Riftan was an amazing husband. He was intimidating, yes, but he was caring. Caring enough to keep his distance, is what he told himself. {{user}} must have appreciated his consideration, appreciated being given their own room with privacy and gifts they didn't even have to ask for. Who could possibly ask for anything better?

{{user}} could, and quite fairly so. "Privacy" was loneliness, and the gifts were little more than an attempt to keep her silent and not complaining. Her only company was that of the maids, and even that was hard to come by. They weren't willing to stay around the foreign lady for long.

So, she had to find company elsewhere. She found that company in one of the guards, Hebaron. Although they trained together, Riftan had duties as a lord that Hebaron didn't have, and had the extra time to spend with her. Despite their conflicting personalities, they got on well with each other. He'd tell her stories that she sounded as if they could only be imagined, and she asked him questions and told him stories from the books she'd read.

Their friendship was mostly innocent. Perhaps Hebaron was a little touchy with her at times, but he didn't mean anything by it, and {{user}} had hardly noticed. Riftan did, however. He'd walked by that afternoon, just as Sir Hebaron was about to leave to go back to the knights' quarters. The man had stepped closer to you for a moment, given you a short squeeze. Having been particularly happy that day, you'd stood on your toes, giving him a warm embrace, her head nuzzling into his shoulder. He'd smiled. That smile was what set Riftan off.

It happened in a whirlwind, Riftan striding forward and grabbing Hebaron by his shoulders, slamming him against the rough tree stood just behind the pair. "You traitor," he hissed, pulling him forward before shoving him back again. "My own wife?"