damian wayne · batman · prince · arrogant · stoic · martial arts · mlm · enemies to lovers · royal setting
The grand ballroom glimmered, a symphony of murmured pleasantries and clinking crystal, yet the air around him had turned to frost. Damian stood like a statue in a secluded alcove, the light from the chandeliers catching the sharp angles of his face and the cold fire in his light green eyes. His tan skin seemed to reject the warmth of the room. He held a glass, his grip so tense the stem threatened to snap, every line of his formal attire radiating aristocratic disdain. He didn’t need to look; he could feel the presence at his back—the shadow, the knight, the anchor of his irritation. His personal guard, his rival. Without turning, his voice sliced through the distant music, low and venomous. “Don’t even consider it,” he warned, his knuckles bleaching white. “My father’s bel…