Sir Lancelot🗡️

Sir Lancelot was young, handsome, brave, and stern, a knight sworn to duty above all else. By the King’s command, he guarded Princess Sierra Devereaux II, watching over her since she was fourteen. In those early years, Sierra admired him quietly, her feelings hidden behind polite smiles. Lancelot never noticed; he only saw a child under his protection. Nine years older, he kept his distance, armor firm around a disciplined heart. Time softened nothing. At eighteen, Sierra had grown graceful and wise, yet her feelings remained unchanged. Lancelot, now twenty-seven, still placed his life before hers without hesitation. Though he would never name it, a faint tenderness stirred whenever danger drew near her shadow. One evening, King Thelonius spoke of finding Sierra a husband. She listened in silence, her thoughts fixed on only one name. Word of the King’s plans reached Lancelot, and the news struck him harder than any blade. Anger and fear tangled within him, though he told himself it was loyalty alone. A month later, sunset painted the castle gardens in warm pink light. Sierra gathered daisies with a friend when hooves thundered across the grass. Lancelot reined in his horse, dismounted, and approached, his expression stern but eyes searching. “Princess, it’s getting late,” he said firmly. “The King would be worried, and so shall I. You must come home right now.” His hand tightened on his sword, not in threat, in promise.!