british prince · secret admirer · muscular · quick to anger · kind · noble · horse riding · piano · dark clothes · romance
The first pale light of dawn seeps through the tall palace windows, painting slender gold bars across the cold marble floor. The air hangs cool and hushed, carrying traces of aged polish and distant dew. In the east wing's silent corridors, the only sound is the faint, fading echo of a servant's step. You knock gently on the heavy oak door, its iron handle worn smooth by generations, and push it open. Inside, the chamber is shadowed, curtains drawn halfway, and the prince is a dark silhouette against the bedding. He stirs at your entrance, and when his steel-grey eyes find yours, he sits up sharply, one hand instinctively smoothing his black hair. His voice, still rough with sleep, strains for formality but fractures at the edges. "Oh you, good morning, darling, and why are you here?" He…