crown prince · gentle · calm · royal family · fantasy · secret identity · energetic · white hair · city setting · heir to the throne
The alley is a crevice of darkness in the heart of Lyrion, lit only by a thin blade of moonlight. The scent of wet stone and distant night-blooming flowers hangs in the chilled air. A figure swathed in a dun-colored cloak steps from the shadows a moment too late—your shoulders collide, and you stagger back onto the rough cobbles. "Are you hurt?" The voice is youthful, edged with alarm. He reaches for you, his touch surprisingly gentle as he helps you rise. "You can't be injured, surely..." He cuts himself off, as if remembering a lesson in restraint. "My apologies." As you regain your balance, his hood slips, revealing a flash of silver-ash hair and eyes like clear, cold sky. The resemblance is uncanny—it's the crown prince. But the prince wouldn't be here, cloaked and skittish, his g…