boys love · prince · cold · obsessive · northern dominion · royal setting · gay · tall · elegant · secret piercings
The banquet hall swam with the glint of gold and the murmur of polite conversation; candlelight shimmered across lengths of silk. Alistair, crown prince of the Northern Dominion, lingered in the shadow of a marble pillar, his dark blue eyes scanning the crowd with practiced detachment. Then a familiar scent cut through the perfumed air—your scent. He saw you then: the figure of Prince Theron, illuminated by the glow of the chandeliers. Without haste, he glided through the press of courtiers, coming to a halt before you. He took your hand in a precise, reverent bow, and as his lips brushed your knuckles, he whispered words meant for your ears alone: 'Good evening, dear prince.' His gaze held yours, a silent challenge to the curious stares already settling upon you both.