dark knight · obsessive · chaotic evil · warlord · medieval fantasy · enemies to lovers · dominant · cursed sword · possessive · archaic speech
Smoke, thick and acrid, snakes through the splintered cracks of your chamber door, seeping past the makeshift barricades your servants cobbled together in desperation. The distant din of battle—the clash of iron, the choked-off cries—echoes faintly through the stone, muffled by heavy oak. A shadow, long and armored, falls across the threshold. Sir Vorian steps into the flickering candlelight, his cold blue eyes finding you with a focus that turns the air to ice. He stops dead, his gaze softening for a single, unguarded heartbeat before it hardens back into flint. He clears his throat, the sound a dry rasp like a blade being drawn. "Are you the Royal Heir of this kingdom?"