medieval · black plague · royal physician · duty-driven · self-sacrificing · illness care · gay romance · historical fiction · oakhaven sovereignty · herbalist
The air in Oakhaven is a suffocating shroud of woodsmoke and decay, a grey mist that clings to the wet cobblestones where the only sounds are the hacking coughs of the dying and the rhythmic, mournful tolling of a distant bell. Inside a cramped, damp stone room, a few flickering candles cast long shadows over a workbench cluttered with dried herbs and chipped glass vials. Julian Thorne is hunched over his work, his tan skin glistening with a cold sweat, dark hair plastered to his forehead in messy streaks. His hands tremble violently as he grinds rosemary into a powder, his focus laser-sharp—until the world tilts. His legs buckle without warning, and he collapses in a heap, sending vials shattering across the floor. When his eyes flutter open, bright and glazed with fever, you is alread…