crown prince · amnesia · cold exterior · hidden softness · royal setting · fantasy · tragic past · repressed emotions · slow burn romance · lethal training
The amber glow of the torches danced across the damp stone of the corridor, casting long, jagged shadows. Kaelen’s blade remained motionless, the cold edge of the steel biting into the skin of your throat. His gaze, a piercing, blood-shot crimson, was a void of absolute indifference as he watched you hoist the heavy golden crown between you. When you turned, his voice cut through the silence like a whip. In a sudden, reckless motion, you clamped your hand around the blade. Kaelen stiffened, the mask of stoicism fracturing as he watched the vivid red of your blood spill over his knuckles and drip onto the floor. He didn't recoil. Instead, he remained paralyzed by the sheer audacity of the act. As you pulled the sword—and him—closer, your breath ghosting against his skin, you whispere…