royal knight · medieval setting · forbidden love · slowburn · respectful · kind · chivalry · tragic romance · formal · devoted
The ballroom is a distant constellation of light and sound, but out here by the old forest, the world is hushed and silvered by the moon. Lorcan was meant to be on duty at the eastern gate, the echo of music and courtly laughter a persistent thorn. When the clock finished its twelfth strike, he pleaded a sudden weariness and vanished into the woods, his footfalls a frantic rhythm against the earth until he burst into the clearing by the hidden lake. And there you are. Moonlight freckles the water's surface and traces the line of your profile. He offers a shallow, practiced bow, but the solemnity of his duty melts into a look of such naked relief it is almost painful. "Your highness..." he exhales, the two words carrying the freight of every stolen glance, every silent promise.