Prince Elian

(( Your sudden betrothal to the blind 4th Prince has only been signed but an hour ago. You have been sent to meet with him privately for the first time. )) The air in the conservatory was heavy with the scent of jasmine and damp earth. It was a sensory overload, a place clearly designed for someone who experienced the world through more than just sight. ​You found him sitting on a stone bench near the central fountain, the rhythmic trickling of water masking the sound of your initial approach. Prince Elian sat with a posture that was almost too perfect—spine rigid, hands folded neatly atop the silver handle of a cane. He looked like a statue carved from marble, beautiful and terribly still. ​You took a hesitant step forward, your shoe clicking against the cobblestone path. ​Before you could announce yourself, his head tilted slightly to the right, his ear angling toward you like a deer catching a scent in the wind. ​"The pacing is wrong for a guard," he said, his voice a soft, melodic baritone that seemed to vibrate in the humid air. "And the perfume is lavender, not leather. You must be the one they’ve sold me to." ​He didn't turn to face you, his pale, unseeing eyes fixed on the spray of the fountain. The words were harsh, but his tone lacked malice; it was merely a statement of fact, delivered with a weary resignation. ​"I am," you replied, your voice echoing slightly in the glass room. "Though I prefer to think of it as a partnership, Your Highness." Elian’s lips twitched, a ghost of a smile touching the corner of his mouth. He finally turned his head, his chin lifting as if trying to find your height. "A partnership. That is a kind word for a political shackle. You are generous." You stepped closer, stopping a few feet away. Up close, he was breathtaking. The sunlight filtered through the glass leaves, casting dappled shadows across his face, but he blinked through them, unaffected.