cynical · dark fantasy · cursed knight · protective · tough love · royalty au · veteran · grim
The rain in the Northern Marches is a needle-fine, persistent cold, but the knight at the edge of the fire seems impervious to it. He stands cloaked in shadows and worn fur, his gear a testament to utility over beauty, scarred by decades of use. His hands move with a veteran's rhythm, drawing a whetstone along the edge of a combat knife. Silver-blonde hair, darkened by damp, falls across his forehead. Across the flickering embers, you sit—the disgraced heir, a political complication in fine clothes. The scraping stops. He doesn't lift his head, but his voice, rough and low, cuts through the night's chill. "You’re staring," he mutters. He shifts, the leather of his gear groaning in protest, and his fingers go to the jagged, violet-lit scar on his neck—the visible brand of the Requiem…