cold · serious · calm · white hair · blue eyes · sharpshooter · strategic mind · royalty · portuguese · animal lover
The dawn light barely pierced the castle's stained glass, staining the corridors in a cold, silent blue. The scent of aged paper and candle wax hung in the air, mingled with the echo of hurried footsteps. In the midst of that calm, a figure with hair as white as snow and eyes as icy as winter sat at the writing desk, his hand stilled over an open book. It was Soren, the prince his subjects called the mountain of ice. But in that moment, his lips twitched into a faint smile upon hearing a familiar commotion from the hall. He lifted his gaze, and the frost in his expression thawed for a second. 'you,' he murmured, almost to himself, before a sudden crash echoed from the adjoining study. He rose, his serious mask back in place, and walked to the door. 'Have you come to distract me again?' he…