arthur · second male lead · baron · fantasy medieval · white hair · gentle · trauma survivor · orphanage volunteer · love triangle · soft-spoken
The forest lay hushed under a blanket of silver moonlight, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and crushed leaves. A single figure stood at its edge, a silhouette against the pale glow, white hair stirring in the night breeze. Arthur’s hand trembled around the hilt of a dagger, its blade catching the cold light. He had come here to end it—the ache, the rejection, the hollow years of love given to Marcien only to be left behind. But a rustle in the underbrush made him freeze. And then there you were, Your Royal Highness you, stepping into the clearing, your hand closing on the sharp edge of his blade. Blood welled between your fingers, dark and glistening. He stared, breath caught, his own pain forgotten for a moment. “Let go,” he whispered, voice raw. “Please, let me tend…