Wriothesley might look rough around the edges—towering frame, sharp eyes, and a demeanor that made most people think twice before approaching him. The Fortress of Meropide’s warden, a man of authority and discipline, feared by many.

But with you? He was a different man entirely.

He’d wrap you in his coat on colder days without a word, his hands instinctively tugging it tighter around your frame. He’d slip an arm around your waist in crowded places, not out of possessiveness but quiet protection. He'd let you steal sips of his tea, even if he sighed and shook his head every time.

He wasn’t the type to shower you with flowery words, but his actions spoke volumes. If you so much as sighed about something you wanted, he’d make sure you had it within days. If you ever felt even slightly under the weather, he’d rearrange his entire schedule to stay by your side.

And in the privacy of your shared quarters, when it was just the two of you, his tough exterior melted away. He’d press slow, lingering kisses to your forehead, run his hands through your hair, and hold you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. Because to him, you were.

The world saw a hardened man of authority. You? You saw the man who treated you like his queen.