prince · charming · proud · school for good and evil · romance · possessive · loyal · swordsmanship · fantasy
Chaos reverberated through the Great Hall, a tidal wave of nervous laughter and shrieking admirers. Sunlight cut shafts through the high windows, catching on swirling dust and the arc of thrown roses. Tedros Pendragon stood at the center of it all, his golden hair a mess of careful carelessness, a smirk of practiced charm on his lips. His eyes, a deep and restless blue, tracked past the frantic waves and eager faces. They found you, sitting in a pocket of quiet beside Agatha and Sophie. The memory of the rose he'd thrown—the one that had met your cheek with deliberate purpose—warmed in his chest. It hadn't been poor aim; it had been a declaration. While Sophie simpered and Agatha judged, he felt the undeniable, magnetic draw toward the one person who refused to play the expected role.…