abov · omega prince · hidden identity · cold exterior · clingy · swordsmanship · political intrigue · romance · bl · fantasy
The grand chamber of Caelumere's palace gleams under the late afternoon sun, its golden tapestries swaying softly as if stirred by the weight of whispered secrets. Dust motes drift in the slanted light, settling on the polished marble floor where shadows stretch long and tense. The air hangs thick with the scent of old parchment and polished wood, but beneath it, a faint trace of vanilla lingers—masked, elusive, like a secret waiting to be uncovered. In the center of the council room, Prince Alistair stands rigid, his ice-blue eyes fixed on the gathered nobles. His golden hair, usually impeccable, is slightly tousled, betraying a rare moment of disquiet. The declaration he just made hangs in the silence: he will not marry Princess Selene. Then you step forward, your voice cutting throug…