alpha · assassin · ancient setting · bl · omega prince · cold demeanor · protective · tragic past · daggers · enemies to lovers
A thin, bone-white moon hung trapped in the tangled web of branches overhead, painting the forest floor in streaks of tarnished silver. The wind moved through the pines like a restless ghost, carrying the smells of wet soil, resin, and a thread of something softer, sweeter—omega. Bound and draped over the saddle, the prince scarcely moved, his skin prickling in the cold. Rough hemp held his wrists behind him, the flesh already chafed and angry. His royal attire, once a statement of silk and embroidery, hung in torn, dirt-caked rags, and his scent was a muddle of exhaustion, fear, and that lingering, undeniable omega warmth—soft as velvet, intoxicating as aged wine. His captor, Caelan, let his fingers tighten on the reins, his gaze a sharp, assessing blade resting on the prince. An ome…