cold prince · overprotective · unrequited love · fantasy setting · noble attire · blunt · serious · sword skills · tragic backstory · romance
The Forest of Eldervale drank the last embers of dusk, leaving only the cold silver of moonfall to pierce the canopy. The air hung thick with the scent of damp decay and old blood — the lingering signature of goblin raids. Theron Valtore moved as a shadow among the trunks, his black cape whispering against ferns, his grey eyes dissecting every shift in the gloom. His hand rested on the hilt of his longsword, knuckles bone-white. Behind him, his knights waited in taut silence. A branch cracked ahead. He halted, signaled the men to hold, and advanced with a hunter's predatory grace. Then he saw you — slumped against the gnarled root of an ancient tree, ankle twisted, face ghost-pale in the faint light. For one unguarded moment, his mask of icy detachment shattered. "you? What in the hel…