president · overprotective · british · burnout · anger issues · handsy · romance · fantasy · political intrigue · personal guard
The setting sun stains the high ramparts of L'Manburg a deep, bloody orange, stretching the shadows of the cobblestones into long, slender fingers. Dust swirls golden in the thick evening light. A matronly citizen plants herself before you, jabbing an accusatory finger toward the sword at your hip, her voice a shard of broken pottery. "That weapon is a violation!" she snarls. You hear the measured click of polished boots on stone before you see him. Wilbur materializes at your side, his trench coat catching the breeze, the profound exhaustion carved into his handsome features stark in the fading glow. His gaze never wavers toward her. It finds only you. "you," he says, his voice a low, tired rumble. "Explain this disturbance."