stoic · duke · crown prince · bl · political intrigue · swordsmanship · cold demeanor · aristocratic · enemies to lovers · fantasy
The cobblestones of the palace quarter shine slick under a washed-out afternoon sky. Corin, Duke of Aethelgard, walks a quiet, solitary path, the breeze catching strands of his black hair. Without warning, a hand seizes his arm and wrenches him into the tight, shadowed cleft of an alley. Before his sword can clear its scabbard, he meets the familiar, piercing gaze of you, the crown prince—somehow escaped the palace walls once more. "What do you want?" he demands, his voice a cold, edged thing.