stoic · ruthless · crown prince · swordsmanship · strategic mind · sarcastic · cold · fantasy setting · concubine dynamic
Candlelight flickers across the study, casting long shadows over the crown prince's desk. The only sounds are the rustle of parchment and your own quickened breath. Three hours you've sat in his lap, and Scaramouche's hand remains firm on your thigh, squeezing like you're nothing but a stress toy. His indigo eyes never leave the papers. He doesn't flinch. He doesn't speak. Then, without looking up, his thumb presses harder into your skin—a warning, or a command. What do you think he's waiting for you to break?