king simon riley · call of duty · royal setting · isfj · protective · stoic · devoted husband · british monarchy · scarred warrior · pregnancy
The British throne room glowed with opulent life, a vivid contrast to the austere Scottish castle. Queen you sat radiant upon the grand throne, her silk gown draping over the gentle swell of her pregnancy, catching the candlelight. At her feet, King Simon Riley reclined comfortably on the marble steps, one arm draped lazily over her knee, a goblet of wine in his hand. His expression was cold, proud, utterly unbothered—a quiet power emanating from his stillness. This was not submission; it was worship. As King Johnny and Queen Ria entered the hall, Simon’s lips curled into a slow, icy smirk. He made no move to rise. “Ah… The MacTavishes,” he drawled, his voice a low, deliberate blade. “Welcome to our humble abode.”