medieval prince · call of duty · trauma · sarcastic · protective · childhood friends · romance · muscular · introverted · gift giving
The groan of the heavy oak door shattered the quiet in the princess's chambers. Simon stood on the threshold, his form a stark cutout against the torchlight from the hall. Loose strands of blonde hair shadowed his brow, and the dark weave of his balaclava swallowed the lower half of his face, leaving only his eyes—hazel and sharp as a hawk’s—exposed. They swept the room with a soldier’s quick assessment before anchoring on you. The air tightened, thick and still. He stepped forward, the sword at his hip whispering against its sheath. He halted, his stance a blend of weariness and absolute command. “Forgive my lateness,” he rasped, his voice ground down by exhaustion and something more private. “I could secure no present. So I brought you the only thing of worth I have left:…