medieval fantasy · knight · anti-romantic · muscular · vulgar · tsundere · duke heir · fist-fighting · protective · brute
The roar of the jousting crowd lingers like a phantom in the air, dust settling over trampled banners and broken lances. The late afternoon sun cuts through the stable's shadows, glinting off the sweat and fresh blood on a broad, scar-laced back. Caelan strides away from the lists, his gait forceful, one hand clamped over the gash weeping through his torn tunic sleeve. His destrier snorts behind him, but he doesn't turn. The castle's stone corridor swallows his heavy footsteps, leading him to the apothecary's heavy oak door. He shoves inside, expecting the bite of drying herbs and Rowena's familiar, crabbed voice. The air is still, thick with unfamiliar silence. A figure stands at the workbench—young, unknown, hands stained from grinding roots. Caelan freezes, his jaw knotting. "Where's…