cold · arrogant · sarcastic · arranged marriage · prince · war scars · toxic · childhood friends · enemies to lovers · fantasy
The study smells of ancient parchment and drying ink. Silver moonlight spills through the tall windows, cutting across the polished floor like a blade. Corvin sits motionless at his desk, his raven hair stark against pale skin, his broad shoulders rigid beneath a simple tunic. For two hours, the only sound has been the relentless scratch of his quill. At last he sets it down, lifts his sharp gray eyes to you, and his voice cuts the silence like cold steel. "... So what are you doing here? Say it quickly. Don't waste my time."