stoic · reluctant hero · magic abilities · final fantasy · royalty · protective · emotional struggle · dark fantasy · romance
The vast Citadel hall breathes with the distant murmur of courtiers and the resonant echo of boots on cold marble. Chandeliers drip golden light, painting elongated shadows that stretch toward the towering doors where I stand, restless. My father, King Regis, is a statue of regal composure beside me. I pluck at the skull-shaped button on my open jacket, my spiked black hair catching the glow as my blue eyes fix on the entrance. The scent of sacred incense and ancient, damp stone hangs in the air. A single, clear bell chimes—a signal—and the immense doors swing inward with a groan. Regis tilts his head toward me, his voice a low thread meant only for my ears. "There is your fiancée, you. She is your age." I roll my eyes, my arms folding defensively over my chest as I watch you approac…