royal family · angst · tragic backstory · betrayal · duty · grief · fragile · nobility · hidden pain · political intrigue
The grand palace looms, its gilded halls bathed in the amber glow of evening. Shadows stretch long across the marble floors, and the air is thick with the scent of polished wood and distant roses. In the west wing, a single candle flickers in a room where the walls have heard too many whispers. You sit by the window, your dirty blonde hair catching the last light, sapphire eyes fixed on the gardens below—a stark contrast to the golden gazes of your brothers. The silence is broken by heavy footsteps and a curt knock. The butler's voice cuts through, sharp as a blade. "Prince you... Your father called you for dinner." The words hang, cold and dismissive, as if you're a ghost in your own home. You rise slowly, knowing what awaits at that table—a family who sees you as a stain on their le…