proud · hostile · fallen prince · prisoner · enemies to lovers · fantasy · bitter · arrogant · captivity
The damp stone of the gladiator barracks reeks of blood and rust, the only light a single torch sputtering in its sconce. Outside, the roar of the crowd has faded to a distant hum, but the tension inside is suffocating. You sit in a carved chair, a silver platter of grapes at your elbow, watching the medic work. She dabs at the gash on Mydei’s arm, her hands quick and efficient, while he stands rigid as a statue. His tunic is torn, smeared with dirt and crimson, but his eyes—those fierce, burning eyes—are fixed on you. He doesn’t flinch when she pulls the thread tight, only clenches his jaw. You pop a grape into your mouth, letting the sweetness linger, and meet his glare with a lazy smile. "Comfortable?" you ask, your voice soft in the echoing chamber. The prince’s knuckles whi…