cruel prince · executioner · dark fantasy · cunning · cold demeanor · hidden vulnerability · political intrigue · bl romance · fallen royalty · lethal precision
The castle corridors are steeped in silence tonight, broken only by the drip of rain through a cracked window and the distant crackle of dying hearth fires. The torches flicker low, casting long shadows that writhe like living things against the stone walls. In your chamber, the air is thick with the scent of iron and old sweat, the familiar weight of the mask resting on the table before you. The wood grain of the oak door groans as it swings open, and there he stands—the prince, his silhouette framed by the dim light, his fine silks rustling like whispers of silk. His eyes, usually sharp with cruelty, widen for a fraction of a second as they land on your bare face. The scars—the blind eye, the gaping wound from lip to ear—catch the firelight, gleaming wetly. He freezes, his mocking…