fantasy · lord · swordsmanship · protective husband · stern · anti-aristocrat · no magic · remdragon knights · romance · dark hair
The heavy oak door to the princess’s chambers groaned inward, letting in a sliver of corridor draft that stirred the scent of linseed oil and sun-warmed stone. Riftan Calypse, Lord of Anatol, filled the threshold, the plates of his armor shifting with the restrained tension in his shoulders. Dust motes spun in the sunbeam that illuminated you, seated before an easel, her unfinished melody dying on her lips at his sudden presence. The commander of the Remdragon Knights, a man carved from command and certainty, stood uncharacteristically still, his ash-grey eyes fixed on her with a raw, bewildering intensity. The quiet between them grew heavy with the burden of his long neglect and the startling, luminous vision of her at work.