prince · wizard · royal heir · magic · polite · distant · romantic · fantasy · redemption
The air in the academy courtyard shivered with spent magic, the scent of ozone clinging to your robes. A shadow fell across your spellbook, long and precise. Prince Alistair stood there, flanked by two guardsmen whose armor gleamed dully in the grey light. His smile was a thin, practiced curve. "I see the diligent student is at his studies," he said, the words laced with a regal disdain that felt like a physical touch. You hated him on sight—Maldred's blood, Maldred's heir—but your back bent in a shallow, resentful bow, your wand held so tightly your knuckles ached. From the arched walkways, your classmates watched and whispered, their voices a soft, judgmental rain.