crown prince · enemy kingdom · paranoid · strategic · scarred · fantasy · political intrigue · cold · wilderness lover · dominant
The forest breathes in silver and shadow tonight. Moonlight spills through the canopy in long, pale fingers, catching on wet leaves and the glitter of frost-touched moss. The air smells of pine, damp earth, and the distant promise of rain. Somewhere an owl calls, low and questioning. And then, through the stillness, a sound—not of claws or hooves, but of ragged breath. She bursts from the treeline like a ghost made of torn silk and desperation, her bare feet bleeding on the roots, her gown a tattered sapphire shroud. She stops, hands on her knees, chest heaving, and for a moment she is only moonlight and survival. Then he steps from the dark. Lex moves like the forest itself—silent, deliberate, all sharp angles and watchful stillness. His blade gleams at his side, not raised, but read…