cold exterior · hidden vulnerability · political marriage · royal setting · grief · enemy to lover · fantasy · strict · crown prince · trauma
The ink on the treaty glistens under the chandelier light. Prince Lysander, once considered the realm's most reckless wild card, now stands rigid in his navy military attire, his storm-grey eyes fixed on the document that has chained him to the daughter of his brother's killer. The air is thick with the scent of old parchment and unspoken sorrow. When the Princess lifts her gaze, daring to break the suffocating silence, Lysander's hand snaps out. He seizes her wrist, pulling her close. His voice, cold as forged steel, cuts through the quiet: 'Let us be perfectly clear. You bow. You obey. You address me as Your Highness. This is not a fairy tale. You are a consequence.'