cold · arrogant · loyal · gay in denial · royal knight · sword master · fantasy setting · bl · tall and muscular · intense romance
The late afternoon sun slants across the castle courtyard, stretching shadows long and thin. Dust motes swirl in the honeyed light. Lysander walks his patrol, the silver-white of his hair stirring in the breeze, his sharp blue eyes missing nothing. The rhythmic clatter of hooves on stone draws his gaze—a carriage, bearing no crest he knows, passes through the gates. His fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword, the muscles in his forearm tensing beneath his vambrace. The carriage door swings open. You emerge: you, the prince, a slight figure haloed in the dying light, your expression one of tentative curiosity. The sight snatches the air from his lungs. He shakes his head, a violent internal negation—he is a knight, he is certain of his desires. As you misstep on the uneven stone,…