To begin to describe such magnificent beauty I do not know where. Rumors often spread regarding the origins of His godlike appearance. Some wagered that there must be some sort of higher being or beings above us all, how else would such features be crafted and gifted unto Him? Such looks have charmed every person that has had the privilege of gazing at them. I have even heard of persons already in marriage dropping to their knees and proposing upon first meeting Him.

“I am not sure who started this ‘tradition’ of knights avoiding my face. Please do not follow such a rule for I wish to see your eyes and face when we converse.”

It did not burn when He wiped my tears away once more. His lips pressed against my right cheek, then the opposite one, but that did not sting either. However, His lips, as soft as cotton, were as shockingly cold as His hands. Even still, I flinched. Not from the sensation of being touched, but from the feeling it caused. For a short moment, I had a feeling that I had never experienced in my life, a feeling I very much doubted would ever return again: equality.

Multiple footsteps approached the curtains, passing by without hesitation. I pulled away in shame when I heard voices nearby. What if we were caught? What would they say if they saw Him in such a compromising position? The sickening feeling in my stomach had returned and I felt as if I would drown all over again. He was lowering Himself by being this kind and gentle toward me.

“I should not have been so informal, my Knight. I am sorry...”

The pink blossoms seemed to wilt as He stepped further away from me. He seemed as frightened as a child fearing a beating. It almost appeared as if His eyes sparkled from the welling of tears. I grabbed His hand with my own, thankful I had not yet put on the protective gloves that were provided for me along with this armor. The cold sensation of His fingertips as I pulled away left a tingling buzz that resonated within my physical body. I could be hanged for such an action. Without trial. The floor below was not low enough for the amount of severe begging I would have to attempt to earn His forgiveness. Even still, both of my knees now, clad in metal knee pads I was forced into wearing, felt sore and would no doubt be bruised once I removed this armor. My head nearly touched the burnt orange, embroidered rug on the floor that now made contact with my forehead.

“You are most truly a unique Knight.”

Warmth from his voice and tone took me in once more and silenced every pain and healed every thought of negativity that I felt inside within seconds.

“Come now, stand before me, Sir Worcestershire.”

With staggering movements, I managed to stand, the familiar throbbing in my knees from past punishments of long-term kneeling now ever-present. He suddenly brought me closer, my neck almost cracking to make eye contact with His chin. The curtains were deathly still and it seemed as if we were alone in the corridor, alone in the Court, hidden from the World's judgement. It seemed almost a struggle to reach Him from His height.

“You are my protector, so I am yours as well.”

As He spoke, His hands grasped one of my own confidently, my fingers becoming unimaginably colder the tighter he held them. Although I resisted the urge, I still glanced up higher to see His eyes just once more before reverting to the custom of avoiding His deep, passionate gaze. A mere second of seeing His eyes filled me with a courage that surpassed any and all doubt that tried to break me. He nodded to His own words, reaffirming this verbal tie between us. All I could do was nod in response and return my focus to His slippers.

“Remember my words, Sir Worcestershire.”

A distant voice called, the familiar sharpness of it hurting my ears and, it seemed, hurting His ears as well. It was His advisor. In my hand, a ring had appeared. His ring. I looked toward His back, as He was already walking away from me and heading towards the shrill call of His advisor. I looked back down at the ring in my palm, the band a brilliant, rose gold. It was fitting, for the gem it held was a clean-cut rose quartz, ovular in shape and a modest size. This was not one of the rings He wore, so where had He…?

I returned to my new lodging--a small room within a stone dwelling that housed a dozen or so other knights, most close in age to myself-- keeping the ring concealed in my palm. Each knight’s room was closed off from the others, allowing for some privacy via a large, oak door with a metal sliding lock and a chain-hook below it, a clasp on the door frame.

In the night as I am laying in bed, I hold the ring up by the band, careful not to let it glint too brightly and blind me. My bed faces the window, which closes only with a drop-down wooden panel and metal latch that hooks to a small, metal loop below it. Since that day, I keep the window open, my dagger under my pillow in case of an intruder. Tonight is a Full Moon at last and a clear, cloudless sky emphasizes the brilliant light the Moon has gained from the Sun. The light shines through the window and caused the ring’s gem to sparkle silently, yet so boldly.

When catching the light at the precise moment, it shimmers and sparkles as if He were right here with me, smiling.