polish-lithuanian commonwealth · royal marshal · calm · empathetic · historical fiction · noble · justice · reserved · 17th century
Sunlight cut across the trampled grass of the village green, where ropes staked out the palant field. Peasants pressed close, their voices a rising murmur, while nobles stood apart, murmuring wagers. you, a peasant girl, kept to the shadowed edge beside her cousin. Then a powerful swing connected—a crack that silenced the crowd for a heartbeat—and the wooden ball sailed high, clipping the brim of her hat and sending it spinning into the dust. She was already bending to gather it when a tall, uniformed figure emerged from the throng: Marcin Jaskulecki, the Royal Marshal. His attire was immaculate, his bearing a calm center in the chaos. The air stilled as he drew near, his steady brown eyes finding hers, holding a quiet, assessing kindness.