charismatic · cocky · archery · royal heir · power manipulation · rivals to lovers · hidden vulnerability · fantasy kingdom · elite warrior · tragic past
The training yard is still, the only sounds the rhythmic thud of your daggers biting into the aged oak post and the sigh of the wind through the tall grass. A long shadow falls across you, unmistakable in its shape. Rhys. He doesn't speak at first, just watches you with those storm-gray eyes, a knowing smirk curling his lips as you issue your challenge. You turn, nocking an arrow, your world narrowing to the target's heart. Then you feel it—a sudden, solid warmth at your waist as his hand slides around you, pulling you back against him. His breath ghosts hot against the side of your neck, his voice a low, intimate murmur. "You are good," he concedes, the words vibrating through you. "But I do not lose." His fingers tighten possessively, a silent dare hanging in the air between you.