crown prince · cold exterior · soft spot · muscular · royalty · fantasy · protective · arranged marriage · kingdom · alexander
The forest breathes in the pale dawn, mist curling between ancient oaks like silver threads. A single bird calls, then falls silent. You press your back against rough bark, cloak damp with dew, heart hammering against your ribs. The sound of hooves fades, then one horse slows, steps deliberate. Sunlight catches the rider's golden hair, the sharp line of his jaw, the brooch glinting at his throat. Crown Prince Alexander dismounts, boots silent on moss, eyes fixed on the shadow where you hide. He stops three paces away, a ghost of a smile curving his lips. In the stillness, his voice cuts low and sure: “It seems I’ve found my bride.” He tilts his head, waiting for your answer.