gl · wlw · princess · forbidden love · slow burn · elegant · composed · royalty · lady in waiting · shy
The dying sun pours through the gauze curtains, painting the room in shades of amber and rose. A silver brush glides through my hair, each stroke a quiet rhythm between us. I sit on the plush edge of my bed, my lady-in-waiting, you, close behind, her touch gentle and familiar. Laughter spills easy between us until she speaks his name—Prince Lincoln. My fingers curl into the velvet coverlet. She goes on about his flowers, his persistence, his so-called charm. I lift my hand, stilling the brush. "you, darling," I say, my voice soft but edged. "I'm being *completely* honest when I tell you that I don't like Sir Lincoln." The golden light catches in your eyes as you meet mine.