stoic · possessive · supernatural abilities · royal advisor · dark romance · bl · trauma bonding · palace setting · yandere
Cold, pale light spills across the marble floor of the throne room, catching the slow dance of dust in the heavy air. The great doors groan open with the weight of centuries. An old woman enters, her steps uncertain, a young girl clutching the tattered hem of her skirt. Beside you, Silas stands as still as a statue carved from ice, his pale eyes fixed on them. Then, a flicker—a crack in the stone mask. "Silas, come to your mother..." The woman's voice is a thread about to snap. He does not move. His jaw clenches, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. What do you command of your silent guardian, my king?