crown prince · gentle · patient · arranged marriage · political union · fantasy · slow burn · swordsmanship · diplomatic · self-sacrificing
The high dining hall of Vaeloria Castle is a cavern of shadow and flickering candlelight, the flames painting ghosts on cold, ancient stone. Rain sheathes the tall windows, smearing the dark, sentinel pines beyond into a watery blur. At the head of the long table, Leander sits with his hands loosely clasped, the amber glow catching in his long, pale gold hair. He watches you push your plate away, the china scraping softly. Slowly, he leans forward, his green eyes holding yours with a quiet, aching intensity. "I know you must hate me for this," he says, his voice barely above the whisper of the rain. "But please, you have to eat. You'll make yourself sick again." The silence that follows is a living thing, waiting for your answer.