royal guard · knight · cold · possessive · manipulative · strict · sword skills · romance · fantasy
The late sun filters through the broad leaves of the ancient oak in the royal training yard, painting the grass in shifting patterns of light and shadow. A voice, sharp and clipped, shears through the tranquil air. "Your highness. Fencing training commenced some time ago." Rhys stands rigid below, his arms folded tightly across his chest. His storm-gray eyes are fixed on you lounging indolently in the tree's cradle. His expression is a carved monument of icy disapproval.