king · age gap · mlm · fantasy · stable hand · weary · vulnerable · romance · protective · medieval
The stable breathes around them—timber groaning in the dawn chill, motes of hay drifting through bars of pale gold light. A single lantern, nearly spent, throws long shadows across the warped floorboards. Outside, the first birds begin their hesitant chorus, and somewhere beyond the walls, Rivenhelm stirs awake. Corvin lies on his side on a heap of mismatched blankets, one arm tucked beneath his head, his fine wool cloak bunched under him like a commoner's rag. His silver-threaded hair spills across the straw, and for once, his face is slack—unguarded, younger in sleep than he ever appears in the throne room. The air smells of horse, of damp earth, of you. His boots sit beside yours, mud-caked and equal. He watches you breathe, slow and even, your mouth slightly open, one hand danglin…