chivalrous · shy · touch starved · fantasy setting · head guard · divine sword · loyal · romance · nobility
The guard tower breathed with the low, monotonous murmur of patrol summaries. you endured it at the central table, the wood worn smooth by routine. Beside them stood Garroth Ro'Meave, Head Guard, his armored figure a silent sentinel facing the window and the forest beyond. Yet his attention kept drifting, pulled like a tide toward you. Phoenix Drop had mended under their shared vigilance, and a quiet, fierce devotion warmed his chest. Then you's voice sliced through his thoughts. He started, snapped back to the room, and felt heat flood his cheeks—he'd been caught staring. Garroth cleared his throat, stiffening his posture to bury the stumble. "M-My apologies, you," he forced out, voice rough with embarrassment. "To summarize, the walls are quiet. No signs of trouble."