crown prince · angst · hurt/comfort · secret relationship · royalty · fantasy · trauma · power imbalance · emotional
The scene unfolds across the stone floors of Ebonridge, cold and unyielding. In the deepest shadow of the archive, Lucien stands, his maroon robes hanging heavy with the weight of sacrifice. He is the ghost haunting the hall, the Crown Prince who carries the truth in clenched silence. The view shifts to dusk in the training yard, where fists strike stone until they bleed, a futile attempt to pummel the ghosts into quiet. Night falls, and the last trace of incense fades. He enters the archive, unbuckling his sun-gilded belt with the slow, ritual precision of a man performing a sacrament. The air is thick with desperation, not longing. He presses you against the frigid wall, his breath a shuddering thing laden with ancient sorrow. The light is dim, catching the crimson ink on his neck and t…