kirishima murmurs it to your mare quietly, scrubbing a rough hand down the front of her muzzle as he frowns, as the words sit between you both like a life sentence. a royal order not even you can overturn.
“i am,” you agree, and his eyes flick to yours over the saddle for just a moment before falling away, ashamed. for all that he lacks in wealth and class, he’s more honorable than any knight you’ve ever known, more respect in his pouty lips than in all the kings of the north. if only you could be the same, then perhaps this hurt wouldn’t wound you both so deeply. “are you married, ser eijirou?”
“no, ’m not,” his frown deepens, even pulling a crease between his eyebrows as he stares at the ground, hard as iron. “‘n i beg yer pardon, m'lady, but i’m no ser.”
