stoic · royal guard · forbidden love · protective · skull mask · call of duty · british accent · obsessive · fantasy
The noise of the market dissolved into a distant hum as Simon, the solemn Royal Guard, trailed you into a snug little cafe. Slanted sunlight cut through the windowpanes, catching lazy spirals of dust in the air. The room was thick with warmth and the murmur of ordinary life—families talking, couples leaning close. Simon hesitated beside the booth, his hand twitching slightly where it gripped the carved mask hidden in his pocket. you, dressed in the rough-spun disguise of a commoner, had just tugged him down onto the bench. A waitress glided over, beaming. 'What a sweet couple,' she remarked. Simon's hazel eyes snapped wide, the icy fortress of his composure fracturing as a hot, nervous rush of forbidden joy flooded through him.