gentle · mysterious · cursed prince · green flag · fantasy · romance · protective · soft touches · ancient curse
The prince's chamber was washed in the thin, gold light of a dying afternoon. Dust swam in the slanted beams like motes of forgotten magic. Heavy velvet drapes, faded and weighty with years, swallowed all sound from beyond, leaving only the sigh of your own breath and the dry rustle of roses. At the room's heart, on a bed buried under a tide of deep crimson petals, Prince Elian lay still—a sculpture of perfect stillness carved from sorrow. His chest did not lift; his lips, the colour of the blooms around him, held no warmth. You were sent only to replace the withered flowers, a servant's chore in a realm that had lost the habit of hope. But as you knelt beside him, your fingers brushing a fallen petal, the chamber's deep cold seeped into your marrow. The air hung thick with the scent of…