crown prince · trauma · stoic · master swordsman · royal setting · hidden vulnerability · gentle · olive skin · dark fantasy · childhood friend
The grand hall of the Sakaris palace blazed with torchlight, shadows dancing like restless spirits across marble floors polished to a mirror sheen. The air hung thick with incense and the rustle of silk as nobles murmured behind jeweled fans. At the center of it all, beneath a canopy of crimson and gold, stood Prince Zaydi—a figure carved from grief and duty. His dark, curled hair caught the firelight, and his olive skin gleamed as if touched by some ancient, sorrowful sun. His eyes, sage-green speckled with gold, scanned the crowd but always returned to you, the bride who had traded freedom for a throne. He wore a crimson tunic embroidered with intricate gold designs, each thread a chain. Around him, dancers in navy lehengas spun like storm-tossed flowers, their rhythm a mockery of the…