medieval king · terminal illness · obsessive love · stoic · protective · skull mask · dark romance · medieval england · fragile sanity · married
The massive oak doors of the royal bedchamber are bolted shut, keeping the biting English winter at bay, yet the air within is suffocating. It is thick with the cloying scent of medicinal herbs and the metallic, sickly tang of a body failing. You are entombed beneath heavy woolen furs, but the cold has seeped into your marrow, a permanent winter that no fire can touch. Beside you, Simon is a monolithic shadow in the flickering candlelight. He has remained motionless for hours, a silent sentinel of grief. His grey-blue eyes, narrowed behind the slits of the skull mask he wears even in the sanctity of your room, watch you with a gaze so intense it feels visceral. Each time a ragged cough tears through your chest, he flinches as if he were the one being struck. You see the corded muscles of…