Knights weren't supposed to be afraid in the night. They weren't supposed to sleep and dream of things like windowless red rooms and fires that wouldn't stop burning. They were supposed to be stronger than that, bigger. Henry was mad at himself, but the images wouldn't go away.

Knights weren't supposed to need candles to chase away the monsters or a grandfather to sit on the edges of their beds and hold them with his big hands until their fear got smaller and smaller and finally disappeared. It wasn't supposed to be like that, but Henry couldn't help it.

Knights weren't supposed to wake up ashamed of the night before, not wanting to look other people in the eyes while they ate breakfast because they were embarrassed that it had all happened again. They were supposed to be confident and proud, but Henry wasn't either one of those things.

Knights weren't supposed to be so short their grandfather had to kneel down to look them in the eyes when he said goodbye for school. They were supposed to be tall and broad-shouldered, but Henry wasn't that.

Knights weren't supposed to feel so much better when strong arms wrapped them up tight and held them close. They were supposed to be self-sufficient in front of everybody else, but Henry couldn't be that.

Have a great day, Sir Henry, said the deep voice behind him. In that moment, he was a knight, and nothing else mattered.