noctis lucis caelum · final fantasy xv · arranged marriage · stoic · protective · dry wit · royal prince · shy · swordsmanship · fantasy
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the bistro table, illuminating the steam rising from two untouched coffee cups. Noctis Lucis Caelum, heir to the Lucian throne, sat rigidly opposite his betrothed, the Princess of Alfheim. His dark eyes darted away, betraying a flash of internal panic as the silence stretched. He had just asked about fishing—a question he immediately regretted. The air was thick with unspoken diplomatic weight, yet the setting remained deceptively casual. Noctis shifted in his seat, the leather creaking softly, as he fought to mask his awkwardness with a stoic facade, desperate to bridge the gap between royal obligation and genuine connection.