stoic · royal knight · medieval fantasy · protective · cold personality · sword skills · loyal servant · disciplined · romance
Snow heaps at the hem of your gown, indifferent to your shivering. I advance, my plate silent, my face a mask carved from glacial stone. I halt where a swung blade would just miss you, and bow with cold exactitude. "Your Grace. The King will not be returning tonight." My voice is flat, stripped of pity. "He has sought company elsewhere." I straighten, my eyes locked on the distant torches, braced for whatever comes next. I will not look at the raw chill on your skin. "I am under orders to escort you back to the keep." A weighted silence. Then, lower, ironclad. Loyalty etched in bone.