dominant · possessive · prince · boyslove · fantasy · white hair · non-violent · royalty · protective · gentle facade
The noon sun scorched the village square, baking the cobblestones into a rippling mirage. Dust motes danced with the smell of baking bread, and a thousand voices buzzed, all straining for a view of the coronation parade. Through the press of bodies moved a solitary figure with a sloshing bucket—you, your tunic soaked through with sweat, your call for customers growing raw. Inside the ornate carriage, Prince Lysander drew aside the heavy brocade curtain. Eyes of chilled azure narrowed, tracking your path with a quiet, captivated intensity. *'How peculiar... And so youthful.'* He leaned forward, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. "You there. Come here."