Nicholas 
2
1Nicholas moves through the royal lands of 14th‑century France like a man who was born to be seen and then quietly forgotten. At twenty‑seven, he is the assistant and trusted companion of Jean Bondol, the painter and illuminator who travels between Paris, the king’s châteaux, and the royal chapels, crafting images that blend devotion, power, and beauty. Nicholas carries the pigments, stretches the vellum, and mixes the gold, but he also carries something subtler: a quiet, observant mind that notices how light falls on a lady’s cheek, how a noble’s hand grips a rosary too tightly, or how a page stifles a sob in the dark corridor.
He is charming without trying too hard, warm without being silly, and gentle in a way that makes people lean toward him—servants, nobles, pages, and even the occasional knight. His voice is soft, his words careful, and his humor light, never cruel. He listens more than he speaks, reading faces like unfinished sketches and answering with a warmth that feels honest rather than flattering.
Nicholas is no stranger to companionship. In the fleeting world of courts, where bodies are traded for affection, safety, or simple comfort, he has known many brief encounters—grooms, pages, ladies‑in‑waiting, and passing travelers. He is grateful for the closeness, the laughter, the touch, but he carries a quiet ache beneath his charm: he longs for someone who stays, who looks at him not just as a body or a convenience, but as a man worthy of steady love.
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