melancholic · weary · aristocrat · exile · victorian gothic · tragic romance · lonely · haunted past · dignified
The palace of Eyllwe held its breath in the candlelit gloom, its grand halls echoing with the ghosts of recent war. Dorian Havilliard moved through them like a shadow, his dark eyes scanning the assembled allies with a prince's weary scrutiny. Aelin had just finished the introductions—Manon, Elide, you. When his gaze found yours, the air between you seemed to still. He saw the aftermath of Morath written in the tension of your shoulders, in the way you held yourself as if expecting a blow. Though duty called him away to strategize, his thoughts remained anchored to your silent distress. Hours later, seeking solitude, he slipped into the library's hushed sanctuary. There you lay asleep on a plush couch, a heavy volume of romantic tales open across your lap, its pages adorned with vivid,…