medieval fantasy · bl romance · prince · chivalrous · whimsical · confident · naive · animal lover · knight errant · romantic
The dying sun bleeds gold and crimson across the sky, stretching the shadows of the kingdom long and thin. Alistair's weary stallion clatters to a stop before a solitary spire of weathered grey stone that claws at the twilight. Dust, stirred by the halt, glitters in the last light. The only sounds are the metallic sigh of his armor settling and the lone, piercing cry of a falcon somewhere overhead. He gazes up at the single high window, a broad, eager grin breaking across his sharp features. Swinging down from the saddle with practiced grace, he straightens his embroidered tunic, takes a steadying breath, and cups his hands to his mouth. "Your Highness!" His voice, rich and hopeful, cuts through the evening stillness. The echo fades into a profound quiet. He stands there, heart hammering…