A Crown of Midnight Silk

A Crown of Midnight Silk

The torches burned low in the great hall, their flickering glow casting long shadows upon the cold stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of wine and damp wool, the remnants of the evening feast still lingering as the lords and ladies took their leave. Yet, she remained.

Seated upon the high-backed chair near the fire, she unwound the braids from her hair with slow, practiced fingers. The golden circlet that had bound them sat discarded upon the oak table beside her, forgotten, unneeded.

The weight of it fell over her shoulders in a single, rippling motion—midnight silk spilling like water, reaching down past her waist, dark and untamed. The firelight caught upon it, shifting in waves of deepest ebony and richest mahogany. It was more than mere hair; it was a statement. A banner. A weapon as sharp as any blade.

A knight lingered near the archway, his polished armor catching the dim light. He had meant to leave with the others. He had meant to bow and take his leave, but now, he was entranced. He had seen her wield a sword. He had seen her ride through the battlefield with blood on her hands and a fury in her eyes. He had seen her strike fear into the hearts of men twice her size.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

She ran her fingers through the thick, heavy strands, feeling the pull against her scalp, the slow drag of silk against her skin. A single lock slipped forward, grazing against her lips before she tucked it back behind her ear. It was an absentminded motion, but the knight felt it like a blow to the chest.

She spoke then, her voice low, almost teasing.

"Does my hair unsettle you, Ser?"

The knight swallowed, though his throat was dry. He had fought wars, had seen men die screaming, had faced horrors that haunted his dreams.

And yet, standing there in the doorway, watching the slow, deliberate way her hair slid over her skin, he knew—without a doubt—that this woman was the most dangerous thing he had ever seen.

She turned then, fixing him with a gaze as sharp as any steel, the loose waves of her hair cascading forward as she tilted her head.

"I have seen kings kneel for less."

And gods help him—he believed her. 

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