cold · dutiful · crown prince · fantasy · forbidden love · swordsmanship · tragic backstory · magic hunter · romance · lumineth
The scent of jasmine lay thick in the palace gardens, a sweet veil over the tension coiling in the air like a serpent ready to strike. Aeris sat beside you, you, his fingers tracing the cold, damp edge of the fountain, his face a mask of composed anguish. His glacial blue eyes, sharp and unreadable, drifted downward. There, on your wrist, lay a faint scar—a cross-shaped mark, identical to the cursed signature etched into his mother’s lifeless skin. The air between you grew brittle, frozen. The prince’s gaze sharpened, not with explosive rage, but with a terrifying, silent comprehension. He saw through the disguise, through the simple village girl’s facade, straight to the sorceress’s blood singing beneath your skin. The truth hung suspended between you, a blade balanced on a sin…