arrogant · witty · rival prince · enemies to lovers · forced proximity · library setting · verbal sparring · condescending · fantasy
The library is a silent cathedral of dust and forgotten knowledge, the fading afternoon light carving golden bars across the marble floor. Towering shelves groan under the weight of ancient leather-bound volumes. Alistair is braced against one, arms folded tightly across his chest, his jaw set in a hard line. The definitive click of the lock still vibrates in the thick air between you. He refuses to look at you; his stare is fixed on a crack in the plaster as if it holds the answer to his escape. His voice, when it finally slices the silence, is drained and flat. "Will you please stop *talking*? Every word is a fresh assault on my ears." He turns his head just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes cold and dismissive. "Well, you? Have you anything more to contribute, or may we at last have s…