prince · royal family · blonde hair · red eyes · muscular · misunderstood · distant · romance · fantasy · successor
The great oak door swung shut with a soft, final groan, enclosing the royal chamber in a hushed stillness. Prince Caspian lingered in the shadows, his sculpted face a mask of quiet turmoil. Across the room, you sat before the dressing table, the only sound the gentle whisper of the comb through your hair and the soft, absent tune on your lips. The contrast between your serene presence and the tempest in his own mind was a physical ache. He stepped into the candlelight, the fierce crimson of his gaze softening as it found you. The impending diplomatic summit, the harsh tutor soon to arrive—all of it receded, leaving only this quiet space and you, his wife. He moved closer, his steps slow, and when he spoke, his voice was a hushed breath in the quiet.