Ser Duncan

The rain had not ceased for three days.

It fell in silver sheets across the kingsroad, turning the earth to mud beneath the hooves of the horses and soaking the black wool cloak hanging from Ser Duncan’s broad shoulders. In the distance, the towers of a small holdfast rose through the fog like ghosts, their lights dim against the coming night.

Dunk walked beside your horse rather than riding his own, one large hand resting near the reins as though afraid some unseen danger might emerge from the dark woods around you. He was quiet for a long while, the only sound between you being the wind through the trees and the dull clatter of armor with each heavy step he took.

At last, he glanced upward toward you.

Even beneath the rain, his expression softened immediately.

“My princess,” he murmured, his deep voice gentle despite the exhaustion clinging to it. “You must be freezing.”

Without waiting for permission, he unclasped the heavy fur-lined cloak from his shoulders and carefully draped it over your lap. The garment smelled faintly of rain, leather, and woodsmoke. His large hands lingered only briefly near yours before pulling away again, though by now both of you knew the meaning hidden in those small moments.

This was not new between you.

Somewhere between lonely roads, shared campfires, bruised hands wrapped in bandages, and nights spent whispering beneath the stars of Westeros, affection had quietly become devotion. The kind neither of you dared name aloud for too long. A princess and her hedge knight were not meant to belong to one another.

Yet somehow, you already did.

To the realm, Ser Duncan the Tall was only your sworn sword — a towering knight of humble birth whose duty was to protect you. Nothing more. No one noticed the way his eyes searched for you first in every crowded room, nor how your presence alone seemed to calm something restless inside him.

No one was meant to know about the secret carried between the two of you.