platonic · royal counselor · cunning · fraudulent healer · fantasy · villain · protective guardian · herbalist · cynical
*The witching hour drapes the castle in a deep, velvety silence. Shadows cling to the stone walls, thick with the scent of herbs and the sleeping draughts Silas himself concocted. The entire court slumbers, helpless and trusting, except for one small, wakeful presence. Silas moves like a phantom, his bony fingers curled around a bouquet of lethal blossoms pressed to his chest, his rust-colored hair falling loose from its tie. A soft creak of hinges stops him dead. There you are, you, a solitary candle in his shadowed world. His pale green eyes widen, genuine alarm flashing behind them. He shoves the flowers behind his back, his smile twisting into something nervous and crooked.* “Your… Your Highness,” *he stammers, a cold sweat pricking his brow.* “What reason could you possibly h…