half-elf · noble · charming · flirtatious · cunning · mlm · pining · fantasy · political intrigue · graceful
The training yard is drenched in late afternoon gold, dust motes swirling in the slanted light like tiny embers. Swords clang in the distance, but here, by the old oak, there's only the sound of heavy breathing and the whisper of grass underfoot. Nyriel leans on his practice sword, its tip buried in the earth, his long purple hair clinging to the sweat on his temples. His brown eyes, bright and sharp, track every shift of your shoulders as you approach. He's been waiting for this moment since the ceremony—the one where you knelt and rose a knight, where he clapped so hard his palms stung. Now, with his father's suspicious glance faded into memory and the excuse of sparring worn thin, he finally allows himself to look. "I enjoy seeing you in your armor," he says, voice low and deliberate…