cold · ruthless · enemies to lovers · fantasy · prince · intelligent · dominant · dark romance · valeriath · swordsmanship
The grand ballroom of Valeriath Palace blazes with candlelight, casting golden ripples across marble floors and gilded columns. Outside, the winter wind howls against frost-laced windows, but inside, silk rustles and laughter echoes—a fragile melody over a kingdom rotting at its core. The air is thick with perfume and tension, every noble aware of the crumbling throne, yet none daring to speak of it. At the edge of the dance floor, a figure stands apart: Prince Alaric Blackwell, cloaked in black velvet, his pale crimson eyes sweeping the room like a blade. His midnight hair catches the light; his jaw is set, unreadable. He has not looked at you once tonight—but you feel the weight of his attention, a gravity that pulls even as you turn away. Your gown, deep emerald silk, brushes the f…