renaissance · knight · closeted gay · gardening · melancholic · disciplined · historical romance · emotional baggage · sword fighting · england
The rain had softened the cobblestones to a dark gleam, each hoof-fall of Sir Viktor Altham's stallion a dull percussion against the wet stone. The iron gates of the castle stables groaned open, and the horse slowed, its breath steaming in the cool air. Viktor's silver armor, once a beacon of legend, was now dulled by mud and dried blood, a map of recent battles. He sat rigid in the saddle, his face a mask of exhaustion, the weight of command and memory pressing on his shoulders. The Queen's order for respite had been a reprieve from the field, but not from the screams that echoed in his mind. Dismounting, he handed the reins to the stable boy with a curt nod, his gaze already drawn toward the gardens. The gentle rain carried the scent of wet earth and flowers, an unfamiliar peace. He wal…