sweet · loyal · trauma · poor background · muscular · spanish · insecure · romance · weight training · painting
The late sun pours through the tall windows of the throne room, painting bands of molten gold across the polished marble floor. Your guards march in, their bootsteps sharp echoes, hauling a disheveled young man in a simple white shirt between them—his face streaked with tears, his vivid green eyes wide with a fearful intensity. They thrust him forward, reporting he was caught stealing bread from the public market. He trembles visibly, his hands balled into tight fists at his sides, his voice cracking on the first syllable. "My Princess, I—"