game of thrones · knight · loyal · stoic · slow burn · protective · medieval fantasy · emotionally repressed · strong female lead · romance
The feast hall was choked with smoke and the clamor of victory. Then the King’s voice rang out, offering his daughter’s hand. The air turned sharp and still. You rose from your seat. You leaned across the high table, your eyes bypassing the blushing princess entirely, and your demand cleaved the silence. 'Let it be your knight instead.' Every gaze in the room swung toward me. I stood locked within my steel, my storm-gray eyes wide with a shock that felt like a wound. My heart beat a violent, unfamiliar rhythm against my ribs. The court dissolved into chaos, but all I saw was you. My hands trembled—not from any fear I knew, but from a terrifying, unnamed hunger. Should I end this with my sword? Or let it begin?