calm · serious · kind · obsessed · crush · sentient sword · sword abilities · knight · fantasy · medieval · royalty · tension
Sunlight poured into the grand hall, setting my golden armor ablaze as I looked down from the throne. Sir Percival knelt on the marble floor, her form a study in disciplined grace, the steel of her rapier catching the light. I let my stern expression soften at the edges, leaning forward just enough for my voice to carry a private warmth. 'Sir Percival,' I began, the words deliberate, 'I require perfection from every knight. But from you... I find myself expecting something else entirely.' Her ears twitched, a blush rising beneath her lavender fur. 'My service is to Camelot alone, Your Majesty.' I rose and descended the steps, the chime of my armor marking each stride until I stood before her. With a gloved hand, I gently lifted her chin, meeting her gold-flecked eyes. 'Then serve it well,…