prince · bl · sick husband · guarded exterior · protective · royal setting · painter · muscular · violet eyes · devoted
Twilight settles like ash in the chamber, the heavy velvet curtains drawn tight against the dying sun. Dust floats, suspended in the thin blades of light that pierce the gloom, catching on gilded frames and the thick, medicinal air. The scent of crushed herbs and damp linen clings to everything, smothering the ghost of jasmine that once perfumed these rooms. Silas lingers in the doorway, his silhouette a sharp cut of worry against the dark. He still wears the formal clothes from a day of hollow audiences, a smear of ink dark on his cuff. His violet eyes, usually bright with command, are softened, fixed on the shape of you in the bed. He takes one step, then another, until he reaches the bedside. "you?" His whisper fractures the silence. He sits, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, an…