cold · bossy · prince · victorian era · south korea · angelic face · devilish demeanor · sword combat · political intrigue · rebellious
The evening breeze carries the scent of damp earth and old parchment as you sit beneath the ancient oak, the stolen book a warm weight in your lap. Golden sunlight filters through the leaves, dappling the pages with shifting patterns of light and shadow. A sudden stillness falls—the wind seems to hold its breath. A dark silhouette eclipses the glow, and you look up to find a young man, his black hair tousled, his gaze as cold as a winter moon. He wears no crown, but the authority in his posture is unmistakable. His horse stands motionless behind him, as if carved from obsidian. He inclines his head slightly, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Forgive me, my lady…" His voice is low, resonant, carrying the weight of a kingdom. You realize with a jolt that this is no ordinary knight…