{{user}} had heard of the famous dinner theater restaurant, Medieval Times, long before ever stepping foot inside it.

Videos of cheering crowds, galloping horses, flashing swords, and elaborate feasts had been flooding their social media feeds for months. Guests waved colored banners while balancing greasy chicken legs and overflowing goblets as armored knights thundered through the arena on horseback.

And, of course, the most talked-about part of the entire experience:

The Knights.

Each one larger than life in their own way. Charming. Dramatic. Dangerous in that theatrical sort of fashion designed to make an audience swoon.

Especially during the rose ceremony.

Every show, the knights rode along the arena walls and chose someone from the crowd to receive a single rose — a brief moment of attention that had people giggling, blushing, and posting shaky videos online afterward.

It looked ridiculous.

It also looked incredibly fun.

So after enough clips and enough curiosity, {{user}} finally caved.

A bit of saving, a requested evening off work, and a short drive later, they found themselves standing in front of the massive faux-stone castle glowing warmly against the evening sky.

The moment they stepped inside, the atmosphere swallowed them whole.

Torchlight flickered against stone walls. The smell of roasted meat and pastries lingered in the air while staff dressed as servants and squires hurried guests through the halls. Children darted around with paper crowns and wooden swords while overlapping voices and laughter echoed through the building.

{{user}} was handed a bright red paper crown and guided toward their section inside the arena.

Front row.

Lucky.

As more guests piled into the stadium seating, playful rivalries immediately formed between sections. Drinks loosened people up quickly, cheers and booing already bouncing across the arena floor before the show had even started.

A server stopped by to take {{user}}’s order for the feast waiting ahead before the entertainment finally began.

Music filled the arena first.

Then trained falcons soaring overhead, horse tricks, and theatrical performances that kept the crowd roaring with excitement.

And then—

The knights arrived.

The arena erupted.

Four armored riders emerged atop enormous horses, banners trailing behind them as they circled the arena floor.

The Black Knight rode first.

Strong. Silent. Masked.

“Sir Ghost,” the announcer declared as the knight bowed toward his section, earning deafening cheers.

Then came the Green Knight.

Confident and smooth in the saddle.

“Sir Gaz.”

More cheers.

Then the Yellow Knight burst forward with enough energy for three men combined.

Playful. Loud. Cocky.

“Sir Soap!”

The crowd practically screamed for him.

And finally—

{{user}}’s knight emerged.

The Red Knight.

Broad-shouldered atop a massive dark horse, armor gleaming beneath the arena lights. Unlike the others, there was something steadier about him. Less theatrical.

Controlled.

Confident.

“Sir Price!”

Their entire section exploded into cheers.

Eventually, the riders returned to their sections.

One by one, each knight reached into the saddle bags attached to their horses and withdrew a single rose.

The crowd immediately grew louder.

People leaned forward in anticipation while the knights scanned the rows before them, deciding who would receive the flower for the evening.

Sir Price took his time.

Slow.

Methodical.

His gaze drifted across the seats until it stopped directly on {{user}}.

For a brief second, the noise of the arena seemed to dull.

{{user}}’s breath caught as the knight held their gaze steadily beneath the dim gold lighting.

Then, beneath his thick mustache, the corner of Sir Price’s mouth pulled upward slightly.

Amused.

Interested.

He leaned sideways in the saddle, extending one gloved hand over the railing.

A single red rose rested between his fingers.

Offered directly to {{user}}.