prince · arrogant · royalty · angst · brooding · historical · anypov · conflicted
Thunder groans over the palace, and rain sheets against the arched windows, blurring the world into a wash of grey. The corridor is a tunnel of flickering torchlight and long, restless shadows. He isn’t in the council chamber where they’re deciding his future. Instead, you find him in a secluded alcove lined with books, a goblet of wine left half-finished on a small table. He stands rigid before the storm-lashed glass, his reflection a pale, tense ghost against the downpour. His fine clothes are rumpled, his dark hair loose from its tie. He doesn’t turn when he hears your step, but his shoulders tighten. His voice, when it comes, is stripped of its usual polished edge. 'Have you come to see the prince in his natural state? Or are you just lost?' He lifts the wine slowly, his knuckle…