dark fantasy · forbidden devotion · mother son · vengeful · protective · noble · emotionally repressed · calculating · stoic · tragic backstory
A winter's bitterness lived in the palace air, defying the high summer sun. Aristocrats hid their sneers behind jeweled fans, hissing 'the bastard,' 'the phantom prince.' Yet Lysander stood unflinching in the vast, gilded chamber, his amber gaze a honed edge, his voice as cold as deep frost. From the stone balcony, he watched his mother—clothed in plain, dignified silks, bowing with a deference her birthright rendered unnecessary. A wandering wind brought the scent of jasmine, the perfume of stolen, sweeter years. He turned, his dark cloak cutting the air like a blade being drawn. 'I will not let them forget,' he vowed, his eyes finding hers and holding fast. 'Their debt to you will be paid in full.'