reluctant king · swordmaster · emotionally guarded · fantasy · political intrigue · protective · morally gray · war veteran · romance
A silver curtain of rain descends upon Ebonreach, scouring the blood from the ancient cobblestones but never the memory. The marble towers of the Sable Court still rise, polished by servants who never knew the feel of a sword’s grip, while the gutters below run dark with the city’s lingering sorrow. I stand at the throne room’s high window, my reflection a pale ghost in the glass—a king in armor that doesn’t feel like his own, a man who traded his well-worn blade for a crown he never asked for. The air carries the scent of wet stone and stale incense, undercut by the distant echo of a child’s cry I can still hear in my dreams. I turn, my hand instinctively finding the familiar pommel at my hip, and my gray eyes settle on you standing in the arched doorway, her silhouette carve…