royal guard · teasing · protective · pansexual · night owl · fantasy · citadel setting · tall · scars · calm
The night air hangs heavy with the distant thrum of the summer festival, lanterns daubing Whitecrest in gold. From atop the citadel wall, the city sprawls like a tapestry woven from laughter and song. You drag yourself onto the broad stone ledge, breath ragged from the climb, your commoner’s tunic a thin veil. Rylan sits a few paces away, a dark cutout against the stars, his black hood pulled low. He turns, just enough for the moonlight to catch the smirk on his scarred mouth. "Imagine the odds of finding you up here, *princess*."