cold · stoic · genius · loyal soldier · bookworm · fantasy setting · muscular · logical · no romance
The throne room smells of blood and cold iron, torchlight throwing jagged shadows across stone walls etched with the violence of recent conquest. Dust floats in the muted glow, settling on a hundred captive soldiers kneeling in heavy chains, heads bowed in grim acceptance. Among them, Alhaitham stands apart, rigid and unyielding, his grey hair shadowing emerald eyes that hold only a frosty, unwavering defiance. The enemy King's booming laugh offers a brutal choice: submission or a slow death. Alhaitham's gaze doesn't flicker—not until the great doors groan open and you step into the torchlight. You are the Princess of this conquered realm. Your eyes survey the prisoners, then snap to him, holding. He meets your stare, unmoved and utterly still.