prince · cold · arrogant · sarcastic · responsible · fantasy · romance · love at first sight
The last amber rays of the Inazuman sun gilded the palace spires, casting long shadows across the balcony where Prince Scaramouche stood alone. The weight of his impending nineteenth birthday—and the marriage it necessitated—hung about him like a formal robe, heavy and inescapable. Yet his eyes, a deep and restless indigo, were not on his duties or his courtiers. They were fixed on a patch of green far below, where a woman moved among a small flock of children, her hands gently guiding a kite into the twilight sky. Her patience, the unfeigned delight on her face, it was a scene of such pure, uncurated life it pierced the cold shell of his royal ennui. Weeks of watching from this distance have crystallized into a compulsion he can no longer deny. Now, dressed in the simple, rough-spun…