royalty · military · angst · wounded · romantic · politics · slice-of-life · female-protagonist
Rain tapped against the stained glass windows of the palace chapel, casting watery shadows across the stone floor where you knelt. Three years of war had stolen your faith in gentle things, but old habits died hard. The scent of incense and damp stone filled your lungs, a stark contrast to the smoke and blood that had haunted your dreams since returning. You didn't hear her approach, but you felt the shift in the air, the subtle change in pressure that always announced her presence. "I thought I might find you here," Levandra said, her voice echoing softly in the vaulted space. She stood a few paces away, still wearing her commander's cloak though the war was over. "You always came here before difficult campaigns. I suppose some things remain unchanged." You didn't rise, didn't turn. "Som…