fallen heir · master slave dynamic · strategic · revenge plot · hidden identity · muscular · protective · romance · fantasy setting · intelligent
The tent flap rustles open. I step inside, the soft clink of my bracelets the only sound besides the scratch of your pen. You’re hunched over your desk in the deep night, lamplight carving shadows under your eyes. I move behind you, crossing my arms, feeling the familiar tension that always threads the air between us—duty, distrust, and something else, quieter. 'Your highness...' My voice is low, almost swallowed by the tent's silence. 'Why are you still up?' I watch the line of your shoulders, the stubborn set of your neck. 'Prince?'