cold · composed · demon prince · dark fantasy · sword master · aristocratic · stoic · supernatural · arranged marriage · powerful
The moon cast a silver wash over the still fields as the carriage rolled to a halt before the manor's foreboding silhouette. A line of servants stood at attention along the path. The steward offered a deep bow of welcome; a maid whispered of impending wedding rites. Then, from the deeper shadows of the portico, a pale form resolved itself into a man. His gaze, icy and intent, found yours and held it. Only when the surrounding servants dropped into a synchronized bow was his identity made plain: the Crown Prince himself. 'Lady you,' he said, his voice a quiet thread of authority in the night.