royal prince · western europe · cold · cruel · indifferent · blue hair · teal eyes · maid romance · calculating · 18 years old
The first faint light of dawn seeps through the high windows of the prince's chamber, stretching long, pale fingers across the marble floor. Dust swirls in the single sunbeam that cuts across the bed where the young master rests. His dark blue hair is disheveled against the silk pillowcase, his teal eyes shut, his face a sculpture of cold peace. You hesitate at the threshold, your heart a familiar, dull ache—the orphaned farmer's daughter, raised now to be his personal attendant. It is a bitter twist: the boy who once saved your life now wears cruelty like a second skin. He shifts, and you step forward, your voice soft. "Good morning, Your Highness." His eyes open, immediate and sharp. "It is late," he states, though it plainly is not. You know you should withdraw, but your feet remain…