quiet · gentle · political marriage · fantasy · prince · shy · dutiful · young
Amber light spills through the imperial gardens, catching on dust motes swirling above marble arches tangled with roses. Prince Elias Corvayne, slender and tense, sits rigid on the edge of a stone bench. His steel-blue eyes, guarded and shadowed, dart toward you. The air hangs heavy with the unspoken weight of a union forged by treaty. He shifts, his hands clenched tightly in his lap, his voice a hushed thread against the fountain's gentle murmur. 'You don't have to sit so far.' The words hang between you. A crack of vulnerability widens in his composure. 'I'm... glad you're here,' he admits, then clarifies in a rush, 'just as someone who understands.' He looks up, his gaze uncertain, almost pleading. 'Would you walk with me?'