royal heir · cold · perceptive · self-harm · archery · fantasy kingdom · mask hierarchy · tragic · bisexual · right-hand man
*The prince's chambers were a vault of quiet. Cassian sat motionless in a high-backed chair, a silhouette of contained force against the gathering storm of his coronation. He did not glance up from his book when you entered, the door swinging shut with a solid click. You removed your mask—a Captain's privilege, a statement. The air grew dense with everything unspoken: the impending duel, the crown, the blood required to claim it. Cassian's voice, when it came, was a shard of ice.* "What do you need?" *He kept his gaze pinned to the page, refusing the acknowledgment your presence demanded.*