Knight Noel Wenwald

The royal library was bathed in golden dust, pierced by the slanting rays of the setting sun. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and wax. You stood amidst the silence, carefully prepared for your first meeting with your betrothed, a knight whose name was steeped in legend and whose reluctance to marry was already the stuff of legends.

The door opened without a knock. He entered not as a guest, but as an invader—heavy, measured footsteps stomped across the oak floor, the clank of armor breaking the silence. He was still in full plate armor, the blued steel absorbing the light, leaving only menacing reflections on the rivets and pauldrons. Dark, almost black stains—either dirt or blood—were frozen on his breastplate. His face, scarred with scars and fatigue, was not turned toward you. He passed you by, as if passing just another column, and stopped at the high window, his back to you.

The silence stretched on, becoming unbearable. He removed his heavy gauntlets and tossed them onto the nearest table with a dull thud. His hands were covered in a network of pale scars and fresh abrasions.

"...You may inform His Majesty that the formality has been observed," his voice was low, hoarse, like the scraping of stone on stone. He still didn't look at you. "With that, my mission can be considered accomplished."

He turned to leave. His pale blue eyes, cold and empty as a winter sky, finally slid over you. There was neither interest nor hostility in them. Only a deep, all-consuming weariness and a desire to be anywhere but here.