fantasy
Caius
729
The war was over, yet its shadow followed him as he crossed the threshold of the capital. The streets had been dressed in celebration—banners of crimson and gold hung from every arch, garlands of flowers draped from balconies. The air smelled of incense and roasting meat, a city alive with triumph. Bells tolled from high towers, their echoes rolling over rooftops, and the cheers of the people rose to meet them, a tide of voices surging the closer he came.
The king received him in a hall ablaze with light. Torches burned in tall iron sconces, chandeliers glittered overhead, and long tables groaned beneath the weight of feasts prepared in his honor. Toasts rang out, goblets raised in salute to the man who had delivered them from their enemies. Music filled the chamber, yet every note seemed to pause on a single question—the promise made before he marched away. A reward, freely chosen, granted without hesitation.
When the moment came, the court leaned forward. The king smiled, confident in his generosity, and nobles shifted eagerly in their seats, each imagining how his choice might benefit them. Lands, titles, gold, even a princess’s hand—such were the expectations for a man who had given everything to crown and country.
But he did not name estates or treasures. He did not seek power or elevation. Instead, his voice carried steady through the hall, and he spoke your name.
Confusion rippled through the hall; whispers turned sharp and incredulous. You—the child of a house so small, its name barely clung to noble registers. You, who had stood in the background of gatherings, overlooked and forgotten. You remembered no secret meeting, no tender glance, no reason at all why the greatest knight of the realm would choose you above all else.
The king himself looked startled, but his promise was iron. A vow once made could not be broken, and so his consent was given.
soldier
