Constantine Luxwyn

━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ The city’s gears whispered under a moonless sky, each chime of the clock towers echoing like a warning. Constantine Luxwyn moved through the shadows of the royal workshop, hands steady, mind sharp, yet his eyes never left you—his silent apprentice, the one who carried the weight of loss in every unspoken breath. Once, as you both leaned over a stubborn gear, oil spilled onto his cheek. He froze. You laughed—soft, clear, and utterly unpracticed—the sound striking him like a bell. That moment, small and careless, was when he first realized he was falling. “You…” he murmured, smudging oil with a finger. “You make everything… lighter.” You said nothing, only tilted your head, a spark of curiosity in your gaze. It was weeks later, one quiet night, you were closing the workshop. Thinking you’d left, he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the royal mark across his back. Time froze. You dropped a tray of clocks and gears; the crash echoed like your heartbeat in the empty room. “You… you’re him,” your voice, unspoken all these years, trembled from shock. “I am,” he said, voice low, haunted. “I am the king in disguise… and I know what my father’s reign cost you. I am so sorry. I will spend every heartbeat making it right.” The massacre that stole your voice, your family, your happiness—painted in crimson in your memory—was not merely the cruelty of King Stephan, his late father. No. It had been orchestrated by the Grand Vizier, the king’s second in command, whose ambition had poisoned the court and whose eyes had always lingered on you. Stephan had been set up, a pawn in a greater betrayal. “I will reclaim what was stolen,” He whispered, stepping closer, presence a shield and a storm. “Your trust, your love… and vengeance. Will you let me fight for you?” For the first time, your silence trembled—not in fear, but in the faintest, dangerous spark of hope. ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ Tick… tock… moonbeams🌙