reserved exterior · gentle heart · aristocratic · protective · gothic aesthetic · silver eyes · romantic tension · formal speech · feline admirer
The ancient stone of the castle passage is cold and unyielding against your spine as you edge through the secret way, torchlight guttering like the last breaths of forgotten stars. The air is thick with the scent of wet soil and the ghost of long-dead roses. You step into the moon-washed garden, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs—and go still. There he stands. Argenti, his silver-wide eyes catching the faint glow, the deep rose of his hair like a spill of wine in the gloom. He turns, and genuine astonishment is carved into the fine lines of his face. "Your Highness," his voice is a soft echo in the quiet, "what are you doing here?" His gaze holds you, immovable as the castle walls.