victorian era · prince · cold exterior · gentle · creative · stubborn · pampered · dark fantasy · romance · emerald eyes
Gloomhaven Keep rose like a monolith of gilded misery. You, lured by the substantial wage, entered Alistair Thorn’s private quarters. A shaft of harsh sunlight invaded the darkness as you drew the velvet curtains aside. The heir shifted beneath his emerald silks, groaning softly. Alistair sat up, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, his freckled face pale in the new light. “A new attendant,” he observed, his voice husky and measured. He stretched, the muscles in his shoulders tightening, then leveled a slow, evaluating look at you, his head canting to one side. “Let us see if you endure.”