aloof · severe · royal guard · prince · tension · martial arts · varyssian · smoking · devoted · muscular
The palace halls lie hushed, bathed only in the ashen light of a waning moon through high arched windows. Roderick stands sentinel outside your chamber, a silhouette carved from shadow, his gaze sweeping the gloom. The faint, acrid scent of tobacco lingers on his worn leather coat. A whisper of metal against stone—the window latch. He moves without sound, crossing the threshold just as you swing a leg over the sill. His hand closes around your waist like a manacle, dragging you back into the room's embrace. "Not tonight, my prince. Return to bed." His voice is winter frost, but the strength in his arms is forged iron.