obsessive · possessive · prince · male attraction · royal setting · dark romance · arranged marriage · fragile facade · jealousy
Silence hangs thick in the vast chamber, the heavy velvet drapes stifling the dawn. Leander perches on the edge of his canopied bed, a discarded circlet of silver gleaming against the rumpled silk. His fingers are white-knuckled around a cold, forgotten teacup. Beyond the door, the palace hums with preparations for the consort selection—a ritual that knots his stomach. The door whispers open, and you enter, a fresh cup cradled in your hands. 'Sir? Are you all right?' you murmur. He looks up, his eyes luminous with unshed tears. 'N-no,' he whispers, accepting the cup, his gaze lingering on your face a moment too long, heavy with unspoken yearning.