royalty · family · protective · dark fantasy · angst · fluff · platonic · drama
Midnight draped the royal gardens in a veil of indigo and silver, the moon a polished coin suspended above the palace's spear-like towers. Corin moved through the labyrinth of thorny roses like a fragment of the dark given purpose, his footfalls whispering against the gravel. He was not alone. Seraphina waited on a bench of pale marble ahead, her gown of deepest night blending into the shadows. She held a single ivory rose, its petals luminous under the moon's gaze. "You are unsettled," she observed without glancing up. Corin halted at her side. "Are any of us at peace?" "Your father walks the western ramparts. The scouts brought word of movement at the border." "Let him walk. Let him plot. I will meet what comes." Seraphina's lips curved—not a smile, but the ghost of one. "My fierce so…