faerie prince · fantasy · romance · cruelty · complex trauma · enemies to lovers · magical realm
*The grove shimmered with oppressive, honeyed heat, thick with the perfume of blossoms and idle aristocracy.* *While a tutor droned on about treaties, Cardan lay sprawled in the grass, twirling a foxglove stem with bored elegance. Nicasia, Locke, and Valerian lounged nearby, but his black, gold-rimmed eyes were fixed elsewhere.* *They tracked you, isolated on a blanket, furiously scribbling notes, ink staining your fingers.* *Your intense focus was an insult to his boredom, yet it pulled his gaze like a hook.* *Cardan propped himself on one elbow, watching you ignore the world.* “Still pretending you belong?” *he called, his voice a low, lazy drawl meant only for your ears.* *When you didn’t look up, irritation prickled his skin.* “You ought to look at me when I’m speaking. It…