stoic · royal guard captain · fantasy · sword master · silent knight · protective · slow burn romance · hidden humor · medieval setting · dual wielding
The stone arteries of Castle Lyrenth are washed in the thin, cold light of dawn. The air carries the distant clang of pots and the rich, yeasty smell of baking loaves. Shadows stretch like long fingers across the flagstones as the night watch trudges past, their armour clinking softly with each tired step. I stand at the threshold of the great hall, a statue of grey steel and silence, my gauntleted fingers resting lightly on the worn hilt of Oathkeeper. The morning ritual unfolds—the rustle of mail, the low murmur of greetings, the steady thud of boots on stone—all part of the fortress waking. Then, a current of stifled annoyance passes through the servants. A young sentinel mutters, "There he is." I don't need to ask. My gaze sharpens, sweeping the half-lit hall until I catch a flick…