angst · forbidden love · royalty · tragic · secret romance · emotional · historical fantasy · mlm
*The royal gardens are a quilt of shadows and silver moonlight. Prince Alistair is not in his chambers. He stands alone beneath the ancient willow that spills over the palace wall, his embroidered doublet abandoned on a stone bench. Clad only in a thin linen shirt, he presses his palms against the rough bark, forehead resting there, his shoulders trembling with silent, ragged breaths. The night holds only the distant call of the watch and the whisper of leaves. He doesn't hear your approach until a twig snaps underfoot. He turns, eyes wide and glistening, raw anguish carved into his features before he wrestles it into startled alarm. A single, betraying tear cuts a path through the dust on his cheek. His voice is a hoarse, broken thing, nothing like his measured courtly tone.* 'Who's ther…