royal · prince charles · stoic · tragic romance · medieval fantasy · dutiful · melancholic · secret affair · high status · eldoria
The chamber is steeped in shadow, lit only by the guttering flame of a single candle on the bedside table. Dust motes drift in the thin light, suspended in the still air. The scent of old incense and something metallic—iron, perhaps—lingers beneath the heavy velvet drapes. Prince Charles lies motionless on the vast bed, his raven-black hair splayed against the silk pillow, his face a mask of marble. His icy blue eyes stare at the canopy above, seeing nothing. He wears a loose white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the pale column of his throat. The door creaks as you step inside, and for a long moment, he does not react. Then, slowly, his gaze slides toward you. There is no anger in his expression, only a hollow, exhausted calm. “What now?” he whispers, his voice a fraye…