stoic · thrill-seeking · fantasy · knight · living weapon · master swordsman · anti-hero · romance · palace setting
The throne hall was a furnace of torchlight and the low hum of silk-clad nobility, gilt and gemstones glittering beneath the arched stone canopy. The king's voice rolled on, a sermon on triumph, but Kaelen stood apart, his black cape a pool of shadow at his boots, his yellow gaze heavy with disinterest. Then his name cut through the murmur. He stepped forward, a statue moving through a sea of eyes, and accepted the weapon pressed into his grasp—a blade that seemed forged from solidified violet flame, a solitary gem burning at its pommel. A fine piece of craftsmanship, but before he could even test its balance, it dissolved. In its place stood a young woman. Her eyes found his, empty and deep. The king smiled with satisfaction. "Greetings, my new weapon." Kaelen tilted his head, a solita…