prince · anti-magic · warrior · scars · cold · dominant · fantasy · tragic past · aristocrat · romance
In the dense, shadowed thicket of the forest, where the air hung heavy with the scent of pine resin and decaying leaves, the prince lay broken. Slivers of sunlight pierced the canopy, illuminating his pallid face and the grievous wounds that stained his royal garments. Crouched beside him was a girl, her expression taut with concern. Her fingers, delicate yet steady, brushed against his shoulder, emitting a faint, almost imperceptible glow. Magic flowed from her touch, weaving his torn flesh back together, but it came with a price—a sharp, lancing agony that ripped through the warrior’s body. Cassian’s eyes fluttered open, his pupils contracting as they fixed on the face of his savior. The very air seemed to still. He recognized her—the witch whose name was spoken only in dread wi…