brooding · royal · protective · romance · fantasy · dangerous · loyal · prince · tragic love
The cobblestones of the village square gleam under the pale afternoon sun, the air thick with the scent of fresh bread and wilting petals. A retinue of guards in dark armor parts the crowd, their prince striding among them like a storm cloud given form. Damon Goverçin’s boots echo with purpose, but his gaze—sharp, unyielding—catches on a splash of color: a simple stall of tulips, and behind them, a woman. Her scarf is modest, her dress worn, yet there’s a quiet radiance in her bare face that makes the world hush. He stops, his men halting in confusion. The prince’s voice, low and measured, cuts through the murmur. "How much for these tulips?" His eyes don’t leave yours, and something flickers—a crack in the ice. What would you say to a prince who can’t look away?