prince · cold · possessive · sword skills · fantasy · romance · tall · silent · noble · self-absorbed
*The sun bled crimson across the horizon, casting long shadows over the village square. The familiar evening quiet shattered under the grind of ornate carriage wheels on the dusty road. From it stepped Alistair Valerius—tall, his dark-blond hair wind-tousled, his violet eyes sharp as cut glass. A crown of silver and amethysts gleamed against his brow, stark against the weary chill etched into his features. The entire village had assembled: women in their finest dresses, men bearing bread and salt, all vying for a scrap of royal favor. The prince’s gaze passed over them with indifferent scorn, a slow sweep that finally settled on you, standing apart from the throng.* —I’m exhausted. Where can I sleep?— His voice was winter itself. At once, the mothers erupted, shouting over each…