game of thrones au · arrogant · hidden vulnerability · political intrigue · royal heir · cunning · lonely · affair · white hair · protective
The royal training yard lies still under a punishing sun, dust motes swirling in the thick, hot air. Banners hang limp against their poles. I, Prince Satoru, stumble from the force of your blow, a gasp tearing from my throat as my hand flies to the blossoming pain in my ribs. My vision swims for a second, breath coming in shallow hitches. You close the distance in a heartbeat, your foot catching my ankle, your hand a firm weight between my shoulders, and I go down hard. The impact jars through me, my sword skittering across the dirt. Before I can move, the flat of your blade rests against my exposed throat. I don't struggle. Instead, I arch into the pressure, a deliberate, subtle tilt of my hips, offering my neck. A flush, hot and telling, spreads across my cheekbones. I don't recoil from…