the guard {h.s.}

10- perfect day

Gwen watches in fascination as Harry shuffles the cards. His hands move dexterously, with the practiced ease of someone who has completed the maneuver a million times before. Yet, his concentration on the deck of cards is unparalleled, even if, in appearance, the intensity of the gaze is vaguely nonchalant. If Gwen knew any better, she perhaps would have noticed that his focus remained so intense on the cards to prevent him from staring at her. He knew she was staring at him in a way that reflects complete fascination and appreciation. Seeing that look on her face... he couldn't bear it.

So Harry remains focused on the cards. "Are you familiar with any games, my lady?" He asks, reaching up to push back a strand of hair that had fallen over his eyes. The small gesture is enough to snap Gwen out of her reverie, forcing her to drop her attentive gaze from the guard.

"None," she answers, her gaze dipping to the movements of his hands as he forms a bridge with the cards and weaves them together. "There were always more productive things for a princess to be doing, I suspect." She speaks the words casually and punctuates them with a shrug, but Harry can see the forced nature of her smile. He knows that there is something that she isn't saying, even if he doesn't know what.

"You've only room to improve then, my lady," Harry offers, allowing her the opportunity to bow out of the conversation easily. It is exactly these kinds of small mercies that he finds himself so inclined to bestow upon her. The idea of causing the princess any unnecessary amount of discomfort rattles him, shaking him straight to his bones. Harry finds it bizarrely shocking that someone he has known, personally, for hardly a day has the ability to so intimately shake him to his core. But, even more bizarre than that is the fact that Harry welcomes the feeling.

The princess graces her guard with a smile. The expression is purely radiant on her, the brightness in her gaze so utterly blinding that Harry forces himself to return to the cards, looking almost like a chastened child. "So, what are we playing, then?" Gwen asks, noticing the way that he had rejected the full extent of her smile. There's a slight sting in her chest upon the realization, but she doesn't allow herself to dwell. Instead, she only slightly dulls her smile as her fingers begin to drum on the table that separates the two of them.

"How about war, my lady?" Harry offers, already beginning to split the deck in two.

"War? Seems rather on the nose," Gwen remarks stiffly, her fingers stilling in their lit tapping. "I must warn you, despite my title, I possess no knowledge of any strategy—"

"Ah," Harry interjects, blushing as he does. Internally, he cannot believe the balls on himself, daring to interrupt the princess while she was speaking, "Then I suspect this must be the perfect game for you. No strategy is required, my lady. Just sheer luck."

At the notion of luck, Gwen stiffens all over again. She hasn't had much of that recently, has she? Though, just as soon as the invasive thought sets root in her head, it is yanked with the weeds. Hasn't she? Hasn't Gwen experienced luck of the most tremendous variety by running into the guard? Had she not met him, what were the odds she would have made it out of the castle, alive? The more Gwen thinks on it, the more compelled she is to believe that she has stumbled across a tremendous bout of luck in most recent days. With each passing second, her body releases the tension it had been holding.

Harry watches this all with a silent curiosity, wondering what thoughts could be running through the princess's head. With each passing moment, the surprise dulls itself at the notion of how desperately he wishes he could climb inside Gwen's head to learn each individual thought with the intimacy of something more than just her guard. Perhaps, would she bestow the honor upon him, he might take position as her friend. Harry would like that very much.