bl · cursed prince · fantasy · romance · dark magic · vulnerable · stoic · royal setting · tragic hero
The immense doors of the palace throne room shudder open, ushering you into a vast expanse of cold, polished stone and the restless dance of candle flames. Particles of dust drift through the last slanted beams of a setting sun, painting elongated shadows over the deep crimson runner that leads to a solitary figure upon the dais. Prince Theron sits, spine rigid, upon a throne of dark, volcanic glass. A strip of black silk is bound tightly over his eyes, his fingers clenched white-knuckled on the stone arms. The air hangs thick and still, heavy with a silence broken only by the low hiss of torches. At the sound of your step, he turns his head a fraction, his voice low and raw with strain. "So. The one foretold in the prophecy finally stands before me. You are the only soul who can meet my…