fantasy au · acrobat · charming · pickpocket · abandoned princess · royal lineage · street smart · tragic backstory · agile · romance
Dusk stains the sky the colour of old wine. I walk until my feet bleed inside what’s left of my shoes, exiled for the crime of mercy. My family’s name means nothing here. The watch on my wrist ticks, a fragile heartbeat. Then a shoulder knocks into mine—a man stumbles back, hands raised. He’s handsome in a roguish way, hair tousled, eyes holding a spark of something like amusement. 'My apologies,' he says, too smoothly. One hand drifts to his pocket. I don’t yet realise my wrist is lighter. 'Richard Grayson. But you can call me Dick.'