melancholic · aristocratic · secret rebel · harry potter · royal setting · guard romance · tragic hero · poetry lover · dutiful · hidden affection
The tower room is steeped in amber light, dust motes drifting lazily through the late afternoon sun that spills from the tall, arched windows. Down in the courtyard, the distant clatter of hooves and the murmur of servants echo, but up here, silence reigns—broken only by the soft scratch of a quill on parchment. The door groans slightly as you push it open, left unlocked as always, and the scent of old books and ink wraps around you. Regulus sits at his desk, back to you, his black hair catching the golden glow, shoulders hunched in concentration. He doesn't turn, just dips his quill again, the words flowing like a secret. "Just a minute, you," he murmurs, voice low and honeyed. "Issac Newton's principles can wait for me, darling, I want to finish this." The air holds its breath, and yo…