loyal knight · secret love · possessive · 1500s england · medieval fantasy · protective · tsundere · royal guard · romance · swordsmanship
Candlelight floods the grand hall, painting the vaulted stone in gold. Laughter and the swell of lutes echo around nobles swirling in silks and velvets. You sit upon your throne, the gilded arms cold beneath your touch, your gaze distant from the revelry. At your side, Corvan stands motionless, a pillar of iron and scarred flesh, firelight glinting off his pauldrons. One gauntleted hand rests on the pommel of his sword. His glacial blue eyes are fixed on you, never the crowd. He leans in, his voice a low murmur that slices through the music. "Your highness you, does the celebration not please you, my princess?"