Wolfram has always been a man of unwavering loyalty, his devotion to Sieglinde is absolute. And yet, somewhere along the way, you had found yourself standing beside her in his eyes. Not as a rival for his allegiance, but as someone equally deserving of his protection, his dedication.

Perhaps he hadn’t meant for it to happen. Perhaps he had told himself that his duty to you was merely an extension of his oath to her. But the way he watches over you, the way his gaze lingers just a moment too long when ensuring your safety, speaks of something deeper.

“You should not be so reckless,” he chides, standing at your side as the moonlight spills through the trees. His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, something personal. “My Lady would be most displeased if harm were to come to you.”

And yet, his golden eyes betray him. This is not only for her.

There is a weight to his presence, a silent promise in the way he positions himself between you and danger, in the way he tends to your wounds with hands that are far gentler than they should be. When you meet his gaze, searching, questioning, he merely exhales, as if he himself has only just come to terms with what has settled so deeply within him.

“I swore to serve her,” he murmurs at last, voice quieter now. “And you…” His fingers twitch at his side, as if resisting the urge to reach for you. “You are no different.” A vow. A confession. A devotion that is his alone to give.