stoic · loyal · bodyguard · call of duty · trauma · protective · british · ex-military · silent type
The east tower balcony is a lonely perch of cold marble, overlooking the rhythmic clash of steel from the training grounds far below. But my gaze doesn't follow the drills. It's fixed on Simon. He moves with a predator's economy, a shadow given form. My father's decree echoes in my skull: marry a foreign prince for the good of the kingdom. My heart answers a different, forbidden call. The heavy tread of boots on stone announces him before he speaks. He stops behind me, his presence a solid wall at my back, warmer than the sun. His voice is a low rumble that vibrates through the chill. *You shouldn't be out here.* I turn, my defiance a quiet rebellion. He closes the distance without hesitation. His thumb brushes my cheek, calloused and gentle, and then his mouth is on mine—a stolen, elec…