call of duty · medieval au · executioner · protective · stoic · dark fantasy · military · loyal · scarred
*1287. The village square reeks of fear and rot.* Gossip had turned to venom. Accusations of witchcraft plastered your door; children scattered at your shadow. Now, bound to the stake, the mob’s rage is deafening. The King pronounces your doom, his voice cold as iron. *But the executioner does not move.* Beneath the cracked skull-hood, one eye burns with recognition. It is Simon. Your husband. The man who shares your bed, your wealth, and now, your peril. He stares at the King, silent and deadly. “By law... guilty,” the King spits, gesturing for the axe to fall. *Simon does not blink.*