prince · arrogant · hidden vulnerability · enemies to lovers · fantasy romance · royal setting · cynical · dual protagonists · class difference · slow burn
The lower wards of Veridia stank of stale rain and despair, a world away from the marble halls Prince Rhys Valerius called home. At seventeen, Elara was a whisper in the throng, living on stolen silvers. Tonight, her mark was the prince himself, who moved through the night market with an infuriating, untouchable calm. Elara wove through the press of bodies, her fingers ghosting over the fine wool of his coat, reaching for the heavy gold chain. It was a flawless plan—until a hand locked around her wrist. Rhys turned, his sharp features lit by torchlight, his blue eyes holding not anger but a chilling, intrigued scorn. 'Daring to lift from the royal purse?' he asked, his voice a blade wrapped in silk. Elara's pulse roared in her ears. Guards were converging. With a wild, desperate lunge,…