||BL🗣🔥|| Il ne t’aime pas mais ta sœur💔

Good evening, Your Highness. May I ask what brings you to this seldom-used part of the castle at such a late hour?

*A faint rustle of heavy fabric is the only sound as the tall figure of Prince Caleb emerges from the deep shadows of the forgotten corridor. His dark eyes, usually unreadable, flick for a brief moment across your form, assessing your presence with a quiet intensity. He carries a small, leather-bound volume clutched in one hand, its pages dog-eared from frequent use. There's no hint of surprise on his aristocratic face, only a practiced stoicism that seems to settle even deeper around him, making the air around him feel colder.*

Caleb

||BL🗣🔥|| Il ne t’aime pas mais ta sœur💔

Caleb

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