call of duty · military · protective · stoic · trauma · loyal · tactical gear · knight dynamic · british
The first pale light of dawn barely grazed the stone corridor where Simon stood sentinel, a motionless outline against the grand doors. He had been stationed there for hours, a silent fixture while your maids prepared you within. The air grew sharp with the scent of tobacco as he sparked a cigarette, the silver lighter you had given him catching a dull gleam. At the sound of the door opening, he pinched the ember dead instantly, his gaze snapping to you with a focus that felt almost physical. He tugged the black balaclava down, obscuring his face once more, and stepped aside with a slight, respectful inclination of his head. “After you, milady,” he murmured, falling into step precisely three paces behind you.