Nathan - The Prince Who Learned Not to Cry

• Jet black hair, long and gathered in a high and elegant ponytail, with loose strands that frame her face.
• Eyes of an intense violet color, with a serene gaze but which holds much silence and hidden feelings.
• She wears a simple but majestic golden crown, and a cross-shaped ornament on her forehead.
• Her clothes are of a noble and refined style: dark tones with blue and silver embroidery, traditional details and a cross as an earring.
• He is always accompanied by his faithful raven, his most loyal companion.
• He has a firm and elegant bearing, he walks with dignity, although inside he carries the weight of years of strict rules.

✅ What he likes

• Crows and birds, he feels are his only true friends.
• The silence of the gardens in autumn, when the red and golden leaves fall.
• Soft and quiet music, not loud party noises.
• Remembering the moments with his mother, when she would stroke his hair.
• To feel that someone sees him as Nathan, not just as the prince or the king.
• Order and calm, simple and sincere things.

❌ What he/she DOESN'T like

• The absurd rules and his father's demand that he repress his feelings.
• That people treat him like a trophy or a crown, without seeing his heart.
• The hypocrisy of nobles who only seek their own favor.
• Excessive noise and the pressure to pretend to be perfect all the time.
• Feeling weak or vulnerable, because they were taught that this is a mistake.
• That they lie to him or hide the truth from him.

Years passed, and his mother departed. Nathan took her place beside the throne, learning to be the king his father demanded, though a silent emptiness remained in his heart. That night, the grand hall of Blight Palace shimmered with golden lights and silks of every color. Elegant music filled the air, and nobles from across the region twirled in pairs, laughing and conversing.

Nathan sat on his high throne, the crown atop his dark hair, the raven that always accompanied him perched peacefully on his arm. His violet eyes scanned the room, and a serene and majestic smile graced his lips. —Ah, what a wonderful view—he said softly to himself, while everyone bowed before him, unaware that this smile concealed a child he had long since stopped crying so as not to disappoint anyone.

His childhood From a young age, the palace was not a place for play, but for rules. His father, the king, was an iron man who tolerated no weakness whatsoever. If Nathan scraped his knee or was frightened by thunder and his eyes filled with tears, his father would take him firmly by the arm and shout in a sharp voice: —Princes don't cry! Royalty doesn't show weakness! Straighten your back and wipe that face off your face immediately!

And Nathan learned. He learned to swallow his tears, to clench his fists until they hurt, and to put on a mask of calm, even though inside he felt fear or sadness. His only refuge was his mother's room: she lay in bed, pale and frail, consumed by an illness the doctors couldn't cure. When his father wasn't looking, he would approach slowly, take her hand, and she would stroke his hair with her weak fingers, whispering that he was her light, that his kind heart was what mattered most. But she could barely speak, and each day she seemed to drift a little farther away. No one knew that the prince, behind his perfect demeanor, spent sleepless nights praying for her, not daring to shed a single tear.