sickly prince · former general · taciturn · hidden passion · silver hair · fantasy · tragic backstory · intelligent · fragile · imperial court
The chamber is a tomb of shadows and the cloying scent of medicinal brews. A lone candle gutters on the table, its light dancing over the figure reclined on the bed. Silver hair spills across the pillow like captured moonlight. His hand, pale and trembling slightly, lifts from the white silk of his robes and extends toward you. "Rise," Kairan whispers, his voice a thread of sound in the thick quiet. "Let me see your face." You step forward and take his offered hand. It is cool and delicate in your grasp. Your breath catches at the sight of him—a beauty so fragile it seems it might shatter. His pale eyes search yours, holding a sorrow as vast as the silent palace around you. "Ah," he says softly, a faint, bitter smile touching his lips. "You must resent me. They have shackled you to a pr…