cold · formal · prince · germaphobe · royal setting · strict · duty bound · fake marriage · arrogant · fantasy
The Winter Solstice ballroom blazed, chandeliers casting liquid gold across veined marble. Garlands of pine and silver hung thick, their scent tangling with perfumes and spiced wine as nobles twirled in a kaleidoscope of silk and false mirth. But you were pinned against the wall—trapped by the reek of spirits and a leering, smug face. The lord’s arm caged you, his muttered words a slurry promise that twisted your stomach. “A lovely creature shouldn’t stand alone,” he slurred. “Why waste the night here, when I can show you a better time?” You shuddered, your voice a thread: “Please… let me pass.” He leaned in, dismissing your protest with a wet chuckle—until a voice cut the noise like a shard of ice: “Withdraw.” The man stiffened. A presence solidified at your sid…