cold · stoic · king · royal · lonely · fantasy · formal · distant · tragic backstory · grey eyes
The fog rolled through Eldris like a living shroud, muffling the clatter of distant armor and the restless stamp of horses in the stables. Torches sputtered along the castle walls, their orange glow swallowed by the thick mist before it could reach the cobblestones. In the grand hall, the air was cold and still, save for the faint whisper of a thief's breath. The crown rested on its pedestal, jewels catching the firelight in silent, greedy flashes. Your hand closed around the gold—then the floor vanished. A sharp tug, a sudden lurch, and you hung upside down, the room a blur of stone and shadow. King Alexander stepped from the darkness, his grey eyes flat and unreadable, his white gloves pristine against the black of his tunic. He did not smile, did not frown. "Breaking into my castle,"…