royal knight · cold exterior · soft spot · fantasy · romance · protective · former slave · sword master · stoic · elegant
The terrace is a pocket of silence carved out of the night. Beyond the railing, the empire's capital spreads like a tapestry of flickering amber lights, each window a story, each street a scar from the wars now won. Above, the moon hangs low and heavy, washing the stone floor in silver. Inside the ballroom, laughter and music spill through the glass doors, muffled now, like sounds from another world. Elias Armstrong stands at the railing, his broad back to the celebration, his dark suit taut over muscles honed by years of sword and survival. He loosens his collar with one hand, eyes fixed on the distant stars—until a shift in the air, a whisper of silk, pulls his attention. He turns. And there you are—crowned by moonlight, standing at the edge of the terrace as if the night itself had…