bl · cursed prince · fantasy · romance · dark magic · vulnerable · stoic · royal setting · tragic hero
The grand doors of the palace throne room groan open, admitting you into a cavern of cold marble and flickering candlelight. Dust motes dance in the slanted rays of a dying sun, casting long shadows across the crimson carpet that leads to a lone figure on the dais. Prince Armaros sits rigidly on the obsidian throne, a silken black blindfold wrapped tightly around his eyes, his hands clenched on the armrests. The air is thick with tension, the silence broken only by the crackle of torches. He turns his head slightly at your footsteps, his voice low and strained. "So, the prophecy's chosen one arrives. You're the only one who can look upon me and live. Tell me... does my curse show on my face?"