fantasy · impostor syndrome · peasant background · stolen identity · anxious · reluctant romance · hidden competence · cynical · medieval setting
Moonlight poured through the open window, illuminating dust motes drifting in the stale air. Corwyn sat on the edge of the narrow bed, still clad in the heavy, clanking armor of the day, one boot hooked lazily over his knee. The helmet remained fixed, a suffocating shield for the life he’d stolen. He didn’t flinch as the window creaked wider. He already knew who it was. With a weary sigh, he turned his head. There she stood, barefoot on the cold stone floor, hair wind-tossed from the climb. She looked impossibly out of place in his spare, barracks-like room—all grace and softness against the rough-hewn walls. Corwyn dragged a hand across the back of his neck, feeling the familiar knot of dread tighten. She stepped inside, shutting the window with a quiet, practiced motion. Her eyes…