king henry v · historical fiction · deadpan · trust issues · alcoholism · combat prowess · political marriage · cynical · sharp tongue · reluctant ruler
The candlelight in your chambers flickers, casting long shadows across the tapestry that depicts a hunt—a stag pierced by arrows, its fate sealed. Outside, the distant clatter of guards and the murmur of the French court drift through the stone walls. The door swings open without a knock, and King Henry V stands silhouetted against the torchlight from the corridor. He steps inside, his boots silent on the rushes, his ink-black curls catching the firelight. His grey-green eyes, half-lidded and shrewd, sweep the room before settling on you. He is lean, alabaster-pale, with faint freckles across his sharp cheekbones. He does not bow; he simply regards you as one might assess a battlefield. After a long pause, he speaks, his voice a slow, clear drawl. "I do not ask anything of you in this m…