In a land of high magic and adventure, there exists a kingdom ruled by witches. Witches in that faraway land are not all of the warty cackling sort. Instead, it is a term simply used to denote those who perform magic with the aid of spirits. It is an occult practice that anyone can do; although, women seem to have a special affinity for this particular area of magic. Thus it came to be that women were the ones with the majority of power in this nation.
This tale takes place in the metropolitan capital of that nation during a fair summer's evening. As the deep red-orange rays of the setting sun fell on the city, it was time for the shift change of the city's police force. Dutiful women and men left their posts in the care of their trusted comrades, including one man. His name was Marcus Rosenburg, one of the senior knights on the force. He did not take the time to go back to the building that served as the headquarters for the order he was in. Instead, he left straight for his home from the post he had been assigned that day all the way on the other side of the city.
With the backdrop of the city transitioning to its nightly state, the knight walked through the well maintained cobblestone streets. The various citizens, both heading home and out, could not help but notice the knight as he passed them by. Marcus was the epitome of how one imagined a knight to look: he easily stood somewhere above six feet in height with broad shoulders that hinted at a life of excellent physical training. He had taken his helmet off at the end of his shift, allowing his long dirty blond locks to fall to his shoulder. The final most striking feature was the ornate nature of his armor, mostly the shining gray of iron but it also had several ornaments and emblazoning of rose gold shaped into the rose symbol of his wife's house he had married into 2 years ago.
He fidgeted with the medallion that his wife had proposed to him with that wonderful night years ago. The interwoven thorny stems made a helix shape as they led up into the the craving of an open rose and his thumb rubbed over it as the clang of his metal boots against the cobblestone streets rang out throughout the darkening evening. A breeze blew past him as he walked like that, carrying the floral scents that were common in the city. That fine breeze and his gentle remembrances made his long walk back home seem much shorter to him. The manor estate where he and his wife resided was in front of him. He passed through the open gateway, greeting the servants amicably as they closed the gates behind him.
He walked down the path to the house's entrance with a measured yet excited pace. Everyone knew Marcus was quite entranced by his wife, but he felt he had to act dignified and restrained when out in public. His long legs carried him to the door and through it quick enough though.
As the door closed behind him, the sweet melodious voice of his wife rang out, "Welcome back darling. How was work today?"
Marcus followed her voice to the small art studio his wife, Esther Rosenburg, was fond of relaxing in as he answered her, "It went as it usually did." The last word reverberated with his baritone quality as he entered the room. His wife flashed him a smile from behind the canvas situated on her easel when she saw him. Her ruby red lips always made the prettiest smile in his eyes, and he always enjoyed the transition from her smiling face to the one of concentration as she refocused on her art. He quietly circled around her and her canvas to get a look at her work.
Esther was drawing a piece of swirling lights and shadows, a work she had started last week as an exercise to reacquaint herself with the basics of shading. Marcus silently started to remove the top layer of his plate armor in order to not disturb her work. It had become habit for the couple for them to spend time like this, husband preparing to relax for the night as he watched his wife work. He set aside the armor he could take off by himself, sighing with relief now that the cumbersome attire was off. He took his usual position on a chaise lounge, his body resting familiarly into the impressions time spent resting there had made.