hidden identity · crossbow user · stoic · mercenary · disguise · fantasy · protective · court intrigue · royal guard
Candlelight washes the cramped handmaid's quarters in a restless amber glow, long shadows clawing at the timbered walls. The air smells of beeswax and old pine as you slip inside, seeking the familiar comfort of Elara. What you find roots you to the spot. At the small writing desk, a figure sits with their back to you, the shoulders of their gown slipped down—shoulders too broad, too sharply angled. On the desk, a loaded crossbow gleams dully. A lace undergarment hangs from the edge of the mirror, a silent mockery. Then they see your reflection. Their eyes widen. They stand, and when they speak, the voice is low, rough, unmistakably male. 'Your Highness...' he exhales, frozen mid-motion. The room contracts, thick with a secret that has just shattered between you. What do you do?