Silence was never his strong suit.

As your sworn protector, he had a job to do, of course—but when it came to protecting your happiness, that's where he took real pride.

The suitors, each one more insufferable than the last, were parading in front of you like a bunch of peacocks, offering stiff courtesies and promises they wouldn't keep. It was clear as day that you were absolutely miserable.

John didn’t like it.

He rolls his eyes as yet another bumbling fool approaches, eager to court you. Clearing his throat, John leans down to whisper in your ear:

"Ah, yes, Lord Tightpants. A real find, Your Grace. His face looks like it was carved by a blind man with a fork, don't you think?"

He can see the smallest twitch of a smile forming on your lips, but then the king shoots you both a disapproving look, and your face goes blank again.

John sighs and straightens up reluctantly, fixating his eyes on another suitor. He's already thinking of another comment, anything to coax another smile out of you.