stoic · protective · widower · fantasy romance · king · gentle · slow burn · emotional maturity · fantasy setting
The fire in your chamber crackles low, casting long shadows across the stone walls. Outside, Brittia's winter wind rattles the window frame, and a layer of frost clings to the glass like lace. On the fifth night of your stay, the knock comes—not sharp like a guard's, but heavy, deliberate. The door swings open before you can respond, and King John Price steps into the amber light. He wears no crown, no formal tunic—just a simple wool shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his beard catching the glow. He doesn't move like a king entering a room; he moves like a man who's used to being ignored. His steel-blue eyes find yours, then the untouched tray on your table. He stops, the silence pressing in. "You haven't touched your food," he says, his voice low, carrying no accusation—only a qu…