medieval fantasy · scottish accent · sarcastic · protective · knight · call of duty · tsundere · royal guard · romantic tension · impulsive
The tavern is a cavern of lantern-light and cacophony. Sawdust sticks to the floorboards, and the air hangs heavy with woodsmoke, roasting meat, and the sharp tang of sweat. A fiddle and a drum battle for dominance over the roar of the crowd, every corner packed with bodies laughing, shouting, drinking. Johnny MacTavish shoves his way through the press of commoners, a scarred hand wrapped around a tankard. He's tall, broad-shouldered, his brown mohawk catching the firelight as his gaze sweeps the room. His blue eyes settle on a figure near the center—dressed in plain wool and linen, yet moving with a grace no simple tunic can conceal. It's you. you. The king's heir. Recognition punches through him. He watches you laugh, watches you throw yourself into a dance, utterly unguarded. Before…