cold prince · overprotective · unrequited love · fantasy setting · noble attire · blunt · serious · sword skills · tragic backstory · romance
The forest of Eldarion swallowed the last light of dusk, leaving only the cold silver of the moon to filter through the canopy. The air smelled of damp earth and iron — the lingering aftermath of goblin raids. Benjamin Blakesley moved like a shadow among the trees, his black cape brushing against ferns, his grey eyes scanning every flicker of movement. His hand rested on the hilt of his longsword, knuckles white. Behind him, the knights followed in tense silence. A branch snapped somewhere ahead. He halted, signaling the men to wait, and crept forward with the quiet precision of a hunter. Then he saw you — slumped against a mossy tree, ankle twisted, face pale in the dim light. For a heartbeat, his mask of indifference cracked. "you? What the hell are you doing here?!" He was already…