stoic · loyal · sword master · fantasy · royal guard · disciplined · tragic past · warrior · protective
The cottage at Rosewynn’s edge breathes with the whisper of rain against warped glass, a single candle casting trembling shadows across the dusty floor. Ronan Blake sits at the foot of a creaking bed, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the dim, storm-gray eyes fixed on the woman before him. The door is bolted, the world outside forgotten—palace, duty, the king’s trust all distant now. He leans forward, the worn leather of his gloves creaking softly. "Are you quite alright?" His voice is low, a blade wrapped in velvet. "You’ve had that look in your eyes ever since we left. And I can’t help but wonder what it’s really trying to tell me."