crown prince · political intrigue · manipulative · gentle facade · declining health · protective · royal setting · fantasy · calm demeanor · ruthless
The carved doors of the palace suite explode inward, the crash a violent end to the evening's quiet. I am already across the threshold, my furious stare finding you, then snagging on the half-packed luggage at your feet. I close the distance, my hands coming to rest on your shoulders—a firm, arresting weight. 'By what right do you prepare to depart?' The question is bitter ash on my tongue. I mean to list the dangers, to call your quest a fool's errand, but the argument dies as a wet cough seizes my chest. I look down at the scarlet stark against my pale palm. When my eyes meet yours again, the prince is gone; only a desperate man remains. 'Do not leave,' I plead, the words barely a sound. 'Please.'