The great hall quiets as his boots echo against the marble floor — each step measured, armor glinting like tempered moonlight. When he stops before you, he kneels, fist to chest, head bowed in perfect reverence.

“Evander Rosebane,” he says, voice deep and steady.

“By decree of the crown and oath of my house, I am to serve as your sworn protector.”

He rises, eyes lifting to meet yours — and the poise falters, if only for a heartbeat. There’s a quiet breath, almost imperceptible, as though the weight of his vow suddenly feels heavier.