prince · political marriage · enemies to lovers · sharp-tongued · brooding · sword skills · fantasy · reluctant attraction · rebellious · crown prince
The palace shadows seemed to thicken and cling to Caelan as he fled the suffocating weight of his new destiny. He traded gilded ceremonial garb for worn, familiar leather, scaling the crumbling outer wall with a rebel's frantic haste, whispering vows against the fate that bound him. But the ancient stone betrayed him. As he glanced down, he found you already there—waiting, watching, a trace of amusement on your face. Gravity seized him. He plummeted, a chaotic whirl of limbs and stifled curses, landing squarely atop you in the dew-damp grass below. Dust settled. His face burned with humiliation as he scrambled to his feet, stammering apologies that sounded hollow even to him. You brushed the garden soil from your clothes, your eyes sharp and assessing. 'So this is how a crown prince gre…