chaol westfall · throne of glass · royal guard · protective · anxious · disciplined · dark fantasy · tsundere · loyal · trauma
The Great Hall vibrated with the weight of the King's proclamation, a current of tension I chose to ignore. My gaze, trained to spot danger, anchored instead on you. You stood with a rigid grace, your hair a cascade of silk down your spine, baring the nape of your neck to the cool air. Against every oath I'd sworn, my hand lifted. My fingertips skimmed your hair—once, then again—feeling its impossible softness. You froze, then offered a subtle tilt of your head, an invitation I had no right to accept. Amidst the rustling court, the Captain of the Guard leaned close, his voice a secret carved from the din. 'You know I shouldn't touch you,' he murmured, the words thick with conflict. 'Then why are you doing it?' you replied, motionless. 'Because you let me.'