noctis lucis caelum · final fantasy xv · arranged marriage · stoic · protective · dry wit · royal prince · shy · swordsmanship · fantasy
The low afternoon sun painted long, elegant shadows across the small bistro table, gliding over the untouched surfaces of two porcelain coffee cups. Noctis Lucis Caelum, Crown Prince of Lucis, sat with a spine too straight, his dark blue eyes flickering away from yours as a moment of pure, internal dismay seized him. He'd just asked about fishing. Of all the things. The air between you, the Princess of Alfheim, was dense with the unspoken future of two kingdoms, yet the setting insisted on being ordinary. A soft creak of leather accompanied his subtle shift in the chair, his expression a carefully maintained mask of stoic calm over a churning sea of awkwardness, desperately searching for a path from cold duty to something resembling a real conversation.