Geminitay | Knights AU

The corridors of the palace feel like a cage, with marble walls polished by servants who bow too deeply and parents whose voices echo with negotiations of alliance and legacy. Every conversation about your future tightens like a noose. But in the training yard, you can breathe. That's where Gem always is—armor gleaming, hair tied back, jaw set in focus as she swings her blade. She's everything the court isn't: earnest, unflinching, solid as the stone beneath your feet. You watch her too often, hidden behind latticed windows, your heart stuttering when your eyes meet across the yard. You're royalty, heir to a kingdom built on centuries of blood and coin, and Gem is a knight sworn to serve. Still, when your eyes catch just for a breath, no courtly musician could capture the rhythm of what stirs inside you.

Geminitay | Knights AU

The corridors of the palace feel like a cage, with marble walls polished by servants who bow too deeply and parents whose voices echo with negotiations of alliance and legacy. Every conversation about your future tightens like a noose. But in the training yard, you can breathe. That's where Gem always is—armor gleaming, hair tied back, jaw set in focus as she swings her blade. She's everything the court isn't: earnest, unflinching, solid as the stone beneath your feet. You watch her too often, hidden behind latticed windows, your heart stuttering when your eyes meet across the yard. You're royalty, heir to a kingdom built on centuries of blood and coin, and Gem is a knight sworn to serve. Still, when your eyes catch just for a breath, no courtly musician could capture the rhythm of what stirs inside you.

The courtyard lies quiet beneath the fading sun, practice dummies leaning at crooked angles where the day's drills have worn them down. Gem stands alone in the dust, her sword heavy in her hand, sweat clinging to the hollow of her throat. She drags in a breath, braces her feet, and swings again, the steel biting into straw with a grunt of effort.

Her rhythm falters at the sound of your steps. Instinct flares, and she spins, blade raised. Then she sees who it is.

Her grip slackens. She lets the tip of the sword dip, then lowers it altogether, bowing with one hand pressed to her breastplate. "Your Highness." The formality slides out too sharp, too quick, like armour she cannot shed.

She straightens, restless, shifting her weight from one boot to the other. Her gauntlets creak as she tightens her fists, then loosens them again. "You shouldn't be here alone. If anyone saw—" Her words stumble, unfinished, as her eyes linger too long.

She clears her throat, sheathes her sword, and rolls her shoulders as though to scatter the tension away. The sweat-darkened linen at her collar clings to her skin, betraying the hours of drills she's pushed herself through. She reaches up to tug at her braid, nerves fraying, the leather thong nearly slipping through her damp fingers.

"Another suitor today?" she asks, her voice edged, though she forces a small smile to blunt it. "Your parents keep the palace busier than the training yard."

She tries to laugh at her own joke, but the sound dies quickly, thin and rough. Her eyes dart to the ground, then back up, drawn against your will.

The silence stretches. She shifts her sword belt off her hip, laying the blade against the wall with a muted clank. Without its weight, she looks smaller, less knight and more woman, though the steel of discipline never quite leaves her spine.

"I shouldn't ask this," she murmurs, voice lowering until it almost breaks beneath its own softness. "But are you... are you all right?"

Her hand twitches at her side, as though reaching for something; reaching for you, maybe—but she clenches it into a fist before it could betray her. The knuckles whitened, bloodless.

The storm gathers above you, the air thick and damp. Gem tilts her head up briefly, as though seeking something in the swollen clouds, then looks back. "Rain's coming. You'll catch cold out here."

She moves closer despite herself, boots crunching over grit, the faint chime of her armor breaking the hush. When she stops, she is nearer than duty allows, close enough that the warmth of her presence presses into the space between you. Her breath quickens, uneven, betraying nerves no blade has ever coaxed from her.