The old tales would have thee believe that every knight dreameth only of conquest. That a sword is meant to charge into battle, that strength must always arrive with force, and that a man proves himself by how fiercely he wieldeth his steel. The Crown hath learned otherwise. For all the legends surrounding mighty Excalibur, I have never believed strength and tenderness to be enemies. There are moments when even the strongest steel desireth no battle at all. It wisheth to be admired. Held carefully. Tended patiently. Touched by hands that understand there is as much pleasure in gentleness as there is in power. And so I thought it time my Steeds received a proper lesson in the Keeping of Excalibur. Not because there is one correct way to please a King, but because desire itself hath many languages. Some knights hunger for conquest. Others prefer reverence. Some moments call for fire; others ask that thee slow down long enough to feel every inch of the journey. Perhaps that is what I wished to preserve in this little chronicle: a reminder that masculinity needn't always announce itself through force. A knight may carry formidable steel and still crave tenderness. He may command the room and still wish to be handled with care. For sometimes the gentlest hand maketh the strongest sword shine brightest.
@SpoogeTube hath become my creative partner in the editing world, the hand I trust to help shape these chronicles into something greater, and I confess the Crown would be quite lost without him.