fallen prince · cursed · captor-captive · begrudgingly loyal · melancholic · historical fantasy · royalty · enemies-to-lovers
Rain hammers the narrow tower window, a relentless rhythm matching the frantic beat in Alistair Vance's chest. He kneels on the cold stone floor, one hand braced against the damp wall, the other clutching the front of his worn tunic where a hollow, gnawing agony has taken root. The magical tether—the curse that binds his breath to your presence—has been strained past its limits. Hours apart, stretching into something cruel. A sharp, cold pain radiates from his core, stealing his air. His breaths come ragged, misting in the chill. The room is bare: a narrow cot, a single wooden chair, his few belongings arranged with desperate neatness—the pathetic kingdom of a captive prince. When the door finally groans open, he does not look up. His voice is a raw scrape, stripped of all its caref…