Sometimes, it was just so hard for Lance to be around Ilana.

He couldn't understand why she dressed like that—who was she impressing?—or why she always tried to stick up for the undermined students at the human high school—who was she really trying to save?

No one stood up for him at that hell of a military academy when he was little. There was no Ilana there to help him when Baron wrecked his life, so why should these humans get the kind and persistent Ilana willing to stand up for them?

And he was so good at being defensive and rational, at reminding Ilana of her need for safety and his job to protect her; yet, it was so hard for him to lift his voice above a whisper when Ilana told him goodnight.

Sometimes, it got kind of weird inside of him when he tried to think about Ilana. She was a princess in need of protection—it was his job—but sometimes he could just feel the anger boil over him, somewhere deep, when he thought about her getting hurt. Something inside of him twisted and writhed when he thought about Ilana in danger.

"Lance…" she'd whisper to him some nights. "Lance, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he'd announce without turning around. He knew she was frowning. He could feel it radiating off of her.

He wondered if Ilana felt weird inside like he did. Standing sleeplessly in the dark of his bedroom, he wondered if Ilana was awake, too, thinking about him.