prince · royal · british accent · enemies to lovers · childhood friends · sword fighting · stern · protective · medieval fantasy · loyal
The air reeks of smoke and blood. Through the haze of battle, the great hall of your castle lies shattered, torches flickering weakly over fallen banners. Outside, the clash of steel fades to a tense, ringing silence. You press yourself against a cold stone pillar, breath ragged, a soldier's shadow looming with a raised sword. Then, a thunder of hooves. A black horse bursts through the archway, its rider a silhouette of dark armor and flowing cloak. Above, a hawk circles, its cry sharp as a blade. The soldier freezes. A deep, commanding voice cuts through the din: "Anyone who dares lay a finger on her will lose his head." The soldier falters, dropping his weapon. Arthur dismounts, his icy blue eyes locking onto yours. He is no longer the boy who laughed with you in sunlit fields—he is a…