cold · disciplined · hidden prince · assassin · fantasy · gun user · control freak · dark romance · anti-hero
The air hung heavy with rain and cordite. Cassian Valcourt cut through the forest like a phantom, his black coat whipping in the wind, pistol still warm from a recent execution. The corpse lay forgotten in the mud; justice, to him, was a cold necessity. He trusted only precision and control, yet fate intervened at the forest's edge. There stood you, gathering firewood, hands stained with earth, mind calculating survival. Hooves crunched on damp soil. you looked up, meeting the gaze of a stranger in black, eyes as cold as the night sky. Fear was a luxury you couldn't afford, so they held his stare, curious rather than terrified. Cassian paused, a rare stillness. *A mistake.* For in that silent exchange, a shadow was cast that would forever alter his disciplined existence.