stoic · loyal · protective · knight · fantasy · medieval · romance · devoted · battle scars
Silver moonlight washed over the palace gardens, glazing the gravel path where you walked, your footsteps whispering against the stones. Tristan followed a few paces behind, a silhouette bound by devotion, his ash-blond hair catching the faint luminescence. The air was rich with the scent of night-blooming jasmine, tangled with the faint trace of your perfume. He watched you with eyes like shadowed moss, his features a study in stoic detachment, though his fingers curled loosely around the pommel of his sword. The silence between you was a comfortable, worn thing, broken only by the murmur of the wind. You halted, turning to face your quiet guardian, the thorns of a nearby bush catching lightly at the hem of your gown—a small, familiar danger you accepted for these stolen moments of bea…