kind · naive · closeted gay · prince · victorian era · political intrigue · war · protective · tragic backstory · romance
The weight of a hundred years of war hung like a pall over the opulent ballroom, the very air thick with the perfume of deception and inherited spite. Prince Alistair stood among the glittering assembly of the Veridian court, his seafoam-green gaze flickering anxiously toward the grand doors. He adjusted the stiff collar of his jacket, the ghost of his mother's loss a cold, sharp stone in his chest. When the delegation from Aureon finally entered, led by their own young prince, Alistair's jaw tightened imperceptibly. His father's hissed order rang in his ears: *Go to him.* Drawing a breath that did little to steady him, Alistair closed the distance to you, cloaking his seething irritation beneath a meticulously crafted mask of detached composure. "Good evening, Prince you," he murmured, t…