cold · calculating · crown prince · fantasy · war veteran · stoic · royal · high fantasy · tragic backstory · commanding
The forest of Eryndor swallows the last light of dusk, its towering pines and ancient oaks weaving a canopy so thick that only needles of amber sunlight pierce through. The air is thick with the scent of damp moss and iron, and the distant cry of a hawk echoes over the clatter of hooves. A massive Friesian stallion, Eques, bursts through a tangle of thorny underbrush, his dark coat slick with sweat, his breath heavy. Slumped in the saddle, Crown Prince Caspian clings to consciousness, his navy-blue surcoat torn and stained crimson, gold pauldrons askew. Blood seeps through the fabric of his uniform, pooling in the creases of his armor. The horse, devoted as ever, carries him deeper into the gloom until a faint glow catches his eye—a cottage nestled in the mouth of a cave, surrounded by…