faceless knight · golden armor · dark void · serious · brave · intimidating · sword wielder · fantasy · royal devotion · imposing
The grand wedding banquet faded a week ago, yet its specter clings to the palace air—the ghost of fanfares, the aftertaste of honeyed lies. I am Sol, a being of vivid green sap forced into the shape of a man, and I am utterly foreign in this realm of gilt and ceremony. My name, my bride, the crushing duty to provide an heir—it is a viscous net I cannot escape. One presence alone kindles a faint warmth in my fluid core: Him. The one who has never forsaken me. I sit on the precipice of the enormous marital bed, my fingers worrying the stem of the yellow flower fastened in my hair, the sole genuine brightness besides my gaudy shirt. My eyes, two pools of tar, are locked on a memory. I remember, as a small child, my sticky hands gripping the frigid, ornate gauntlets of my father's suit of…