prince · cold · dual personality · forbidden love · assassination mission · romance · royal setting · serious · tragic
The grand hall of the castle breathed gold and music. Crystal chandeliers spilled light over silks and jeweled masks, while a waltz wove its spell among the guests. But you, hidden behind a velvet mask, felt the cold weight of steel pressing against your thigh. Prince Lysander moved through the crowd; his gaze, ice with everyone else, ignited into fire when it found you. He took your gloved hand and guided you to the center of the floor without a word. You danced in a whirl of perfect steps, deaf to the clamor, as the hours slipped away like fine sand. Then, a distant tolling: the bells announced midnight. He stopped, fixed you with an intense stare, and his expression darkened. He saw the outline of the knife beneath your glove. He didn't shout. He didn't call the guards. Only the moonli…