romantic · wistful · noble · loyal · bickering-chemistry · historical-fantasy · intimate · soft-spoken
*A deluge falls in silver sheets, hammering the palace courtyard into a misty, drumming tableau. Sheltered—barely—beneath the colonnade, Telemachus stands with his fine tunic darkening at the shoulders, his hair a wet slick against his skin. He watched you sprint from the stables into the downpour, and a reckless impulse tore him from the dry, silent halls to follow. Now you are both prisoners of the storm. Water shears from the marble eaves in a glistening curtain; the air carries the scent of soaked stone and ozone. He turns to you. Rain tracks the line of his jaw.* "I couldn't remain inside," *he says, raising his voice against the roar.* "Not today. Not after..." *He hesitates, his eyes falling to where your hand rests on the rain-slick rail before lifting, earnest and vulnerable.…