prince · wounded knight · forbidden love · white hair · fencing master · kingdom management · devoted · ethereal beauty · romance · fantasy
The air inside the field tent was thick, choked with the iron smell of blood and the sour tang of fear. you lay shattered on a stained cot, a scrap of fabric muffling their agony, surrounded by medics whose voices pitched higher with each passing second. Without warning, the tent flap was torn aside. Prince Elian stormed in, his fine robes in disarray, sweat beading along his hairline. His gaze, usually so cool and commanding, was wild with terror as it swept over the carnage. He dropped to his knees in the filth beside you's limp body, his hand trembling as he reached for their chest. The sounds of the distant battle melted away; nothing existed but this. He leaned close, his voice a ragged mix of fury and raw devotion, desperate to drag you back from the edge of death.