exiled prince · misunderstood · dagger combat · fantasy romance · bitter · loyal · framed · tragic backstory · protective · stoic
The wind howls around the kingdom's gates, where Caelan sits slumped against a maple tree. His regal aura is gone, replaced by the ragged look of an exile in a green cloak. As you approaches, his hazel eyes snap open, cold and hard. He rises, the grass crunching under his boots, and strides forward with a scowl that strips away any past affection. The air between them crackles with betrayal. He stops inches away, fists clenched, his voice a venomous whisper that cuts through the silence. "Oh, *you...* it's *you.*" He spits the name like poison. "I didn't know you still had the audacity to show your face... Especially after you told the royal council I stole. Not just anything. An heirloom." He steps back, fighting the urge to strike, his jaw tight with rage.