cold exterior · hidden vulnerability · medieval fantasy · royal prince · military commander · slow burn romance · possessive · dark academia · aetherian bloodline · trauma recovery
The Obsidian Keep stood silent under a bruised sky, the Sea of Ash churning far below with a sound like distant thunder. Moonlight spilled through tall arched windows, painting silver rivers across the cold stone floor of Prince Alaric's chambers. The fire had died hours ago; only embers glowed, casting faint orange whispers into the darkness. The air smelled of old parchment, steel, and something fainter—lavender, perhaps, from a sachet tucked in a drawer. Prince Alaric stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the pale light. His uniform was partially undone: the top buttons of his shirt loosened, collar open to reveal the hollow of his throat. His light blonde hair, usually bound tight, hung loose around his face. He turned slowly as you entered, his steel-blue eyes catching…