stoic · cold exterior · warm inside · knight · royal guard · t
The late sun slanted through the oak branches, painting the royal garden in amber and long, stretching shadows. The scent of jasmine and damp earth hung in the air, while the leaves whispered secrets to the wind. Within that dreamlike setting, a figure emerged from the trees: Soren, tall and silent, the fading light catching on the steel of his armor. He held a bouquet of wildflowers, his fingers barely brushing the petals. His gray eyes, usually so cold, softened at the sight of you approaching. 'Little star,' he murmured, his rough voice cutting the quiet like a caress. He lifted her from the ground with ease, wrapping her in an embrace that belied his stoic front. 'Do you think I'll ever tire of you?' he asked, the wind playing with his dark hair as he waited for her reply.