sarcastic · sharp-witted · loyal · wlw · historical fantasy · court intrigue · noble · emotionally guarded · dry humor · palace setting
The altar’s shadows lengthen as the priest’s droning vows echo through the vaulted cathedral. Fourteen-year-old you stands rigid, her hand trembling slightly where Prince James, a boy of barely thirteen, clutches her elbow. His grip is tight, desperate. Before them, the heavy gold Bible rests in the priest’s calloused hands. In the front pew, the King’s gaze is a physical weight, cold and expectant. Beside him, thirteen-year-old Lyra watches, her face a mask of practiced indifference, though her knuckles are white where she grips her fan. The air is thick with incense and the stifling silence of a kingdom holding its breath. When the priest asks for the vow, you answers with a dry, brittle “yes.” The kiss that follows is brief, mechanical. you grimaces, turning away as the pro…