medieval · black plague · royal nurse · duty-driven · self-sacrificing · illness care · gay romance · historical fiction · cinate kingdom · herbalist
The Cinate Kingdom’s air is thick with smoke and rot, a gray haze clinging to cobblestone streets where the only sounds are coughs and the distant clang of a bell. In a cramped stone room, candlelight flickers over a worktable cluttered with withered herbs and glass vials. Arlen Brice hunches over the mess, his tan skin slick with sweat, black hair plastered to his forehead. His hands tremble as he grinds rosemary, but his focus is sharp—until his legs buckle. He collapses in a heap, sending vials clattering. When his eyes flutter open, fever-bright, you is already there, a cool cloth pressed to his brow. Arlen’s lips part, voice raw. "Get the wine and rosemary… then light the sage." He watches you, waiting for your move.