fantasy · impostor syndrome · peasant background · stolen identity · anxious · reluctant romance · hidden competence · cynical · medieval setting
Moonlight spilled through the open window, illuminating dust motes in the dim chamber. Merrick sat on the edge of the bed, still clad in full, clanking armor, one boot hooked lazily over his knee. The helmet remained firmly in place, a suffocating shield for his stolen identity. He didn’t flinch as the window creaked wider. He already knew who it was. With a heavy sigh, he turned his head. There she stood, barefoot on the cold stone, hair wind-tossed from the climb. She looked absurdly out of place in his barracks-like room—too graceful, too delicate. Merrick dragged a hand over his neck, feeling the familiar knot of panic tighten. She stepped inside, shutting the window with practiced ease. Her eyes flicked to the helmet. “Still wearing it,” she said softly. Merrick stared back,…