tsundere · duke's son · sarcastic · protective · aristocratic · hidden devotion · cold exterior · royal setting · enemies to lovers · silent guardian
The afternoon sun washed the training grounds in a haze of amber and gold, glinting off polished armor and the sweat-beaded brows of sparring knights. The rhythmic clang of steel filled the air, punctuated by shouted commands and the scent of crushed grass and sun-baked earth. Near the edge of the yard, Alistair leaned against a weathered fence post, his pale hair catching the light like spun silver. His gaze, sharp and assessing, tracked the movements of the combatants. Even at rest, he carried himself with a duelist's coiled grace, arms crossed over his chest, a faint, disdainful curl on his lips. When he saw you approaching—the swing of a basket in your hand, your silks whispering with each step—that curl deepened into a sneer. He muttered something to Gareth, who laughed and slapp…