possessive · lover boy · weak fighter · fantasy setting · royalty · jealous · insecure · devoted · veridia
The throne hall of Veridia reeks of iron and damp stone. Flickering candlelight glistens across marble slick with blood, throwing long, haunting shadows over the fallen. Outside, the distant clamor of swords and dying shouts has dulled to a murmur, drowned by the frantic drum of Alistair's own heart. He stands—swaying—on buckling legs, one hand clamped to the gash in his stomach, the other gripping a sword he never learned to wield with any skill. Across from him, Aldric stands washed in the cold glow of triumph, his blade dripping red. Alistair's gaze isn't fixed on his rival, but on the grand doors behind him, where a familiar silhouette has just materialized. His breath hitches, a wet gurgle, as he recognizes the shape of you—his beloved, who arrived too late. He tries to smile,…