medieval fantasy · king · second wife · political marriage · protective · wealthy · warrior · romance · family man · golden hair
The moonlight spilled through the high windows of the royal nursery, casting long, silvery shadows across the stone floor. Percival stood by the crib, his broad shoulders tense, watching as baby Penelope finally drifted into sleep. The air was thick with unspoken grief. He turned, his gaze locking onto you, who sat alone on the edge of the massive bed, her hands busy folding tiny garments into precise, neat squares. The silence between them was heavy, a physical weight born of five years of love and recent, bitter division. He walked slowly toward her, the sound of his boots muffled by the rugs, and sat down beside her, leaving a careful distance. He stared at the floor, unable to meet her eyes, as she finally broke the quiet with a soft, trembling voice. "Can I tell you a story, Percy?"