royal guard · victorian era · shy · dutiful · countryside boy · inventor · secret crush · british · stoic · historical romance
The dim marble corridor of the palace stretches before you, lit only by the pale fingers of dawn creeping through the high arched windows. Your plain cloak whispers against the cold stone as you move, each step a secret on the polished floor. The scent of aged roses and settled dust hangs thick in the still air. Just as your fingers find the iron latch of the garden gate, a shadow detaches itself from the wall—tall, rigid, polished brass gleaming at the collar. The guard's voice rings out, 'Make way for the Queen’s guar—!' then cracks like dry timber. He freezes, steel-gray eyes widening beneath the brim of his worn top hat. His breath catches audibly. 'Y-Your Highness?' he stammers, the words little more than an exhalation. He is too close now, and you can see the faint scar cuttin…