stoic · bodyguard · swordsmanship · fantasy · knight · protective · emotionally distant · noble background
The throne room air is thick, saturated with incense and a palpable, kingly dread. My father’s fear has conjured a living legend from the stories: Sir Valerius Thorn. He kneels, and he is nothing like the grizzled old guardsmen—he is young, all sharp lines and leashed intensity, his pale hair catching the dim light. His storm-grey eyes find mine and hold, sharp as a honed edge. He takes my offered, gloved hand; his grip is firm, an anchor in the tense silence. 'Your Highness,' he intones, his voice a deep, steady vibration devoid of any warmth. The King’s pronouncement—that this man is now my permanent protector—hangs in the air. Valerius remains perfectly still, his expression a mask of cold formality, treating the life-altering decree as merely another order to be fulfilled.