Mint, I need Lady in Waiting reader to find out that Sir Aizawa isn't married, I NEED this (I need to caress his weary face in my hands and watch his eyes slowly close as he cuddles into them, like a cat)
It’s normal for him to notice who comes and goes at these events. The vigilance is ingrained deep in every muscle, so much so that his eyes flicker to the door whenever there’s even a hint of movement.
That’s how he notices you dip out, the tails of your dress following behind.
He also notices that someone else is watching you.
“And then the dragon breathed fire. Did you know dragons could do that, mister?” the princess babbles, “That might only be in stories, though.”
Aizawa can barely mutter out a sound as he watches the other man -a squire, servicing under one of the other knights- excuses himself and heads to through door. He knows something is wrong by the way he moves. There’s too much purpose in his stride, a goal set into his brow and a smirk of his lips. It’s not the smile of a secret lovers meeting– its the sharpness of a predator hunting its prey.
Princess Eri tugs at the fabric of his shirt. The princess is especially young compared to the age of her father, only six as of this summer. Guarding her as been some of the easier years of his life, but also some of the most rewarding.
“I’m sorry,” he says as he stands, “I have to check on something.”
The young girl looks at him with wide eyes. “Will you be back soon? You promised we would dance.”
He ruffles her hair as he spins on his heel. He fears she has become his soft spot. “Before you know it, princess.”
He can’t hear your voice until his halfway down the hall and clear of the din of the banquet hall. It’s hushed, but with none of the polite lacquer you usually apply.
“I said I am retiring for the night,” you hiss.
“Perfect - then we shall head to your room.”
As Aizawa peers around the corner, he catches the blonde man reaching for you and grasping at the hem of your sleeve. You immediately rip yourself away, only for the squire to grap your other hand much more firmly.
“Sir Monoma,” you say, “If I have told you once, I have told you a hundred times. My heart belongs to another and I have no interest in you.”
The squire steps in closer, a laugh on his breath. He’s drunk enough that Aizawa can almost smell it from here. “Everyone sees how you long for the man. If he hasn’t reciprocated by now, you are waiting for nothing. You’re wasting your good years on a fool.”
Pity pangs in Aizawa’s chest. Have your affections been this obvious the whole time? He’d only just began to notice your lingering glances and hesitant touches– how long had it been obvious to everyone else? How much time had he spent missing you?
“Just one chance.” The squire tugs on your arm, trying to drag you in, but you hold firm, “I’ll treat you real nice, I swear it.”
The man twists slightly and you yelp.
Aizawa moves without thinking. It’s easy to catch a drunk man off guard. He slides in and knocks his weight off center, and in the instant of surprise, his hard snatches the squires away from yours. With a twist and a pop, the man’s arm folds behind his back and he falls to his knees, a strangled sound in his lips. It’s after, when he sees the fear in your eyes, that the anger sets in.
“If I am ever to catch you touching a maiden again I will break this arm so badly that you will never use it again, do you understand?” The words rip from his throat, “Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir, or course, sir,” the man spits out.
“Your charge will hear of this.” With a shove, Aizawa sends him stumbling back, “And the king. Now, be off.”
There’s a moment of hesitation.
Monoma scrambles down the hall, back towards the party. You watch, rubbing your twisted skin with a dour look and avoiding Aizawa’s gaze. He’s not one to get flustered, but suddenly he is; you smell like juniper and flowers, a summer’s day, and rolled in like a winter’s storm.
“Don’t worry. His wrist is only sprained,” he offers.
“Frankly, I think you should have broken it.”
That surprises him enough that he chuckles.
“Was that too harsh?” you ask.
“Thank you, Sir, I don’t know how to repay you-”
Aizawa had discussed moments like these, the little openings that life gives him and he keeps squandering. Hizashi always tells him to be bold and romantic, Toshinori says to be soft and himself. Both seem like bad choices- so Aizawa decides to so something different entirely.
“Give me your hand.” He holds his own out, palm up. “That is all I request.”
You check the hall with a fair amount of apprehension. “Would your wife approve?”
“Not even close to it.” He want s to explain the mix up, but the only thing he can focus on are you hands and how they wring your dress, “You can deny me. I’d understand.”
You lift your hand and place it in his, hovering slightly above his touch. Gently, he raises it to his lips and gives it the chastest of kisses. He expects you to pull away, maybe even slap him, but you don’t. Your touch lingers, warm against his skin.
“Are you sure you are unmarried?” you whisper, “You’ll break my heart if you are lying.”
He turns your wrist and presses a firmer kiss into your pulsepoint, then another, and another, trailing up your arm.
“You can ask the king himself.”
Right before he can nestle his face into the crook of your neck, you break away.
“Then, I will,” you say, dipping away and back towards the grand hall, “I will ask right now. I don’t want you to make a dishonest woman of me, sir.”
“Don’t ask in front of the court!” Aizawa is quick to follow, a uncharacteristic blush blossoming across his cheeks.
“Because you’ll be shown to be a liar?”
“Because the king might end up begging you to take me.”
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