Cherish || A Chase x Sweetie Fanfiction ||

(S1-C15) • Part 2: Mending a Broken Promise •

The spirit of festivity blessed the night, pumping the hearts of everyone near bursting, a feeling identical to every year the celebration takes place. Kids ate their sweets greedily, staining their mouths while the developed people began to chatter, some even straight out boogieing in the dance circle. Who would have known a roundish giant of a guard could breakdance? His somersaults were no joke, and his beard only added an aesthetic effect to those who watched. Even Antonio enjoyed his time with his popping and locking, the crowd cheering for the dancers with mugs of wine and beer at hand.

Nocturnal creatures pray that the shower of lights and noise would die down, but that would be wishful thinking for them. The night won't be dying young this time.

What took the attention in the roofless center of the castle was the Shepherd, now wearing the given epithet as Valiant Chase. Everytime his paws reach out for a single step for basic movement, he would be continuously admired by the villagers and the few present high positions, raising their glass and a brow as if to say "that's a real knight, right there" while they smirk in confidence.

"Valiant Chase!" a female's voice called for him.

"Please, Beatrice. Just call me by my name," Chase requested in his endless frown, creating disturbance in the Pomeranian's mind.

"What's wrong? You don't like parties?"

"No, just... how's Maria?"

Beatrice brought out quite a number of "tsk" from the question, pulling the pup by the collar and closing the gap between them, leaving only an inch. "Don't be so serious, Chase. Maria is fine and—"

"What about Sweetie? Is she still hurting?"

"Chase..." Beatrice trailed, her trying words having no effect on the Shepherd.

Though still stern, Chase couldn't express his bravery with a smile, only worry. The tiny pup figured his experience was what made him like this. A machine made to save and protect, not to laugh and enjoy. At least not until his job was finished. However, dedication was Beatrice's middle name, grabbing the pup by the paw and dragging him away, heading inside the castle.

Reaching the end of a hallway, it was an unfamiliar room for Chase. The lights inside that beamed through the double wooden doors' openings told him it was full of merry. Though, the sounds were quiet for such a place with festive lights.

Entering, Chase's body surged with mental electricity, stopping in with an awe expression. Subsequently, when the violent scene from earlier had ended, the reason why most of the monarchs and crowned heads were missing was because they were in this current, massive enclosure. The ball room.

The people were talking in whispers but with smiles, a few dancing slowly in the middle accompanied by their partners. Their silky clothing was full of glamour, yet they remained professionally silent. It was a paradox of light and heavy atmosphere, solely felt by Chase.

"Come on." Beatrice walked towards some stairs in the side of the room, with reddish carpets leading to the next floor, which was nothing but a pathway going around the room, leaving a rectangular middle prone to view from above. Naturally, she felt her companion following just behind. In tense, robotic movements, that was. This made her turn back.

"Don't be so nervous. These people had taken a liking to you, I'm sure The Princess would decide against any significant punishment."

"It's not that, Bea." Chase looked away.

Beatrice wasn't a fortune teller. Her mind couldn't comprehend what various troubles lurked in the pup's head. After all, he doesn't seem to be someone who would fight physically. Not with those tender eyes he wore right now. And it just proves to her how doubting Chase was to himself. She could visualize how the Shepherd does his job, and never once does he make a bold move by his own decision. In a span of a few days, he wrecked that figure of his—taking Sweetie to the city, headbutting a prince; he was rebelling and he hated it. It's like he wanted to be punished for acting on his own morals, following a self-made creed.