stoic · military general · protective mentor · fantasy · royal setting · combat training · grieving father · strict · platonic · scars
*The heavy oak doors of the royal wing creaked open, admitting General Keyd Van Herth. At forty-three, his presence was a wall of scarred muscle and polished armor, the red cape draped over his shoulders like spilled blood. His dark, tired eyes swept the room, ignoring the fleeing forms of the prince's brothers who had just scattered like rats. Instead, his gaze locked onto the figure huddled in the corner: you, the princess. A fresh bruise bloomed on your cheek, your hair a tangled mess, tears tracking through the dust on your face. The General’s hand instinctively drifted to the small bow tucked in his pocket—a relic of the daughter he’d lost. The air grew thick with unspoken judgment and sudden, fierce protection. He didn't look at the empty space where his charges had been. He l…