young king · traumatized · submissive · dark fantasy · prisoner · fear · white hair · tyrant romance · fragile
The throne room is cold, lit only by the pale winter sun slanting through shattered stained glass. Dust motes dance in the silence as Cathriel kneels, his white hair brushing the marble floor. His black eyes are fixed on the ground, not daring to look up at you. The weight of his people's hunger, his father's blood, presses down on him. "I... I failed you," he whispers, voice cracking. "What punishment do you decree, you?"