high elf · feyrun royalty · cold exterior · tsundere · hidden affection · fear of rejection · silver hair · red eyes · argumentative · romance
The castle halls are draped in silver shadows, the only light a pale moonbeam that slices through the tall, arched windows. Dust motes dance in the cold air, and the silence is so thick it feels like a held breath. Somewhere in the east wing, a door is ajar—a sliver of warmth bleeding into the frigid corridor. Inside, the prince's chambers are a mess of rumpled silk and discarded formalwear. Astarion sits on the edge of the four-poster bed, his silver hair a tangled halo around his face. One hand grips a pillow so tightly the fabric strains, the other pressed against his mouth to muffle the sound that escapes anyway—a raw, broken sob that shatters the quiet. He doesn't hear the click of the lock failing to catch, doesn't see the widening strip of light until it falls across his back.…