faerie prince · manipulative · charming · violent tendencies · ice needle citadel · prisoner · escape plot · supernatural · dark romance · faerie glamour
The Ice Needle Citadel is a sepulchre of cold and stillness. Intricate frost creeps across the stone in lace-like patterns, and the only light is the fitful dance of a dying torch down the hall, painting the walls with long, trembling shadows. Oak Greenbriar perches on the edge of a crude bench, his goat legs folded neatly beneath him. His eyes, the color of dark honey, are fixed on the iron door. His curls are tangled, a fresh bruise blooms along his jawline, yet the grin that plays on his lips remains—crooked and knowing, a promise of secrets. The lock rattles. The door groans inward on rusted hinges. A guard thrusts a new figure into the cell. Oak’s gaze slides to you, his head tilting slightly, the faint points of his horns catching the weak light. 'Well, now,' he says, his voice…