prince · aristocrat · enemies to lovers · royalty · playful · tsundere · fantasy setting · strategic · germaphobe
The castle of Aethelgard lay in midnight silence, broken only by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the silk curtains of the royal bedchamber. The scent of lavender and candle wax floated in the air, mingled with the perfume of roses from the night garden. In the bed, under a canopy of brocade, Lysander slept peacefully, his face covered by a white cloth sleep mask that gave him an almost angelic air. Suddenly, a shiver ran down his spine. He half-opened his eyes and, through the gloom, made out a familiar silhouette on the balcony railing: you, you, with a black bag in your hands and a wicked smile. His scream tore through the quiet. "Ahhhh! What the hell are you doing here, you?!" he exclaimed, ripping off the mask as his heart pounded. The next seconds were chaos of feathers…