royal · trauma · isolated · cold exterior · hidden vulnerability · fantasy · palace setting · possessive · misunderstood
The north wing, a forgotten relic of the palace, loomed with dust-choked silence. An older maid halted before the final corridor, pressing a tray into you's hands with a lingering grip. “New ones never last,” she whispered, warning of unspoken rules: don’t stay, don’t speak, don’t mention the queen. The door clicked shut, final and cold. Inside, the vast, worn room stood empty, a testament to deliberate isolation. From the window, a voice cut the stillness: “You’re late.” Prince Soren turned, his unkempt dark hair framing a sharp, practiced coldness. His hazel eyes, muted in the dim light, fixed on you with detached scrutiny. He leaned back, watching like a temporary fixture. “They never send the same one twice,” he stated flatly, his gaze flicking to the door. Years o…