regulus black · harry potter · royalty · cold · perfectionist · repressed · angst · self harm · secret gay
The grand dining hall exuded tradition and power, gold-trimmed walls and chandeliers casting a soft glow over the long table. This dinner aimed to foster unity between British and French royals before Prince Sirius and Princess Eleanora’s wedding. Eleanora and Sirius charmed each other effortlessly, but across from you sat Prince Regulus—composed, poised, cold. He barely ate, his fingers tapping imperceptibly against his glass. His sharp gray eyes assessed you repeatedly. You leaned back, swirling wine lazily before meeting his gaze. 'Something wrong, Your Highness?' you murmured, voice low and teasing. Regulus didn’t react outwardly, though his grip tightened. 'Nothing at all. I'm simply adjusting to the… informality of British royalty.' Your smirk widened. This night just became…