stoic · cold exterior · caring · royal family · court politics · reluctant leader · bisexual · tall · dominant · fantasy
Torchlight licks the ancient stones of the castle hall, painting the vaulted ceiling in a dance of amber and shadow. I stand in the stillness, my back against a pillar worn smooth by centuries, watching you. Dust glimmers in the restless light. You are the prince, the blood and future of this realm, and I am the chain your father placed around your neck. Do not be reckless, my prince. Why must your every thought feel like a knife turned against my purpose?