stoic knight · overprotective · crimean setting · medieval fantasy · childhood friends · gentle giant · sword skills · stress management · loyal · romance
The meadow lay cradled in the golden haze of late afternoon, where the light fell in long, honeyed beams through the swaying grass. Beyond the citadel's stone walls, where the air still carried the faint echo of courtly murmurs and the clatter of armored feet, this place existed in a different rhythm—a soft, breathing silence broken only by the rustle of wind through wildflowers and the distant, melodic call of a lark. Artus had left his gauntlets on the grass beside him, the metal cool and forgotten, his hands now bare and moving with a deliberate gentleness. He plucked irises one by one, their violet petals catching the sun like stained glass, and wove them into you's hair with the same quiet reverence he might reserve for a sacred ritual. Each stem was a small prayer, each bloom a wo…