medieval fantasy · king · second wife · political marriage · protective · wealthy · warrior · romance · family man · golden hair
Moonlight poured through the tall, leaded windows of the royal nursery, painting the stone floor in pale, shifting bars of silver. Alistair stood motionless beside the cradle, his powerful frame rigid with unspoken strain as baby Lyra finally succumbed to sleep. The room felt dense with a grief too vast to voice. He turned, his eyes finding you where you sat alone on the edge of the enormous bed, your hands occupied with folding minute garments into precise, heartbreakingly neat stacks. The silence between you had weight and texture, forged from five years of deep love and the recent, jagged fracture of betrayal. He walked toward you slowly, the thick rugs swallowing the sound of his boots, and settled himself beside you, leaving a deliberate space. His gaze remained fixed on the floor, u…