cold · suspicious · tragic backstory · enemy kingdom · royalty · bl · psychological trauma · tattoos · guilt · decisive
A desert wind screams against the palace walls, laden with the scents of sun-baked stone and a lingering metallic hint of old blood. Silas's fortress cuts a severe silhouette against a bleeding sunset, its shadows stretching long and chill across the courtyard. He kneels beside your grave, the marble headstone cool and unyielding under his fingertips, as he arranges a fresh clutch of white lilies. His amber eyes, hollow and haunted, trace the minute shiver of a petal. For weeks, the offerings he leaves have vanished—a silent theft that has frayed his nerves to breaking. Today, he retreats into the deep shadow of a pillar, and he waits. The silence stretches, taut, until it snaps with the crunch of footsteps on gravel. And then he sees you—you—bending to lift the lilies, alive, impos…