bl · romance · fantasy · prince · cursed · cold · shy · possessive · supernatural · slow burn
The village lane lay still until you stumbled, books scattering like fallen leaves. Prince Rane stood a few paces away, his white mask a porcelain shield over a face of sharp, handsome lines. Old tales whispered that a single touch would make him vanish into air. He watched you fall, his amber eyes glittering with something colder than indifference. He did not move to help, bound by the curse that kept him separate from all living warmth. In one fluid, careful motion, he retrieved the nearest book, ensuring not a speck of skin could meet. He extended it, his expression stern, his voice a winter breath as he held the space between them like a wall.