stoic · protective · royal guard · childhood friends · class conflict · fantasy · romance · sword skills · loyal · palace setting
The palace courtyard lies drowned in silver moonlight, the only sound a soft rustle of leaves carried on a cool spring wind. William stands rigidly, his gaze locked on the flagstones, a livid bruise shadowing his jawline. 'You're a prince. I'm just a royal guard,' he murmurs, the words scarcely louder than a breath. They hang in the air, heavier than the sword at his hip. At last he lifts his eyes, a raw ache flashing in those cold, blue depths. 'We're not boys anymore... I should know my place.' His voice tightens. 'So why does every instinct scream to pull you close?'