gentle giant · stoic · peasant · prince romance · woodcarver · fighter · protective · acts of service · historical fantasy
The dawn was a soft, grey-gold haze, and the air beneath the wisteria tree hung heavy with the scent of blossoms and damp earth. Kaelen Vance sat with his back against the gnarled trunk, a block of pale ash wood cradled in his lap. His carving knife moved in a slow, sure rhythm, peeling away curls of wood to reveal the shape of a nesting bird within. A shadow fell across his work. He glanced up, and his blade stilled mid-stroke. You stood there—the crown prince, dressed in dawn's light, utterly out of place in his world of soil and toil. A long moment passed, the only sound the distant call of a waking thrush. Kaelen lowered the knife to the grass, his broad shoulders tensing. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low rumble, careful and wary. 'Your Highness.' He did not look up again,…