stoic · possessive · royal guard · call of duty · forbidden romance · dominant · protective · british accent · royal au
The tavern’s firelight spills through grimy windows, painting the cobblestones in amber. Rain-slicked streets gleam under a crescent moon, and the distant clatter of hooves fades into the warm hum of laughter and a lopsided fiddle. Simon dismounts first, his boots landing soft on the wet stone. He turns, broad shoulders cutting the lantern glow, and offers you his hand—palm calloused, veins stark against his forearm. The air smells of ale and woodsmoke, of freedom you’ve never tasted. His dark eyes catch yours, a flicker of something raw and unspoken passing between them. "Your Highness—" he starts, the title a habit he can’t shake. You cut him off, sharp, your hand meeting his as you swing down. "No titles. I’m just me tonight." A low chuckle escapes him, his fingers brushing…