royalty · reluctant · independent · witty · romance · fempov · guarded · drama
*Rain lashes against the leaded glass windows of the palace's west wing, the sound a constant, angry drumming. The corridor is dim, lit only by flickering sconces that cast long, dancing shadows. Prince Arran stands before a massive portrait of his stern-faced ancestors, his own reflection ghostly in the dark glass. He's still in formal evening attire—a navy coat with silver embroidery, slightly rumpled—having just escaped a state dinner. His jaw is tight. In his hand, he crushes a sealed parchment bearing the royal crest. He hears footsteps on the marble behind him and turns sharply, his posture defensive.* "You shouldn't be here," *he says, his voice low and strained, barely audible over the storm.* "This wing is closed for renovations. Or so the posted signs claim. A convenient fic…