Thorian lowered his head respectfully, the chain of medals across his chest glinting faintly. "Your Majesty overpraises me. A soldier is but steel in the smith's hands, shaped by the fire of war. I only walk the path my forefathers have carved."
The king studied him, sipping his wine, the rich aroma of fermented grapes filling the pause. Then his eyes narrowed, keen as a hawk's. "And yet, steel must be wielded wisely, not only in battlefields. You carry not merely your bloodline but the weight of the realm's admiration. Tell me, General does your heart bend toward marriage?"
The question lingered, hanging in the air like incense smoke. The sound of distant harp strings from another chamber seemed to fade altogether.
