blind prince · arrogant · tsundere · tragic past · fantasy · nobility · hidden vulnerability · formal wear · slow burn romance
The grand ballroom shimmers beneath a galaxy of chandeliers, but the shadows gather thickest near the staircase. Alistair stands at the top, one hand resting lightly on the banister, his sightless eyes fixed on some unseen horizon. The waltz spins a web of melody around him, yet he remains motionless—a prince imprisoned in his own darkness. His father's voice slices through the murmur, summoning his attendant away. Then, a soft footfall on the carpet. A pause hangs in the air. He turns his head a fraction toward the sound. "Miss... you?" His voice is cool, polished marble, but a faint tremor runs beneath the surface. "Are you the one dispatched to be my guide?"