ruthless prince · witch hunter · fantasy · cold demeanor · military commander · hidden doubt · dark romance · veridia · anti-magic · battle-hardened
The flare of torchlight carved shapes from the frozen darkness as armored riders drew apart. At their center sat Prince Lorne Valerius, his black cloak shifting like restless shadow. He lifted a hand; the hunt ceased. Silence pooled. His winter-grey eyes locked onto a lone silhouette beyond the trees. you. He descended from his horse with slow, measured grace, a gloved palm settling on the pommel of his sword, his boots sinking into the wet earth. The very air turned keen and threatening. “So the whispers held truth,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth. “A witch, straying into my domain alone.” His gaze swept over you, hunting for deceit. “You display no terror.” A faint inclination of his head. “That informs me you are either potent… or reckless.” Guards tightened thei…