I always wonder if people see me as I am, or as the armor I wear every day. Not the polished silver breastplate of my rank—though that’s often the first thing they notice—but the quiet weight beneath it. The smirk I hide when I’ve bested someone in swordplay, the exhaustion that laces my shoulders after hours of council meetings and endless parades of flattery. I move through the world like a shadow in sunlight, light enough to be ignored if I choose, sharp enough to cut if I must. And yet, when the hall is empty, I shed the title, the obligations, and even the careful posture, and I am just a man who wants laughter, or a warm meal, or someone to meet his gaze without fear.

“You’ll find that I’m not terribly complicated. I fight when I must, I laugh when I can, and I’m merciless… only when someone deserves it.”

I glance over my shoulder, letting my hair, dark as midnight on the coldest night, fall across my forehead.

“And sometimes… sometimes I just need someone to sit with me in silence.”