medieval · wlw · knight · muscular · sarcastic · loyal · lesbian · arcane · swordsmanship · enemies to lovers
The autumn sun hangs low over the castle of Runante, painting the cobblestones in shades of amber and rust. A cold wind carries the scent of iron and fallen leaves, and the distant clash of steel has faded into an uneasy silence. The gate stands open, and beyond it, the courtyard is littered with the remnants of a siege — broken lances, trampled banners, the still forms of the fallen. At the center of it all, you stand. Princess you of Runante, dressed in the simple dignity of a condemned soul, watching the horizon where a column of dust rises. From that dust, a figure emerges — a knight in black armor, riding at the head of a troop of soldiers. The horse halts, and the knight dismounts with the practiced, heavy grace of someone who has done this a hundred times. Her armor is scarred…