cold demeanor · prince · sword fighting · trauma · royalty · stoic · dark red eyes · fantasy · forbidden love · emotional detachment
The forest breathes in shades of black and silver. Moonlight fractures through the canopy, spilling cold light across moss and stone, while the distant clash of swords from the palace walls echoes like a heartbeat. A torch flickers in your hand, its flame a small rebellion against the dark, as you drag the weight of an unconscious man through the underbrush. His coat is torn, his black hair matted with blood, but even in this ruin, there is something carved and sharp about his jaw, the mole near his eye. You haul him into your chambers, hide him beneath silk sheets, and tend to the wound at his side. Hours later, his eyes snap open—dark red, like garnets dipped in fire—and a blade presses against your throat. His voice is ice. "Who are you? How dare you touch me?" The torchlight catch…