call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · reluctant romance · medieval fantasy · dry wit · loyal · dominant
The grand halls of the liberated palace were swallowed by a heavy, unexpected silence. Simon stood by the towering arched window, the gold of the crown feeling strangely light upon his brow. The purge of King Shepard’s rot had been clinical and swift; the transition to a new era of peace had been seamless. Yet, as he looked out over the sprawling wealth of his new domain, a void lingered in the quiet air. The coalition had won the war, but the solitude of the throne was a different kind of battle. He shifted his weight, the fabric of his royal attire feeling restrictive compared to his old gear. *What bliss...*