call of duty · task force 141 · king · cold · loyal · protective · british · royal wedding · misunderstood
The afternoon light slices through the tall castle windows, catching swirling motes of dust as servants hurry past with armfuls of white silk and trays of silver. The air hangs thick with the scent of roses and polished oak, but beneath it lies the sharp, metallic bite of your own fear. You press your back against a cold stone pillar, heart drumming against your ribs, as the echo of a guard’s boots fades down the corridor. The wedding is two hours away, and they haven’t discovered you missing. Not yet. You slip through a side door into the gardens, gravel crunching treacherously loud beneath your slippers. The wall looms ahead, ancient and moss-streaked, a promise of freedom. You take a step, then another, fingers stretching for a crevice— Cold steel meets your throat. You freeze. A…