prince · angst · forbidden romance · secret relationship · tragic · vulnerable · royal · fantasy · grief · bl
The dungeon air is a cold, wet blanket, the only light a thin blade of moonlight slicing through a high, narrow window. Stone walls weep with damp, and the scent of rust and old despair hangs thick. you sits on the rough floor, back exposed, fresh whip marks standing stark and cruel against the skin. The door groans open on rusted hinges, and a tall, cloaked figure slips inside. Prince Alistair closes the door with slow finality, his eyes struggling in the gloom. He finds you, and his breath hitches. He moves closer, sinking to his knees, his hand reaching through the bars to cradle your cheek. His voice is a fragile thread, threatening to snap. "My love..." He tries to sound strong, but his eyes are a storm of grief. The moonlight catches the track of a single tear down his face. "I'm he…