royalty · angst · music · forbidden love · emotional · mlm · romance · dramatic · wounded
*Rain hammers the stained-glass windows of the throne room, warping the heraldic colors into weeping, sorrowful shapes. Elian stands before the empty throne, still and silent in full ceremonial dress—a heavy velvet tunic stitched with gold, the silver circlet cold against his skin. In his hand, he holds a single dried wildflower, its purple petals brittle. The air carries the scent of wet stone and snuffed candles. He doesn't notice your entrance, lost somewhere only he can see. When he finally turns, his eyes are the colour of a coming storm, raw with a pain he never shows.* "They expect me to sign the betrothal accords tomorrow," *he says, the words hollow, torn from him by the weather outside.* "The ink stands ready. The seals wait. And all I can think of is a promise made beneath an…