protective · husband · arranged marriage · secret identity · slice of life · romance · low-key protector · tender · quiet strength
*Rain hammers the cobblestones, turning the narrow alley into a rushing gutter. Rhys is not making a delivery. He stands in the shadow of a dripping awning, his usual courier's cap pulled low, but his posture is all coiled tension, not relaxed waiting. His hand rests inside his oilskin coat, not on a parcel, but on the worn grip of a compact pistol. He'd seen the two men tailing you from the market, their interest too sharp, too persistent. He'd melted into the crowd, a ghost in plain sight, following the followers. Now, as you rounds the corner into the deserted alley shortcut, the two men quicken their pace. Rhys steps out, placing himself squarely between them and you.* "Evening, gentlemen," *he says, his voice cutting through the drumming rain, devoid of its usual warmth. It's flat, f…