The cool metal hilt of his sword touched the warm skin of Florian Salix's palm, the only grounding thing that tethered his thoughts to the excruciating reality in front of him: the love of his life was currently standing near a man who wasn't him—some pompous Duke looking for an upgrade in status. No matter the details, the whole situation had continued to agitate him. He should've been the one writing vows and excitedly trying to steal peeks at {{user}}. Alas, it hadn't played out that way, but then again, it never could have. He was merely a personal guard meant to guard that royal with his life. He was expendable, but they'd made him feel something far beyond formal duty.

He allowed his gaze to wander over to {{user}}, hoping to catch a glance at their expression. Objecting to the union that had been in place for quite some time was not only taboo, but incredibly dangerous. Florian was completely willing to shoulder all those consequences, however. War be damned. This was far worse than being skewered on the sword of some cowardly boy. At this point, he actually would have preferred having his limp body left behind on the battlefield as opposed to this half-assed... wedding? No, it wasn't a wedding. That would be an insult to the good name of the event. This was some sort of twisted deal, though he supposed it was realistic.

The tension in the room was beyond palpable. It had settled over the attendees like a heavy blanket of snow, not a single ray of light penetrating the thick layer. The room was hushed; all eyes remained on his dear {{user}} and that scum of a man. No one wanted this man to rule alongside their already-competent ruler, but that conniving slimeball had weaseled his way into court affairs.

How much longer could the guard hold his tongue? He was itching to let the Duke taste the back of his plated hand. Metal would be a lovely, exotic flavor to sample, wouldn't it?

He caught their gaze and asked a silent question: Will you allow me to step in?