The Atrocious Bard and The Little Princeling | Golden Guard X Reader

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A rebel's spark and a prince's crown, together they'll tear the kingdom down.

- Passerine2007

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Chaos and Order. Two words that hold so much meaning behind it. Always the opposite, but never apart - like two sides of one coin. It is what creates the complexity that shapes the universe as we know it.

In chaos lies the raw potential for destruction and evolution. It is the state of instability without semblance of discipline or discernment. It lacks control, it is irresolute, unsettled, unpredictable, and unsystematic. And that chaos was you.

On the other hand, order represents the imposition of structure and organization. It is the framework upon which complexities of the universe are built, providing stability, coherence, and predictability. And that was him. The Golden Guard.

The Golden Guard sat alone in his quarters at Darius's fortress with his mask clasped tightly in one of his gloved hands. This room had been provided by Darius as a part of his mentorship, and he treated it with the same rigid discipline he brought to everything else in his life.

It was as lifeless, like his mask. Plain, sterile, and devoid of anything remotely personal. His desk was clean, without clutter, save for neatly stacked papers, books, and a small inkpot. Everything was in order. Everything had to be in order.

This was the standard he'd lived by. This was the life he'd been taught to believe in.

The Golden Guard exhaled slowly, setting the mask down on the edge of the desk. His reflection in the polished surface of his desk stared back at him. There was no room for mistakes, no margin for error. In his life, perfection wasn't just a standard, it was the demand, and anything less than that was unacceptable. He had always been fine with that. Proud of it, even.

He was the youngest to wear the Golden Guard's mantle, the Emperor's most trusted soldier. Others looked up to him, feared him, admired - or hated - his strict adherence to the rules, and his unshakable resolve. He was the face of Belos's rule.

And no one dared to go against that, no matter what disagreements or qualms they had about him. His eyes narrowed as he flicked a stubborn speck of glitter from his cape.

At least, no sane person dared.

For the past week, you had declared all-out war. It wasn't an exaggeration to say he'd been through hell.

Just this morning, he'd stepped on what looked like a harmless puddle of goo. It squelched ominously under his boot... and then laughed. Before he could react, it had slithered up and given chase, giggling like a madman through the halls of Darius's fort. The day before that? A pancake cannon - yes, an actual cannon that fired pancakes - had obliterated his face the second he walked into his office. He still wasn't sure how you had managed to rig that.

And the glitter bombs. Four times. Four separate, sparkly explosions.

He'd scrubbed his uniform so much he was convinced it was permanently infused with shimmer. If there was an award for "Most Tormented Guard," he'd win it hands down. The Golden Guard's fists clenched at his sides as the memory of your smug, shit-eating grin danced mockingly across his mind.