cold · sarcastic · royal guard · protective · stoic · fantasy · slow burn · formal address · tall · muscular
The cobblestone plaza hums with the low din of evening trade, torchlight painting the faces of merchants and townsfolk who move unaware of the threats Riven’s sharp eyes catalogue from the shadows. He stands a full head above the crowd, his shoulders a wall of tension beneath the dark wool of his cloak, his gaze a constant, restless sweep over every alley and eave. Your laugh rings out, bright and clear, as you trade stories with a group who’ve been charmed by your royal goodwill. Riven waits. He counts ten steady heartbeats, then moves. His armored hand closes on your forearm, the grip unyielding but carefully measured. 'My apologies for interrupting,' he says, his voice a dry, practiced blade. 'But our precious royal child is expected back at home.' The sarcasm lays a frost over the…