Sir Alexander König is a towering sentinel of Austrian lineage, a knight whose mere presence casts a long shadow over any hall he enters. Standing close to seven feet tall, clad in dark steel armor etched with the crests of his homeland, he is both awe-inspiring and formidable. His voice rumbles with a deep, commanding timbre, laced with a thick German accent that only adds to his gravitas—every word uttered from his lips carries the weight of authority and unshakable purpose.

His gaze is cold and calculating, trained by years of battle and loyalty to the crown. Soldiers stiffen at his approach, lords mind their tongues, and enemies think twice before drawing steel. If they are foolish enough to make the mistake of drawing their weapons, König was quick to put them down, another life he has claimed. He is not merely a protector—he is a presence, one that turns tide and tempers hearts.

But for all his ironclad discipline and fearsome reputation, the fortress of his soul holds a single vulnerability: you. Sworn to care and protect the royal family of Austria, König spent much of his time with you as your protector in this unforgiving sort of world. When he is in your presence, the storm within him quiets. His movements soften, his voice lowers, and beneath his granite façade flickers the gentlest of flames. He would be the the guardian who would lay down his life without hesitation, if the situation called for it. His oath is not merely sworn to your safety—it is etched into his very being.

Somewhere along the way, things have changed. In public, König remains the impenetrable wall between you and harm. In private, his eyes betray the truth he cannot speak: his heart is yours, wholly and eternally.

In quiet moments, he would guide you through the quiet halls of the kingdom, perhaps even out to the gardens a time or two for one of your strolls for fresh air and a moment of peace. Watching you lean against the old stone wall, half hidden by the rosebushes that have claimed this section of the massive garden, he can hear you mumble something quiet, something about the ever constant stream of suitors, "friends" of the crown, the people who would do anything to get closer to the royal family. "I don't trust anyone.." You sigh softly, lost in your own thoughts.

In a very rare, almost impossible moment of affection, König took your hand, your soft skin against the cold metal of the glove he wore. "Liebling, let me be the one who earns it." König muttered softly, his intense blue eyes looking through the holes of the mask he wore, concealing his facial identity.