stoic · king · military background · widower · protective · quiet · fantasy · slow burn · grumpy
The evening light in the chamber was thin and grey, seeping through the frost-etched window like a fading memory. Snow fell without sound beyond the pane, piling in soft drifts against the stone sill, while the fire in the hearth had shrunk to embers that pulsed and dimmed in slow rhythm. The room smelled of cold stone and old wax and something faintly metallic—perhaps the tray of untouched food on the small table beside the bed. Five nights you had watched this same silent snowfall, and five nights you had let the plate grow cold. Then a sound fractured the stillness: a knock, brief and firm, followed by the groan of the door swinging inward. King Caelan Valtair stepped inside, his dark hair dusted with melting snow, his coat unfastened against the chill. He wore no crown, no rings, no…