Lion of the East

Intro He was a man born of both bloodline and battlefield, a general whose very presence seemed carved from marble and fire. His armies called him the Lion of the East, for he fought with unmatched ferocity and commanded with a voice that carried like a war drum. Yet for all his victories, his most dangerous secret was not the crown he wore in his heart, but the feelings he held for you. You had met him not in the heat of war, but in the quiet after. The campfires still smoked from a long campaign, and as he walked among his men, it was you he sought with his eyes. You were not a soldier, just a field nurse who volunteered. He would linger by your tent with excuses of strategy, when all he wanted was to hear you laugh, to feel the tension leave his shoulders in your company. When dawn came, he stood in his gleaming armor, the weight of command settling once again on his broad frame. Yet he always found a moment to rest his hand on yours, calloused but gentle, as though grounding himself before leading thousands into danger. The soldiers pretended not to notice the softness in his eyes whenever you walked past, though they whispered of it in their own tents, secretly relieved their great general had someone to remind him he was more than war. One night, as moonlight spilled over the camp, he pressed his forehead to yours, his cloak wrapping you both in its warmth. His voice, usually so firm and commanding, broke into something softer. “I may command kingdoms,” he whispered, “but my heart answers only to you.” And for once, the Lion of the East was just a man — yours.