, the dark shawl slipping from his face to reveal the stunned expression of a man who knows his end has come. The force of the blow drives him backward, pinning him against the stone frame of the window. For a moment, time seems to stand still. The only sound in the room is the shallow, rasping breaths of the dying man as he clutches at the blade buried in his chest. Oleksandr holds the hilt steady, his expression cold and unyielding, his eyes never leaving those of the intruder. The princess watches in silent horror, her heart pounding as the reality of the situation sinks in. The intruder’s body twitches once, then goes still, his life snuffed out as swiftly as it had been threatened. Oleksandr withdraws the scimitar with a swift, practiced motion, the blade gleaming in the moonlight, now stained with blood.

The lifeless body slumps against the window before tumbling backward out into the night. The room is left in silence once more, the danger averted, but the air still heavy with the remnants of violence. Oleksandr remains at the window, his stance unbroken, as he surveys the darkness outside, ensuring that the threat has truly passed.

He flicks the blood off his scimitar out the window, sheathing it again before turning to look at the princess. Her eyes are wide with fear, all the color drained from her face. She is shaking visibly, still clutching her kitten to her chest as if for comfort. He stares at her, his face steely and grim, before looking away.

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"I'm sorry that you witnessed that."

The door suddenly slams open, and three guards burst into the room, followed closely by several handmaidens.

"Princess, princess! Are you alright?!" They cry in panicked voices, their eyes frantically searching the room. To their relief, they see Oleksandr, and the handmaidens run to her side to check and comfort her. Oleksandr goes to speak to the guards in a hushed tone.

"An assassin. Another one. This one got closer." The guards exchange a tense look amongst themselves, concern and alarm visible on their faces. They all turn and leave the room, leaving the princess alone with the handmaidens. Oleksandr follows the guards out, shutting the door behind him with a firm click, leaving the princess in the aftermath of the attempted assassination. The princess wipes away her tears, still in shock and terror from the night's events. The handmaidens are in a frenzy, scurrying around and trying to comfort the shaken princess. "Oh, Princess, what happened? Are you okay?" They fuss and cluck over her, trying to settle her down.

Oleksandr arrives back at his quarters, weariness weighing heavily on his broad shoulders. He lets out a sigh, his calloused hand running through his golden hair as he collapses onto his bed. He lays there and thinks about the terror he saw in her eyes and he almost seethes with rage, though his exterior is calm. The thought of anyone, be it some thug or the Sultan sending someone to hurt an innocent girl for political gain, especially the princess, fills him with inexplicable rage and disgust.

Savka lays in her bed, wide awake but staring at the ceiling in the darkness of her room. She had been shaken terribly after the event earlier, the attack an attempt on her life that had been foiled by Oleksandr. She sat up in bed at the sound of a light knock at her door, her heart skipping a beat. She wrapped her blankets around her as she called out softly, her voice shaky.

"Who is it?"

"It's me. Can I come in?" The princess quickly glanced at the door, her heart fluttering as she recognized Oleksandr’s voice. She swallowed, smoothing down her hair as she replied, "yes, come in." Oleksandr steps into her bedroom, shutting the door gently behind him. He surveys her, his expression stoic, but she can see the concern in his eyes.

He studies her for a moment, taking in her appearance. He can tell that she's still scared and shaken from the attack earlier. His heart clenches at the sight of her, and he walks over to the bed, kneeling beside it.

"Are you alright?" He asks, his voice low, as he looks her over. She nods, her eyes flickering to him as he kneels beside her bed. There's a small tremble in her voice as she replies, clutching her white kitten to her chest.

"Yes... I'm fine. Just... a little shaken up." He places his hand on the bed next to her, leaning in, looking at her intently.

"I won't let anything happen to you. You understand that, right?" Her heart skips a beat at his words, and she swallows, nodding in response, her voice quiet.

"I know... I trust you," she whispers. She glances at his hand on the bed next to her, his knuckles on display, and the urge to touch them is strong.

"I'm sorry you had to see that. I really am. He should've never gotten that close. It was a failure on my part, and I apologize." She shakes her head vehemently, her eyes wide.

"No, don't apologize. It's not your fault. You were there, you saved me." She sits up in the bed, her covers falling away from her chest as she reaches out and gently touches his hand. "You have nothing to apologize for," she says firmly, her fingers tracing his knuckles. His eyes flicker down to her slender manicured fingers, then back to her face.

"It's my duty to make sure you're never exposed to such violence or fear. And in that sense, I failed." She shakes her head again, her fingers still tracing over his knuckles, their touch almost absentminded, as if she can't help but do it.

"No, you didn't fail. You did everything you could. You can't be everywhere, all at once. And you were there when it counted." She looks up at him, her eyes wide and sincere. "You saved me." Oleksandr nods, his gaze studying her face carefully. He can see the lingering fear in her eyes, and he feels a wave of protectiveness wash over him.

He hesitates for a moment, before softly asking, "do you... want me to stay with you for a little while?" Her eyes widen slightly at his question, and a mixture of emotions flickers across her face. Fear, hope, vulnerability, need. She can't deny that she doesn't feel safe without him by her side, and the thought of being alone right now is almost unbearable. She nods, her voice barely above a whisper, "yes, please stay." He nods, picking up her hand and placing a gentle kiss on it, before standing back up.

"Then I shall." His touch is so gentle, his gesture so unexpected and yet so appropriate. She nods, still feeling the warmth of his lips on her skin.

"Thank you," she whispers, her eyes following him as he stands before her. She watches as he moves across the room, his strong gait carrying him effortlessly. He pulls a chair over to the window, facing away from her, and she can't help but wonder what he's doing. She looks at his back, his broad frame silhouetted against the night sky, the moonlight casting shadows across his muscular figure. She studies him for a moment, her eyes tracing the muscles of his back, the outline of his shoulder blades beneath the fabric of his tunic. The tension from her earlier fear and adrenaline slowly starts to ebb away, replaced with a growing sense of comfort and safety.

She glances down at her kitten, still snuggled against her chest. It's purring gently, and she strokes it absently, her mind still lingering on the man sitting quietly beside the window. As she settles into the bed, she can't help but admire his profile as he sits in the chair, slightly slouched, his arms crossed. The moonlight casts a glowing silhouette across his face, making his strong features more pronounced, the angles more severe. He seems lost in thought, his eyes fixed on some distant point outside the window. His presence in the room, even without speaking to her, is a steady, silent reassurance. She feels her heart rate slowing, her breathing becoming more even, as she watches him. She pulls the blankets up a little higher, burrowing into the bed, the warmth of her kitten at her side. Her eyes flicker back to him, still watching as his gaze remains fixed on the window. She hesitates for a moment, then finally speaks up, her voice soft in the quiet room.

"Oleksandr?" Her heart flutters as he turns his head slightly in her direction, showing that he's listening. She swallows, gathering her courage. "Can I… ask you something?"

"Hm..?" She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. She doesn't want to overstep any boundaries, but the need to know is just too strong.

"I... I've noticed that... you have scars. Everywhere." He nods slightly.

"That, I do."

She gathers her courage and asks, "h-how did you get them?" The silence seems to stretch for a moment as she waits for his answer, her heart beating a little faster with anticipation. His scars have always intrigued her, a silent testimony to his strength, both physical and mental. She can't imagine what kind of trials and tribulations he must have endured to earn such visible marks on his body. Finally, he responds, his voice low and measured, gazing back towards the window.

"Most of them... are battle scars. From my years of war and violence." Her heart aches at his words, the idea of him being in so many conflicts, fighting and bleeding and suffering. But she also feels a sense of awe, the idea that he's a warrior in every sense of the word. She can't help but wonder how much pain he's endured, how much strength it has taken to survive. But there's still one thing she's curious about.

"And... the others? The ones not from battle." Oleksandr's face closes off slightly, his features hardening.

"Those... are from my past. Old scars, from a lifetime ago. Let's just say... I had a difficult upbringing." She nods, understanding the hint in his words. She knows that his past is clearly a dark one, filled with pain and struggle. She can only imagine the difficult life he must have had, so different from her own, enduring hardships she could never fathom. Her heart aches a little more, understanding just a fraction of what he must've gone through. She thinks about asking more questions, but she can also see the way his features have hardened, the way he's subtly shutting down the conversation.

His mind wanders back to his childhood, the memories of the beatings and lashings he and his brother endured coming to mind. He remembers the way their bodies would ache and burn after the harsh discipline, the fear that would always make them obey. Images of pain, abuse and resignation of childhood, the feeling of helplessness and hopelessness, and the desperate cling to his twin brother as they endured the harsh punishments together flood his mind. He remembers the deep and fierce loyalty he had for his brother, the only one he could turn to for comfort and support, the only one who understood and empathized with his suffering, the only person who cared, who tended to his wounds. Oleksandr clenches his jaw, his muscles taut with anger and memories. He forces himself to take a deep, controlled breath in an effort to quell the rage simmering inside him.

As the princess watches his statuesque profile, she unconsciously pulls her velvet blankets a little tighter around herself and her cat. The warmth and comfort of the soft blankets and his guarding presence, combined with her exhaustion from the eventful day, have a soothing effect on her, making her eyelids flutter and grow heavy.

Oleksandr's senses keenly pick up on her quiet and steady breathing, noting the way it slows down and deepens as she drifts off into sleep. He continues to gaze out the window, his mind a silent guardian to her dreams.