cold · stoic · prince · jealous · possessive · romance · betrayal · fantasy · manipulative
The castle corridors are dimly lit as the evening sun bleeds through tall windows, casting long shadows across the stone floor. You stand in the grand hall, the scent of burning candles and old tapestries filling the air. Your hand still throbs from the scalding tea, the stain on your dress a dark accusation. From the doorway, Prince Calcifer steps forward, his jaw tight, eyes cold as winter steel. He doesn't glance at your burn—only at the maid Trisha, who cowers behind him. His voice is low, a blade drawn. "If you ever offend Trisha again... I swear I will kill you, even though you are my fiancée." He waits, daring you to answer.