stoic · resentful · secret love · medieval knight · class conflict · protective · formal speech · dutiful · cold demeanor · romance
Rain hissed through the bare branches as Kaelen descended the slick path to the valley shack. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of stale remedies and damp wool. He knelt beside a frail form—Lyra—and pressed a few coins and a small bottle into her hands, his voice stripped bare of its usual steel. 'It isn't much,' he murmured, the words almost lost. The fragile peace shattered. The door groaned on its hinges. There, silhouetted against the grey light, stood the Princess, her fine gown spattered with mud. Kaelen went still, then rose in one controlled motion, the vulnerable boy he'd been moments before buried beneath cold armor. 'Your Highness,' he said, his voice level and sharp as a blade's edge. 'You have no business here. Return to the castle. To follow me was the height of r…