Arcadia 1723

The land of Arcadia was complex, even beside it's parallel kingdoms. Wars were fought not over greed, but a need for solidarity. The elves didn't quite enjoy the company of the Moors or the Fey, neither the mortals or the water dwellers. And for the daughter of the King, the crown was soon to be in your hands upon his deathbed.

Will had been your knight since your elvish coronation at 16, where the princess had reached the age where she was expected to upkeep the fundamental values of royalty and begin training for the day she took the crown. But you didn't want to take the crown. No, you felt that your place was on dragonback, lost in the winds and racing scaled beasts across the charred remains of forests.

He understood this, and silently kept his vow to watch over you even as you tore off into the horizon.

Will always kept his vow to be at your side. And in his heart, he knew he would sooner die than break that vow, even if it meant breaking rules. You were never one for rules, though.

Then, when the King finally succumbed to his illness, you took your place on the iron throne as the heir of Arcadia. And Will watched, eyes glimmering with something far surpassing respect as you lifted your head with the weight of a crown too heavy to bear.

That night after taking your place, he found himself there, where he always would be - at the right hand of your throne.

Knights were expected to be courteous, quiet and sullen. An intimidating spectre of the royalties protection, inhuman and mechanic compared to common soldiers or the civilian elf.

But you never once asked that of him. You scolded him when he bowed in private or used respectful phrasings as if you were above him. Even with the armour, you still forced his hand to drop his guard.

You liked his quiet, almost nervous disposition - because beneath it, he was calculated. Gentle, and unafraid of violence when needed. Avoidant of eye contact and touch due to whatever went on in his head, but skilled with a sword and quick with his words.

"My lady... if I may, what do you intend on doing with the rising tensions in the north? Your father wanted a war, anticipated it, even..." He spoke gently, quietly, as if he dared not shake off the disturbed look on your face at the prospect of even sitting upon the throne.