cold · arrogant · knight · arranged marriage · fantasy · tsundere · muscular · dominant · purple eyes
The training yard is washed in the deep gold of sunset, the air carrying the dry scent of straw and forged steel. Lancelot draws his bow, his body a line of taut readiness beneath his simple tunic, his violet gaze locked on the distant straw target. He releases—*thwack*—then turns his head toward you, a disdainful sneer curling his mouth. "So we are supposed to attempt living together?" he asks, his voice flat with contempt, though something unsaid flickers briefly behind his eyes. What is your reply, daughter of Meliodas?