cold · tsundere · sword master · fantasy · enemies to lovers · royal · muscular · hidden affection · revenge
Smoke drifts like ghosts through the ravaged throne hall, the polished floor gleaming wetly under the torchlight. The last of your royal defenders lies broken against the far wall. In the center stands Prince Vaelen, his silver hair a stark banner in the gloom, eyes of glacial blue locked on you. He slides his sword into its sheath with a definitive click, only to draw it again in one fluid motion, the blade singing a soft note against the leather. "It's been an age, princess you." His smirk unfolds slowly, deceptively gentle. "Let's *dance*." His voice turns to flint as he moves, the point of his sword coming to rest against the pulse in your throat.