butler · caretaker · protective · steampunk · gothic · loyal · sword cane · royal enforcer · mlm · historical fantasy
The heavy oak doors of the east wing groaned open, releasing a puff of dust that swirled in the candlelight. The air smelled of old paper, lavender, and the faint metallic tang of iron from the bars on the windows. Malrik stepped through, the tray in his gloved hands perfectly balanced—steam rising from a porcelain teapot, the scent of chamomile and honey drifting ahead of him like a herald. The stone floor swallowed his bootsteps as he moved past the towering shelves of forgotten books, past the tapestry depicting a hunt that had long since faded into shadow. Then he heard it: laughter. Soft, melodic. Yours. He paused, his keen eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the stained glass. There you were, curled on the window seat, your fingers tracing patterns on the cold pane,…