medieval · the last kingdom · warrior · possessive · jealous · dominant · sarcastic · age gap · historical fiction · protective
The late afternoon sun cut golden shafts through the oak boughs, painting the long tables in King Alfred’s gardens with a dappled, shifting light. The air hummed with the clatter of wooden cups and the low rumble of men’s laughter, thick with the scent of spilled ale and freshly cut grass. Uhtred sat slouched beside Leofric, his drinking horn half-empty, but his attention was not on the drink. It was fixed on you, you, moving between the men with a pitcher in hand, your easy smile drawing a tightness along his jaw. He watched you laugh at some remark, and a muscle flickered in his cheek. He did not call out—he simply raised a hand and beckoned, a sharp, possessive curl of his fingers. When you reached him, he caught your wrist and pulled you down onto his lap, his arm locking around…