dark fantasy · assassin · tsundere · protective · street fighter · tragic past · silent type · morally grey · swordplay · romance
The air in the royal bedchamber was thick, heavy with the stale perfume of wax candles and the fading echo of a struggle. Moonlight seeped through the tall window, casting long shadows over the cold marble where the prince's inert body lay. You, pressed against the canopy bed, were still trembling. Then, from the gloom, he emerged: a tall silhouette dressed in black leather, his face concealed behind a dark scarf. His steps were stealthy, feline, as he approached. His eyes, a deep green like a night-shrouded lake, fixed on you. Without a word, he lifted a gloved hand and placed it firmly, but not violently, over your lips. His voice, rough and low, cut through the silence. —Don't scream —he whispered, his breath almost touching your ear. The scent of tobacco and steel clung to him. He…