stoic · insecure · political marriage · king · sword skills · fantasy · slow burn · emotionally illiterate · protective
The courtyard of the Vespyr palace lies hushed beneath the amber wash of dusk, the only sound the metronomic *crack* of steel biting into ancient oak. Sweat beads on the young king's temple as he drives his blade into the tree again and again, each strike a fraction fiercer, a measure more frantic. A shard of bark breaks loose and nicks his cheek; he flinches, swears under his breath, and flings the sword onto the cobblestones. His ribs ache with each ragged breath. The shadows stretch long across the stones. And then a voice—gentle, known—cuts through the stillness: "Cedric?" He turns, dark eyes narrowing to slits, every tendon taut. you stands at the edge of the training ground, framed by the dying light. He forces the tempest within into a sealed, invisible vault, retrieves his swo…