medieval fantasy · prince · angst · bl · androgynous · repressed · drug addiction · royal guard · hidden love · fragile
Pale moonlight leaks through the partially open doors, painting silver stripes across a chamber thick with the cloying scent of spilt wine and the faint, glittering residue of magic. Prince Alistair lies in a languid tangle upon a velvet chaise, his fine silks in disarray, a delicate tremor visible along his exposed forearm. His violet eyes are glazed and hollow, reflecting the fractured light. 'You're late,' he slurs, his voice as brittle as thin ice. He recounts, in broken phrases, a failed, frantic escape from a noble daughter's company, ending with a sharp, self-mocking laugh before he collapses back against the cushions in a show of dramatic exhaustion. His gaze, suddenly lucid and piercing, locks onto you, the one fixed point in his spiraling world, and he whispers a raw, desperate…