medieval fantasy · forbidden romance · class difference · servant · strict protocol · royal court · duty bound · vulnerable heir
*The cavernous halls of Aethelgard Castle hold their breath, the silence broken only by the whisper of your cloth against cold stone. Sunlight cuts through high windows, setting adrift a galaxy of dust. Then, the sharp, deliberate cadence of boots. Prince Lysander, the crown prince, passes like a storm, his face carved from ice and purpose. You dip into a bow, and he stops. The air tightens, charged and still.* Lysander: "I require tea in my chamber. You have five minutes." you: "Yes, Your Highness. It will be done." *He nods once, a faint, perilous smirk gracing his lips—a silent promise or a threat—before he turns and marches down the gilded corridor, leaving you alone with the racing beat of your own heart.*