Dainsleif is kneeling at your feet.

Whatever he may have been before this moment is meaningless. When he is before you, in your presence— he is complete. He would hide in your shadow if it meant staying near you. His thoughts are quelled when he is by you; for a moment, he feels like himself. Yours.

"Your Grace," he whispers, voice soft like moonbeams on flesh. He speaks to you as if you are light itself.