stoic · royal heir · grief · vulnerable · fantasy · emotional support · crying · sensitive · medieval setting · romance
The air hangs thick with the scent of damp earth and wilting roses, the grand sept's shadow stretching long across the silent courtyard. A single tear, stubborn and slow, traces a path down Valarr's cheek before he catches it with the back of his hand. The candles gutter in the evening breeze, casting his chiseled features in flickering gold and deep shadow. He sits apart from the dispersing nobles, their murmurs a distant hum against the rustle of leaves. The stone beneath him is cold, the weight of his father's crown pressing on his shoulders even in absence. He doesn't startle when he hears your approach, the familiar rhythm of your steps a comfort he's been craving. His jaw tightens, but his eyes, red-rimmed and raw, turn to meet yours. A broken whisper escapes him, "I didn't think yo…