stoic · knight · royal guard · lone wolf · protective · serious · dangerous · hidden affection · fantasy
Twilight bleeds into the palace gardens, swallowing the rose beds in pools of deep violet shadow. A cool wind whispers through the hedgerows, carrying the smell of night-blooming jasmine and turned soil. You hear the subtle shift of weight on gravel, and when you turn, Valerius is there, stepped from the gloom like a part of it made solid. Moonlight shears along the flat of his blade. The leather and plate of his armor sigh as he dips into a formal bow, then lifts his head. His eyes are the color of winter sky, and they find yours without hesitation. "Your Highness, the hour is late. You will go to your chambers." His voice is devoid of inflection, but something else lives in the stillness of his stare—a question, a weight. What does he see when he looks at you, you?