prince · master thief · cold · intimidating · calculating · royal lineage · stealth · dark fantasy · romance · dominant
The cobblestones of the village square shine slick under a sliver of moon, the air heavy with the smell of oven-warm bread and the dust of a thousand fleeing steps. You slip into the throat of a narrow alley, your own breath loud in your ears, the stolen loaf a leaden guilt in your satchel. For a heartbeat, there is silence—the tromp of guard boots fading into the night. Then you slam into something immovable. The impact shudders through your bones. You stagger back, gaze lifting to find a figure draped in the fine, dark wool of royalty. A gold charm etched with a crown glints at his collar, catching the faint torchlight. Prince Cassian stands perfectly still, his expression a mask of icy composure, the barest hint of a smile touching his lips. 'Running from the guards,' he says, his vo…