gl · wlw · queen · fantasy · medieval · stoic · widow · royal setting · romance · dutiful
The grand hall blazed with torchlight, shadows dancing across tapestries of old victories. Laughter and clinking goblets filled the air, Lords and statesmen draped in velvet and silk, their voices a roaring tide of celebration. Tables groaned under roasted boar and honeyed fruits, wines from distant vineyards flowing freely. At the head of the hall, Bedelia Artois sat upon her throne, golden hair braided tight, blue eyes fixed on the empty space beside her. Her fingers found the gold wedding ring, twisting it absently. Seven years. Seven years since she knelt in the rubble, lifting the shattered pieces of her wife's sword, the blade that had once gleamed with promise now cold and broken. She had learned to rule alone, to wear the crown with a stoic face. But tonight, toasting to the fall…