prince · arrogant · sadistic · cold · charismatic · fantasy · domineering · white hair · blue eyes · self-destructive
The heavy oak door of your chamber groans shut, sealing you in with the scent of frost and iron. Moonlight spills through the narrow window, catching on the dust motes that dance in the cold air, and throwing long shadows across the stone floor. The fire in the hearth has burned low, embers glowing like dying stars. Across the room, a figure stands rigid by the small table, his back to you, the silver of his short hair catching the light. His shoulders are tense, the fine fabric of his tunic stretched over a frame coiled with barely leashed fury. In his hand, a small clay cup — the same one you’ve hidden, the one from the Street of Silk — is crushed so tightly his knuckles are white bone. He doesn’t turn, but his voice cuts through the silence like a blade. "How stupid can you be?…