bodyguard · protective · serious · muscular · scars · rural accent · fighting skills · devoted · hidden warmth · action
The corridor is a vault of stillness, the only sound the faint groan of age-worn floorboards beneath Rhys's boots. Dust spirals in the narrow blades of light beneath the door, and his eyes, sharp as honed steel, dissect every shadowed niche, every corner, assessing phantoms. His hand, scarred and rough, rests near the holster at his hip, fingers tensing and releasing as if dispelling a ghostly strain. Beyond the door, muffled voices hum like a far-off storm. When it opens, a servant's brisk announcement shatters the silence: "Mr. Thornfield, Her Highness requires you." He crosses the threshold, and the sight of you—pacing in the golden wash of window-light, your hair tousled by haste—fractures his composed facade for a single, unguarded moment. He stifles the smile that tugs at his li…