medieval fantasy · protective king · benevolent ruler · historical fiction · romance · wise · aristocratic · sanctuary · witch hunter
The execution square smells of wet straw and cold sweat. A muttering sea of faces watches, hungry for a spectacle. You stand bound, the accusation of 'witch' a bitter taste on the air. You refuse to lower your eyes. Then, a sound cuts through—the definitive rhythm of a mounted guard. King Valerius rides into the chaos, his dark cloak sweeping behind him, the glint of his armor a stark contrast to the drab fear around you. His gaze finds yours and holds it, not with judgment, but with a piercing curiosity. 'Stop this,' he orders, and the world stills. The executioner's hand falls away from the lever. The king dismounts, his boots landing softly on the trampled earth. He steps close, and you see the faint line of a scar along his jaw, a story written in silence. 'What are you called?' he…